Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ella

I feel his body stiffen and for a moment, a blip of uncertainty hits me.

Is he?—?

Did I?—?

But then he groans, giving me his weight, his big, bulky body pinning me to the bed. His jeans are the sweetest abrasion, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my stomach the worst kind of tease.

I want the layers gone.

I want it to be just him and me, our naked skin pressed together.

Especially when his groan is cut off by him sucking at my nipples again, his hand working my other breast with no quarter. Suction. Pressure. Perfect . Roughened fingertips and a sleek, wet tongue. A calloused palm and a mouth that is sin itself.

Just because I'm me, I reach for him again, this time brushing my fingers through the silky locks of his hair.

And am rewarded with a soft growl against my breast.

Grinning, I sneak one more touch then lift my hands again, holding on, grinding against him, and having the pleasure of him growling again?—

"Behave," he snaps, kissing his way over to my other breast.

"Never," I say, though the declaration is softened by the fact that I'm panting, by the sweat that's breaking out on my skin, by my slick need soaking through the fabric of my underwear.

A nip to the underside of my breast as he dislodges my legs from around him. "Behave or I won't lick that pretty cunt of yours."

My throat dries up.

Not my pussy though.

That gushes with desire, convulses with need, empty and throbbing and?—

Another nip. This time along my rib cage. Then my waist. My hip. Just below my belly button.

I suck in a breath.

Thankfully, he doesn't stop, just keeps slowly moving down my body, reaching for the waistband of my underwear, tugging it off my body, sending it in the direction of his T-shirt.

A hand on my knee, pushing my leg wide. "So pretty and pink and wet for me," he murmurs, tracing a finger through my pussy. He lifts that glistening finger to his lips and my body convulses when he draws it into his mouth.

Fuck.

I moan, reaching for him again, but one look at those molten brown eyes has me settling my hand back onto the headboard, has me clenching it tight.

One look to behave.

That should be insulting.

Instead, I'm perilously close to coming apart.

"Good girl," he murmurs, spreading my legs further, kneeling between them, mouth coming oh so close.

"Don't push it," I mutter.

A smirk…

Right before his mouth is on me.

"Oh God!" I gasp, thighs instinctively trying to close.

But those broad shoulders keep them open and then he's kissing me.

No.

He's fucking me with his lips and teeth and tongue, sending my already on-edge body hurtling on a collision course with a wall of pleasure that's so big and thick I actually experience a blip of fear.

But it's gone a heartbeat later, lost in the flurry of his movements, all of which are fucking incredible.

A sure tongue arrowing in on my clit, a thick finger sliding home. The barest flash of teeth and the soft cushion of his lips.

My whole body trembles—that wall already there, an inch from my nose.

"Riggs," I whisper.

Eyes coming to mine and the intensity in them…I feel the pleasure slamming into me, crashing down over me like a cascade of bricks.

Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam.

And then he slides another finger inside me.

I cry out, shattering into a million pieces under that tumult of bricks.

But he doesn't stop—his fingers keep pumping, his mouth continues working me, his shoulders keep my legs wide.

"I—"

A nip on my inner thigh has me jumping, nails scrabbling on the wood over my head.

And then he's slipping a third finger inside me, leaning back onto his knees, gaze shifting, watching as he finger fucks me slow and deep.

I'm practically shivering with need again, but he's not in any hurry.

The slick sounds of my desire tangle with the rasp of my pulse in my ears, with the rapid puffs of my breaths.

"Riggs," I say.

Or beg .

His eyes slowly lift to mine and I shiver again at the smile on his face. Cocky, confident…utterly in this moment with me.

"Please," I whisper.

I want him inside me. I need it.

I've been desperate for it for months now.

Something he seems to sense, or maybe it's that he's been in the same state as me—wanting me with greedy intent—because he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and retrieves a condom.

"Birth control is hot," I declare.

His eyes flick down to mine again and this time his smile is softer. This time it settles in me, deep inside me. "I've got you, baby," he murmurs.

There's that blip of fear again, of alarm and worry and panic tangling through my insides.

A crinkle.

The noise snaps me out of it, sending the twisted feelings away like smoke on the breeze as I watch him roll the condom down the length of his seriously impressive erection.

Then he's rising over me again.

He doesn't thrust home as I half expect—or maybe hope. Instead, he braces himself on one hand, reaches for where I'm still grabbing at the headboard and gently removes one of my hands and then the other.

"I don't have to behave any longer?" I tease.

That gorgeous mouth of his hitches up.

"Oh no, chérie ," he says, drawing my arms around his neck. "You're not going to be thinking about behaving—" A press of his lips to mine. "Or mis behaving, rather." He notches the head of his cock at the entrance of my body, starts to press that wide, thick cock inside me. "You're not going to think about anything except for holding on."

And then he thrusts home.

And then …he's right.

I'm not thinking about teasing him.

I'm not thinking about the perfect burn of his cock stretching me wide, the hard thrusts of our bodies meeting, the hot, wet kiss he lays on me.

I'm not even thinking about the sun growing brighter through the windows as I moan obscenely loud—likely loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood.

And I'm not thinking about sprinting toward that wall of pleasure, not even remotely able to slow down, to stop myself from plowing into it.

Instead, I'm just…

Concentrating on holding on.

I clutch at his broad shoulders, revel in his groans, in the way he clamps a hand on my hip as he strokes into me. I dig my nails in as he fucks me hard and deep, as he whispers dirty words into the air—and even dirtier ones into my ear.

I love the filthy words, love when he tells me how much he loves the tight clasp of my cunt, the slick heat of my desire, the soft press of my tits, the way I'm clenching him tightly inside and out.

So, I let my body continue to plow forward.

Straight into that wall of desire, the wall that's threatening to send me to pieces again.

But I'm okay.

Because I'm still holding on to Riggs.