Page 45 of One Weekend in London

But first, I have a promise to keep. A vow to worship her body until she’s trembling with pleasure, her need satiated. Reaffirming what she’s finally starting to see—that I’m her glue.

The man meant to heal all her broken pieces.

CHAPTER 17

Sadie

Rhys Kensington’s cock is a drug.

And I’m hopelessly addicted.

“Sodding hell, I can’t get enough of your pussy. Of my pussy. Feels”—thrust—“so”—thrust—“damn”—thrust—“good.” The way he slams into me with repeated, bone-jarring thrusts while my legs are draped over his strong shoulders and his fingers dig roughly into my sweat-slicked flesh, makes me delirious with want, as if the pleasure he gives me will never be enough.

Is it any wonder I’m hooked?

“Rhys, oh God... I’m so close!” I scream, fisting the sheets at my side as the metal headboard slams against the penthouse’s dove-colored wall, seemingly close to busting through the plaster. “Please don’t stop!”

Lost in the pleasure he’s ripping from me, I’m not even sure he hears my plea as he circles my clit with his thumb in time with each punishing pump of his hips, catapulting me toward bliss.

Sweat beads on his broad chest as he speeds up, his pace now punishing, and the dirtiest of words spill from his bite-worthy lips, his filthy monologue shoving me closer to the edge.

“I want you to come for me. Want you to milk my cock like the greedy girl you are, soaking me with your sweetness.” The mouth on him... “You want me to come inside you?” Heaven help me, I want it more than anything. “Then bloody well make me.”

His final words are my undoing.

An animalistic cry rips from my throat as I shatter. My entire body tenses, the pleasure tears through me enough to steal my breath, sending me into a pleasure-driven tailspin. I clamp down on him like a vise, his thrusts becoming jerky, uncoordinated.

“Fuck!”

The lone curse is all Rhys lets out before following with a guttural shout, his cock pulsing, filling me with everything he has to give.

And I’ve come to crave.

His eyes dazed, he drops my legs from his shoulders and collapses on top of me, pinning me with his weight as we both gasp for breath, gulping in air.

“Christ.” He nuzzles his face against my throat, gently kissing my skin. I arch my neck, giving him better access, needing, and wanting him to never stop. “Every time it gets better.”

I would respond but I can’t.

Not with the last tendrils of my release still rippling through me even as he eases out, the loss of him making me whimper. He soothes the ache he’s left behind by taking my lips in a soft kiss before wordlessly climbing off the bed and padding to the bathroom.

I’ve only begun to catch my breath when he emerges with a damp cloth, the sight of him naked and gleaming with sweat enough to make a girl’s knees go weak.

Brows furrowed in concentration, he stands by the bed, his eyes fixed on my open thighs, and possessing a gentleness that squeezes my fluttering heart, wipes me clean, the cool rag helping to ease the soreness setting in.

I dang near tear up at the gesture.

Experiencing something sweet is another first for me.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight, as he tosses the soiled rag into a hamper which lid opens and shuts with the wave of his hand. His attention quickly returning to me, he leans down, cupping my face. “I need to shower. Care to join me?”

“In a minute. I just need to catch my breath.”

He nods and drops a kiss to my nose. “One minute, love. Not a second more.” With a wink followed by a grin, he vanishes into the ensuite, the glorious sight of his bare ass as he walks away an image I’ll never forget.

Not even when I’m old and gray.

And if I follow in Papaw’s steps, half crazy.

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