Page 91 of The Right Move

Hesitating for a moment, eyes bounce between mine until his lips are back where they belong.

The whiskey he drank burns my senses in the most delicious way, like I could get drunk on it, simply from tasting it on his tongue. His body falls into mine with a low grunt and his hand releases my throat, instead finding the wall behind me with whatever restraint he has left.

I’ve never been kissed like this. Desperately. Longingly. As if he’s needed to do this since the day I walked into the apartment in the same way I have.

I have no idea how long it’s been since he’s been touched. This lonely man, who is so stunning and controlled, hasn’t been intimate for far too long and I get to be the woman to change that.

Fingertips sliding up his chest, I touch every crevice and ridge, his heart beating against my palm at an erratic pace. Though Ryan is great at appearing controlled on the outside, his heart tells a different story.

The pads of my fingertips glide up his neck, cupping either side of his skull, holding him to me.

He whimpers at that, and I don’t know if it’s the feeling of simply being touched or knowing someone else has got him that breaks him, but either way I plan to recreate that sense as long as he’ll let me.

Every kiss is wetter, needier than the one before, my body burning with how badly I want him. How achingly sweet the pain is between my legs, needing something to rub against.

With his hands bracketed above me, he moves from my mouth to my jaw, peppering hot slides of his lips until he takes my neck, working his way down the column of my throat.

“You’re not broken,” he rasps against my skin. “You just didn’t have the right distraction.”

He might be onto something because right now, with him touching me, kissing me, I’m not thinking about anything other than how he would feel between my legs.

Ryan nips at my collarbone, leaving a precious sting before licking it to soothe.

Head falling back, I offer him better access, my tits flush against his chest. My hard nipples press into the softness of his shirt. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for him to rip this dress off me and take one in his mouth.

Instead, his lips are back on mine, eager and wanting. Giving me just enough to placate my neediness. Even in his giving, he’s controlled. I want him to unravel, to lose himself in the way I feel lost right now.

My lower body grinds into nothing, searching and throbbing. Pulling at his forearms, I ask him to touch me without having to beg for it, but he stays strong, his palms bracing the wall above my head.

Instead, his foot slides between mine, urging them apart.

“Oh,” I cry out, followed by the most desperate of moans when he positions his thigh to hit against my clit. “Oh God.”

On instinct, I grind against him, rocking my needy body and chasing a desperate release.

It feels good. Too good.

Pulling back, Ryan watches me, his eyes locked on where we’re connected. Dilated pupils zero in on his leg. He slightly lifts my dress, not enough for him to see all of me, but just enough to note the glistening wetness I’m leaving on his thigh.

I could give two shits that my arousal is all over his leg. I haven’t been this close in months.

“Look how pretty that is, Blue.”

“Please don’t stop.” The words are more desperate than they’ve ever been.

“Never, baby.”

Building and building, reaching for my climax, I rub, needy and frantic, as he grinds into me with the tempo I need.

That is until I’m distracted once again, my attention falling on a little white bookshelf sitting next to Ryan’s. An empty cardboard box and single screwdriver lay tossed aside on the floor.

“Did you build me a bookshelf?” I squeak out, trying to swallow down the emotion sitting in my throat.

He was home, thinking of me, while I was being selfish, thinking of me too.

Blue-green eyes dart up from where they were mesmerized on our connection, finding me staring over his shoulder.

He grasps my chin, forcing my attention back on him. “Focus on me.” That’s met with another searing kiss, my body rolling against the muscles in his leg. “Focus on us. Fuck,” he exhales against my lips, sharing breaths before his eyes drop south. “Are you going to come on my leg, Ind?”

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