Page 59 of Unsteady

I am gone for this girl.

“Okay, Sadie Gray,” I whisper, before reaching my hands to her knees and pulling them slightly apart.

EIGHTEEN

SADIE

His hands feel like fire along my cold bare skin, every icy bit of myself melting as he sweeps his fingers over every single piece of me.

I don’t let the guys I hook up with eat me out. Not that many offer. Mostly, because for what I want, it’s a waste of time. And it usually doesn’t feel good—not enough to make the intimacy worth it.

My heart is racing.

He reaches the thin strip of my seamless thong as he curls his fingers around the fabric and pulls it tight so a burst of pressure ignites against my clit. It surprises me so much I cry out, before he yanks them down over my hips, pulling them slower as he reaches my ankles.

His eyes are searing, staring directly into mine as he prompts my feet out from each leg hole, his grasp warm on each ankle. Every ounce of confidence that I usually feel in this situation has simmered into nothing but vulnerability.

He might be the one on his knees, but he is the one in control.

I want to touch him, but I’m not sure where I want to start.

He lifts his hands, one grabbing hold of my hip with a solid pressure. The other drifts softly, almost reverently against the skin of my inner thigh as he finally breaks my gaze and stares down at my bare pussy.

“Fuck, Gray,” he whispers and I can feel his breath against the overly sensitive skin right there. “This for me?” He smirks, all cocky arrogance—a flash of that hotshot hockey captain I know he can be when he wants.

I huff, “Easier to keep it bare for my costumes.” I try to use the words to build a wall because everything with this boy feels dangerous already, like I’m suspended on a tightrope, the threat of falling for him permanently imminent.

He shuts me up with a warm thumb pressing into his own mouth before lightly playing along my slit.

“That’s not what I meant,” he rasps. He pulls his hand away to show me.

I’m near to dripping, embarrassingly wet considering he hasn’t done a single thing besides kiss me. But he’s gorgeous, a disarray of the perfect picture he’s been before.

The panic is gone from him, his hands steady and eyes bright, but it makes him more beautiful. His brown eyes look warmer even in the yellow light of the showers. He looks just as large, his thick thighs straining against gray sweatpants and a bulge distracting enough that I turn my head. And those goddamn dimples on full display. He’s a blend of boyish excitement and manly self-confidence as he slides my thigh easily over one broad shoulder.

I’m fully exposed, my skin turning pink beneath the sudden stifling heat of the room and his attention.

“So beautiful,” he whispers. Before I can try any response, he licks a wet strip along my slit, flicking his tongue lightly against my clit and then pulling back to blow across it lightly.

“Oh fuck,” I cry, biting down on my lip because my control is slipping.

He peaks up at me, eyes half-lidded, but burning like warm chocolate. “That’s all it takes?” he taunts, but there’s a question in his eyes.

It comes out before I can stop it.

“I don’t usually do this.”

“What? Hook up in a bathroom?” He smirks at me again, eyes twinkling. “Funny—every time I’ve had my mouth on you has been in a bathroom.”

It’s now, when he’s so relaxed, I can see the bright shooting star that is Rhys Koteskiy.

This is going to burn. He is going to burn me.

Except, I don’t care. I’ll let him burn me if he keeps touching me like this.

I shake my head, leaning back as he presses his nose into the pale flesh of my pussy, just above where I need him most.

“Please,” I beg, hating myself for it, even as my legs tremble beneath his hands.

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