Page 42 of Peaches

I nod, careful to hold attention to the words. “Okay. We don’t have to?—”

I’m cut off by another searing kiss, one that has us both pressing further into each other, desperate for something to hold on to. He pivots to pin me against the nearest wall—his favorite place to trap me—and I open my lips to let him in, hearing the deep groan that climbs up his throat as his tongue slides against mine again. His hands are flighty against my body, quick flares of pressure before release as they travel to new places, like he’s not able to get what he wants fast enough.

My stomach swoops with something silky as my ribs tighten.

No one has ever been this desperate for me.

Or thisrough.

He must finally regain control over the operation of his hands, because they coordinate together and curl around the backs of my thighs, lifting me until our waists align. I wrap my legs around his middle, squeezing tight, and barely feel the loss of direction as he moves us.

It’s not until I feel myself falling that I gasp out my surprise, my shoulders hitting something soft before the rest of my spine follows. I open my eyes and find myself on the bed, angled a bit diagonally. The scent of clean linen and lilac surrounds me from the soft comforter, and it settles some of the raw emotion. Rhett’s standing over me, eyes roaming, chest heaving. “Do you trust me?” he asks, raspy and unfocused.

“Yes.” I don’t even blink. I think it surprises him, but it’s hard to tell for sure because he’s reaching for the backpack. When he pulls the rope out, a replica of the one attached to Champ earlier, my body bursts with pleasure. I sigh out a breathy whine, a sound I’ve never heard from my own lips.

He smiles. “You want this.” It’s not a question, and I don’t give him an answer. When he bends himself over me to steal another kiss, I whine again as the rope drags up my knee. Glides along the inside of my thigh.

“Rhett,” I whisper, closing my eyes at the scratch of it against my skin.

He rumbles out something I don’t quite catch, lost in the trail the rope is blazing up my leg. He drags the end of it higher, over the hem of my dress, my ribs, until it dangles along my throat. Collecting both wrists with his free hand, he moves them high above my head and then uses the rope to fasten them to the iron frame of the textured headboard. While he works, I take in the detail, the intricate carvings of horses and cowboys giving chase.

Once he’s satisfied with the knot, he stands to his full height and looks at me, pleased. His eyes catch mine and he asks, “Is this okay?”

I’ll admit, asmalltrace of fear winds its way through me. But it’s not Rhett—not at all. I’ve just . . . I’ve never been in a position like this, at the mercy of someone. I don’t know what comes next, having zero frame of reference for what to expect. And his words from earlier come creeping back in.

I’m a little worried it’ll be too much for you.

Is this what he’d meant?

But if I’m really honest, I can also admit that nothing has ever excited me more. It’s what drives my eager nod. To whisper “Yes please” in a way that reveals my desperation.

He hooks his hands behind my knees and yanks until the rope pulls taut and my hands hang suspended in the air half a foot above the mattress. Dropping to his knees, he shoves my dress up around my waist and skims his fingers over my underwear, tracing along the whirls of lace. “So pretty,” he mumbles before pulling them down my legs.

My cheeks burn hot at the way he looks and looks andlooks. I’ve never had anyone so blatantly absorb my body like this, the thoughts rushing through my mind oscillating between blinding lust and heady regret. I study his face carefully, looking for any sign of what he’s thinking, but all he does is look at me.

“Rhett,” I plead.

He closes his eyes, takes a minute, and then asks, “Are you real, Olivia?”

The question hangs over us, too bright to look at directly. My mind spins as I try to form an answer, but he lets me off the hook when he leans forward andlicks.

I yelp, instinctively pulling against the rope. But his knot holds true, and when he cups my ass to press his face deeper into me, I’m completely defenseless against his mouth’s assault.

“Rhett,” I gasp, frantic. No man has ever donethisto me before. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. “I don’t . . . I don’t know?—”

He stops immediately, his mouth leaving my body. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do. I really do.” My words sputter through shaky breaths. “I just . . . I’ve never?—”

“Ah,” he rumbles, understanding. A dark smile transforms his face. “Olivia, any man worth a damn will give you pleasure in all the ways you want it.” He darts his tongue out for a long, languid stroke, and the rope tugs once more. “He won’t stop until you get it, no matter how long it takes or how hard he has to work for it.” Another lazy stretch of his tongue, this time circling around the bundle of nerves that has me bucking off the bed. “I’m going to help you find all the ways you like to be pleased. We’re going to learn together.”

And then he lifts my hips, burying his face into me.

I’m a boneless, mindless mess of flesh and bones, so devoid of thought that there’s no agency over the curses and shouts that flow from my mouth, no regard for the bar full of people—including two of Rhett’s brothers—right beneath us. The way he works me is an art form, his unhurried licks and sucks winding me higher and higher until I feel like I’m floating outside my body. I start to flutter, clenching around nothing, so wound tight with a desperate need formoreso I can crest the edge of this cliff and fucking fly.

“Be good, peaches,” Rhett tells me, feeling my tension. “Don’t come. Not yet.”

I suck in air as frenzy takes over. He must not understand that Ican’tcome, that he’s playing my body into a crescendo that it can’t reach without just a little more . . .

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