Page 85 of Just Come Over
“You like that?” he asked.
“Rhys.” It was a moan.
The hard surface was still warm under her back, the sound of cooling metal ticking in her ears, the darkness around them complete, and Rhys was going so slowly, not letting her climb the way she needed to. She was trying to move, and she couldn’t do it, because he was holding her too tightly. Her hands slid across the surface of the bonnet, trying to find something to hold onto, and failing.
She said, “Hurry. Please. Please.” And he slowed down, his mouth lazy, like he had all day.
She was trying to climb, and he wasn’t letting her. She said, “Please.”
“I’m putting your feet on my shoulders,” he said. “Keep them there. Hold still for me.”
She reached behind her, found the indentation where the bonnet met the windscreen, and held on tight. And he got that finger inside her, spread her wide with the other hand, and ate her up by slow degrees. And when his little finger slid back to circle her, she sucked in a breath and moaned.
He held her there, breathless, trembling, for aching minutes, until her cries were bouncing off the hard walls of the garage, until she was burning. Until she was shaking. Then he sat back, pulled her feet off his shoulders, and said, “Not yet.”
“Not... yet?”
“Spin around, baby. Put your feet on the windscreen.”
Her entire body was throbbing. She had to come so badly, she was almost sobbing with it. He was helping her, though, repositioning her in the dark, when she was disoriented, pulling her down by the shoulders so her head hung off the edge of the bonnet and her legs were up high. He stroked her face, pulled her hair back, ran his hand down her neck, over her breasts, played there, and said, “Do you want to take me deep?”
“Yes.”
His fingers were on her chin, tilting it up. “Open up,” he said. And, slowly, slid inside.
She was frustrated as hell, and he knew it. She was burning, and she was about a centimeter away from exploding. And he pushed his way slowly into her mouth, testing her limits, tried not to groan, and failed.
He still had his hands on her face, tipping her head back, and he wanted to shove all the way inside. Instead he said, “Put a... hand around my thigh and hold on, so you can control how deep you take me. If it’s too much, if you want me to ease off... punch me. If you don’t want me to... come in your mouth...” It was hard to get the words out. Her mouth was so hot, and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that he could see her pale body spread out on the car, one foot flat on the bonnet, the other one stretching up onto the windscreen. He said, “Take your other hand and... let yourself come. Suck me hard. Show me how much you... missed me.”
Her mouth. Hermouth.She started to shift, to rock as the orgasm built, hard and fast, and with every centimeter she went higher, she took him deeper. He wrapped his hand in her hair, held on, held still, and thought,Let her do it, mate. You’ll be too much otherwise.
It was torture. It was going to kill him. She was making some sounds deep in her throat, where he was lodged, was gripping his thigh tighter, her own hand moving faster, and then, between one breath and the next, she was coming. He could hear her hips slamming against the metal, could feel the suction increasing as the sound of her breathing through her nose reached a frantic pace, and he had both hands in her hair and was yanking her head back and emptying himself down her throat. Like she was his, and he was her king.
Groaning. Cursing. Shaking. Gone.
Her legs were trembling so hard, she couldn’t control them. The blood had rushed to her head, because she was tipped nearly upside-down, and Rhys was salty-sweet in her mouth. He pulled out of her, and she kept her hand around his thigh and tried to get her breath. And still, her legs shook. He said,“Fuck,”which pretty much summed it up, leaned over, pulled her into his arms, carried her into the house, down the stairs, and into the bedroom the same way he had the first night, came down over her, and kissed her mouth.
“You were...” she said. “That was...” She couldn’t think how to go on.
“Mm.” He had her arms up over her head, was running his hands from her wrists to her shoulders, slowly, then back again, as he kissed her again. Still. “You’re beautiful. Taku toi kahurangi.”
“I don’t know what that... means,” she said, glad that she didn’t. Glad that this was just for her, just between the two of them.
“My precious jewel. I mean to be gentle, every time. I mean to be... sweet.”
She laughed softly against him and ran her own hand over the swell of biceps and rock-hardness of triceps. “You were a lot of things, but I don’t think ‘sweet’ was one of them.”
“Mm.” He kissed her mouth again, twined his fingers in her hair, and asked, “Anything I did that you didn’t like?”
“No. I love the way you surprise me.”
He stilled over her. “Shit.”
“What?”
He laughed, now, and pressed his forehead to hers. “You never asked if I brought you a present, too.”
“Oh.” She was laughing some more. “Never mind. I wasn’t expecting a present. You offered me a roof. How would you do better than a roof?”
