Page 66 of Stick Break
When he reaches for me, I let my hand fall away, surrendering. His thick fingers part me, slow and deliberate, and when he slides them through my slick heat, I groan, because my wetness has nothing to do with the shower and everything to do with him.
No one has ever touched me the way Rip does. No one’s ever seen me like this and made me feel so safe doing it.
“I could barely think straight all night,” I confess, breath hitching as he strokes again, so gently it borders on torture.
He lifts his gaze, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I haven’t thought straight since I found Goldilocks in my bed.”
I let out a surprised, throaty laugh and reach down between us, wrapping my fingers around his thick cock. He groans the moment I stroke him, my thumb gliding through the bead of pre-cum at the tip.
“I’ve been a mess,” I whisper, “Ever since I realized the name Big Bear had more than one meaning.”
That grin turns downright wicked. But there’s heat behind it. He shifts, moving his body between my thighs. With a hand on my hip, he inches a finger inside me, his voice gone low and rough. “You need this?”
“No,” I say softly. “I need you.”
And something in him changes. The cocky smirk fades, replaced by something infinitely more tender. Vulnerable. Real.
“I need you too, Charley,” he says, the words thick with meaning, no teasing in sight.
Then he lowers himself onto the bed, flattening out beside me. His hand curls around my thigh and he gives a firm tug, pulling me until I’m flat on my back and spread for him. My breath catches, and then?—
His mouth is on me.
His tongue finds my clit with practiced ease, with heat and…hunger. I cry out, my body arching. My hands dive into his wet hair, fingers threading through the strands as I hold him to me like a lifeline.
Because somehow, somewhere along the way, this man became exactly that.
How did this happen so fast?
His head moves in slow, devastating rhythms, his tongue drawing circles and his fingers slipping inside me like he was made for it. I can’t think. I can barely breathe. All I can do is feel.
“Yes,” I cry out, lost in the sensation, in the way his mouth works me like a symphony he’s been dying to play. I give myself over completely. To him. To this. To everything I thought I’d lost—the chance to trust someone, to want someone, without fear.
Because with Rip, it’s there. That invisible tether. Trust. Maybe it’s because we’re both hiding, and somehow in our hiding from the world, we don’t have to hide from each other.
In no time at all, my body breaks. Using his mouth, his fingers, Rip wrings an orgasm from me so powerful it feels like he’s tapping into something deeper than nerves and flesh. It’s soul deep. Bone-deep. I cry out, unable to hold it in, as every muscle in my body goes taut.
“Rip…yes…God, that?—”
The words tumble out, fractured and unfiltered, until I realize I’m not even making sense. I shut my mouth, but not my eyes. I keep them open, locked on his, needing him to see what he’s doing to me.
His lips are glistening, his face flushed with hunger and satisfaction, and he looks like he’s on the edge of unraveling just from watching me fall apart. Like my pleasure is his own. And somehow, I believe it is.
As the last tremors fade and my body slumps into the mattress, he shifts beside me. I reach for him instinctively, my palm sliding over the warm plane of his back, needing the contact. Needing him.
* * *
He leans forward, opens the nightstand drawer, and pulls out a box of condoms. I watch as he tears it open, focused and determined, and that’s when I reach out and gently take the foil packet from his hand.
He pauses. “What are you doing?”
I meet his eyes, heart pounding, not from fear, but from this. From trust, and risk, and the truth of what we’re about to share.
“Trust is hard for me, Rip.”
His brow softens. His voice follows. “Yeah, babe. I get that. Trust is hard for me too. But I’m still going to suit up. You can trust me on that.”
God, the way he says it. Soft but strong. Like a promise. My chest aches.
