Page 90 of Stick Break
The moment it hits the floor, his mouth finds that sweet, secret spot at the crook of my neck, the heat of his breath making me arch into him. His cock presses hard against the aching place between my thighs, and I let out a throaty groan, my hips instinctively seeking more friction.
His lips move lower, tracing a slow, wet path over the swell of my breasts. With practiced, devastating ease, he slides his hand behind me, unhooks my bra, and lets it fall. But this time… his hands aren’t rushed. There’s no frenzied, frantic tugging. Every movement feels intentional—like he wants to memorize each inch of me.
He pulls back just a little, eyes dark with need, his chest rising and falling like he’s trying not to explode on the spot.
“Lose the panties,” he says, voice low and soft, but commanding. A lazy grin curves his lips. “Slowly.”
I bite my lip, just to tease him. His nostrils flare. Good. Sliding my fingers into the waistband, I shimmy my hips, making the removal a whole event. He growls, a deep, primal sound that makes my insides tighten, and watches with rapt attention as I lower them, inch by delicious inch, until they hit the floor. I kick them away with a flick, and they vanish somewhere behind me.
I gesture toward him, smirking. “I believe you might be a bit overdressed, Mr. Hart.”
In that casually sexy way only men like him can pull off, he reaches over his shoulder and yanks off his T-shirt in one fluid motion. His shorts and boxers follow, landing in a crumpled heap. Then he offers me his hand.
My heart pounds. “What about the mess we made?” I ask, eyes drifting toward the trail of clothing and chaos behind us.
He growls, tugging me closer. “Leave it.”
I raise a brow. “What happened to my little neat freak?”
He shrugs. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”
“Funny. I was just thinking I’d like to be rubbing off on you.”
That earns me another growl—and a wicked smile. “As long as we’re rubbing.”
He pulls me into his arms, and I swear my whole body short-circuits. My heart pounds as emotions crash over me, wave after wave, I down want to swim out of. I want to drown in this man. Let him pull me under. Because with Rip, I feel safe.
And more than that, I trust him. Deep down in a way I didn’t think was possible anymore. Not after what my ex put me through. But this? This came easy. Natural. Right. My head should be spinning, but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s not. It’s clear. This is right.
I don’t know exactly what the future looks like yet—but I know who I want in it.
“Yes,” I murmur as we walk into the bedroom and he casts a hungry glance my way.
He freezes.
His eyes go from me… to the bed… back to me, panic creeping into his expression. “I—I’m sorry. I just assumed…”
I glance at the bed and laugh softly. “As you should. Because the answer to this?” I point at the mattress. “With you? It’s always a yes, Rip.”
Then I pause. Because something flickers in his eyes, a quick blink, a hesitation. Did I surprise him? Or… did I catch him off guard in a way that means he’s reconsidering his offer?
Before I can ask, he closes the space between us, capturing my mouth in a kiss that shuts down every overthinking cell in my body. His hands roam, his lips devour, and whatever he might have said is completely lost in the storm he’s stirring inside me.
I let myself focus on his touch. On the way he worships every inch of me. Honestly, a man can’t touch a woman like this unless he feels something more. Right? Maybe I’m just paranoid. Wounded from the past. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, because that’s what happens when you’ve been betrayed.
But Rip?
He’s not that kind of man. He doesn’t manipulate. He doesn’t deceive. He’s steady. Solid. Real. He leads me to the bed, and I fall onto the mattress. I spread my legs, but I’m not just offering my body…I’m offering my heart.
He falls over me, slides lower, his breath hot on my skin, and I gasp as his tongue finds my center—slow, teasing, devastating. My whole body trembles as he traces torturously playful shapes. Letters, one by one, like he’s writing a love letter only I can read.
“Rip, that is so good.”
His voice rumbles against me. “Yeah, baby… it’s so good.”
I can’t help but laugh softly, breathlessly. It always surprises me how much he loves this. How much pleasure he gets from giving it. But that’s Rip. Passionate. Focused. All in.
And right now, I need him.
