Page 73 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
“Thanks.”
He tipped his chin in acknowledgment.
I took a sip of tea and set down the jar. I guess he used these instead of glasses. It was such a Ridge thing to do. It made me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” His mouth quirked as if he was anticipating a good joke.
I shook my head, laughing again. “You.”
“You think I’m funny, Bellamy?” He grabbed my thigh and gave it a squeeze.
I took another bite of my sandwich and pretended that his nearness didn’t affect me. After I’d eaten my fill, I offered him my second half. He ate it in four bites. I’d counted. I licked my fingers again, sucking on them and moaning a little bit, making a big show of it because he was staring at my mouth.
“You’re a wicked temptress.” His hand coasted up my thigh, and it stole the laughter from my lips.
Post Malone’s voice poured from the speakers. He was singing about being here now. Pleading to be put out of his misery but don’t count on him to stay.
My gaze flitted between Ridge’s full lips and his deep-set brown eyes, where they stayed. An invisible force pulled me forward, and I slid off my stool at the same moment that he grabbed the hem of my T-shirt—his T-shirt—and yanked me toward him, widening his legs so I could stand between them.
It was hard to hide an erection when you were wearing sweats, and I had a sneaking suspicion he’d gone commando. It was also impossible not to notice that Ridge was big. In every way.
My hand ‘accidentally’ brushed over his dick.
He hissed. “Watch yourself.”
“Or what are you going to do?” I taunted. I flattened my palms on his chest and slid them over his smooth, warm skin to his shoulders. My hands curled around the back of his neck, and my nipples brushed his chest. “Too bad I won’t be getting any of this tonight.”
With a wicked gleam in his eye, he loosened the knot on top of my head, and my hair tumbled down around my shoulders and back. He threaded his fingers through it at the nape of my neck and dipped down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his breath soft and warm.
“Oh, you’re getting it, all right.” He kissed my jaw and my neck. Nipped my shoulder. His teeth grazed my collarbone. “I still have a tongue and lips and fingers,” he said against my lips before pressing them to mine.
His tongue pushed inside, and I sucked on it, eliciting a groan from the back of his throat that made me giddy. One of his hands coasted down my back to palm my ass. The other curled around my waist and pulled me closer until my chest was glued to his.
Our lips fused, and our tongues danced. Dueled. Fought for dominance.
I scraped my nails down his back, and he sank his teeth into my bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth.
I leaned into him, pushing my core against his length, and rolled my hips, seeking the friction. He growled. I moaned. Our teeth and lips clashed, our kisses hungry and needy.
His body was smooth and hard. Chiseled. His erection, long and thick.
Warmth radiated from his body, and heat pooled in my belly. The ache between my thighs intensified with every kiss from his merciless tongue, and I thought, maybe the joke’s on me. Because I wanted him. Ached for him.
I was so wet I could feel it soaking through the cotton. I wanted to climb him like a tree, sink down on him and ride him hard.
Roughly, he yanked on my hair, and I gasped as my neck arched, and he sucked on it, marking it with his lips and tongue. “Something to remember me by,” he said, his voice low and husky.
I wrapped my hand around him through his shorts and squeezed. He was big and so impossibly hard. I felt sick satisfaction when his eyes darkened and his breathing got shallow. “Something to remember me by,” I said, tugging on his length before releasing him.
The ball’s back in your court, baby.
He stroked my inner thigh. Softly, softly. Goose bumps assaulted my skin as his hand moved higher and skimmed the hem of the boxer briefs. “You want to feel my hard cock inside your sweet, sweet pussy, don’t you, Evie?” His fingers dipped under the cotton and traced the crease of my thigh. My core clenched, and I could feel my clit pulsing.
“I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you? I bet it would be so easy to slip inside you.” He cupped me and pressed the heel of his hand against my clit, drawing an involuntary whimper from my lips as his middle finger pressed into my hole through the cotton.
My fingers dug into his shoulders. “You’re all talk.” My voice sounded breathy, not at all like mine. “Why don’t you just do it?”
“And break my promise? Never.” He pinched my clit, and I cried out, silently begging for more.
