Page 15 of Pose for Me
Coming to someone’s house? Not the best idea. But I’m a federal agent trained in hand-to-hand combat. Ryell may be a few inches taller than me, maybe six-one or six-two, and about fifteen pounds heavier, but I’ve taken down men twice his size in the field. I can handle myself.
As soon as I step inside, Ryell closes the door and pushes me against it, kissing me hard.
I groan and wrap my arms around his neck. He delves his tongue into my mouth, licking around as if trying to memorize my taste.
I follow his lead, pressing my back against the door but rocking my pelvis against his. Fuck, he’s long. And thick. Even though his pleated slacks, I can feel the outline of his cock. He’ll fucking split me wide open.
I can’t wait.
My fingers inch up to his hair to thread through the strands, but Ryell snatches them away, collects my hands, and presses them above my head before I can think.
“Fuck,” I murmur, my dick throbbing at his show of strength.
Every day, I’m expected to be in charge, to be commanding and have my shit together. Right now, I don’twantto do that. I want this man, standing in front of me with his hard dick and commanding aura to take charge and be in control of my pleasure.
Ryell leans away from me, his hand drifting down my body. “I want you in my bed, naked.”
“Okay,” I breathe, pulling against his hands but not wanting him to let me go. I want him to grip me tighter.
“Upstairs, second door on the right,” he growls. “When I get there, you better not have a stitch of clothing on. Understand?”
I nod frantically. Ryell lets my hands go, and I almost trip over my feet to race up the stairs.
As I’m trudging to the top, it’s like my brain empties, and all my focus is on doing what Ryell told me to do. I’m not worried about work, messages left to me by a killer, dead bodies, or my walk of shame once Ryell falls asleep. I just want to follow his command and please him by listening so well.
I push inside the room he indicated, making a beeline toward the bed.
I don’t check out the rest of his space, too intent on getting my clothes off. After I remove my shoes, I almost rip the buttons from my shirt as I struggle to get it undone. My hands are shaking badly, so one button pops off and rolls somewhere, but I don’t give a shit.
Once my button-down is off, I drag my undershirt over my head and get rid of my pants and underwear. I toss my bundle onto an armchair beside the window, not wanting my stuff to be strewn about.
Naked and stretched out on the bed, I begin to feel self-conscious. Not because I have a bad body—I’m in good shape so I can keep up with young recruits and catch perps in the field.
It’s because I’ve never felt so vulnerable. When I’ve hooked up, I’ve still been in charge, still taking the reins, even when I bottom. But Ryell, even with our small exchange by the door, is take-charge. I’m out of my element.
Fuck, what am I doing here? Going home with a random guy because I had a shit day at work? It’s not smart. Hell, I tell peopleall the time in my line of work that this is one of the worst things to do.
I scoff and start to climb off the bed to get dressed, to get the fuck out of here, but Ryell’s big body fills the doorway, and I forget how to breathe. He’s so fucking sexy. Tall, with wide shoulders that taper down into a trim waist and legs that are the size of tree trunks. I wonder if he does construction as well as being an architect. It would explain him being so fucking fit.
He walks over slowly, and I climb back onto the bed, no longer feeling awkward about my nakedness. Not while he’s looking at me the way he is.
“Spread out on the bed for me,” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming as he stares at me. I do what he says, nerves dancing in my belly. “Arms over your head.” Shakily, I raise them, once again feeling self-conscious. No one has asked to see me like this. Even in past relationships, I’ve never had someone admire me like Ryell seems to, and I don’t know how to take it.
But judging from the bulge in his pants and the hungry look in his eyes, I think he likes what he sees.
“Beautiful,” he breathes. “Don’t move.” He continues to watch me as he gets undressed, taking his time. Every inch of skin he shows has my dick twitching and leaking, and I’m aching for him to fill me.
When he pulls his pants down and I get a good look at his dick, I audibly gulp. He’s even longer and thicker than I assumed when I was rubbing against him.
He grabs his length and tugs, a smug smirk on his face. “It’s not too much for you, right?” He knows it is and wants to hear the words.
Any other time, I wouldn’t dignify that question with a response, not into stroking anyone’s ego. But Ryell almost compels me to be honest.
“Looks like it might be. But I guess we’ll see for sure.”
“Oh, we will,” he replies, that smug grin still plastered on his face.
He climbs onto the bed and pulls me toward him by my ankle. I yelp, then giggle at being handled like this.
