Page 18 of King of Lies
And then he threads his fingers through the hair at the back of my head and crushes his mouth to mine.
I open underneath him and whimper as his tongue touches mine. I press myself close, as close to Rhys as I can get, and push my arms up to wrap around his neck. I feel the few bobby pins in my hair pop free as he pulls and it stings a little, reminding me of where I am and who I’m with. Although I still feel drugged, like I’m floating on the clouds, when he pulls back and looks at me.
His hand is still tangled in my hair and my lips feel swollen. But it’s the part of me that burns, like he’s lit me on fire and he’s the only one who can extinguish the flames, that has my breath coming in fast pants.
“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me you want this, that you want me like I want you.”
“Yes,” I whisper, and I feel him press his hardness into my belly.
“Say it.”
“I want you.”
“You’re sure … Absolutely sure?” he asks me.
“Yes.”
“I might perish from my balls withering and dying if I stop now, but I will for you.”
“Don’t stop now,” I whisper.
“You’re sure,” he repeats his earlier words and when I nod my head he says, “Say it. I need to hear the words.”
“I’m sure, Rhys.”
“Thank fuck,” he says just before he crushes his mouth to mine. This time, he lets go of my hair and I feel both of his hands on my backside as he lifts me up and grips me at the back of my thighs, wrapping my legs around his hips.
I gasp into his mouth when I feel the thick length of him pressed against where I need him the most. But I don’t have time to be scared because his long legs have us in my bedroom quicker than I have ever made it from point A to point B in this apartment.
He sets me on my feet, letting my body slide down his to stand in front of him, the softness of me pressing against the hard points of him as I go. He caresses my cheek with the tip of his fingers.
“Do you trust me?” he asks. I don’t have the power in my voice to answer him, so I just nod my head.
He slides his suit coat down his arms and lets it fall to the floor before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling them back. And then he reaches for me. Grabbing the hem of my sweater and pulling it up over my head to cast it aside. As his hands fall back down, he lets the backs of them graze my arms, my waist, the sides of my breasts, making me shift in front of him.
Then, as if we’re taking turns, he reaches for the buttons on the front of his shirt, popping them open, one by one, and then letting the luxurious material float to the floor. He slides the tips of his fingers under my tank, to burn my belly where they meet bare skin. And then he travels up, up, up, taking my tank with him, revealing my plain white bra.
“So sweet,” he says as he cups my breasts and leans forward, kissing the tops of them above the cups.
He reaches behind me and, with nimble fingers, he plucks open the clasp of my bra and slides it down my arms. He flicks his thumb over my nipple gently, making it plump and bud, and I arch, reaching for him as if I can’t help it. I have to. Rhys takes my nipple in his mouth and draws deep, flicking his tongue over the tip and I whimper, rocking my hips toward him, needing him—needing something, but I don’t know what.
He lets me go and straightens his spine, “Poor baby,” he whispers as he grazes my cheek with the back of his hand again. “Does it hurt much?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make you feel good.” I don’t reply, I just nod my head. “Turn around and climb on the bed, Hen,” he says, and I do as he asks.
I sit in the middle of the bed and watch as he flicks his wrist and unbuckles his leather belt, letting it fall open as he pops the clasp on his slacks and draws the zipper down, revealing a thick bulge behind black boxer briefs. I suck in a breath at the size of him. He kicks off his shoes and socks and steps out of his pants before falling on top of me.
My legs fall open and he settles between them before kissing me, tasting me. I feel his hardness against me, and I press my hips up into his. Pressure builds inside me as I try and push for more, more, more. I need … something … anything to stop the burning in me.
Rhys lets the weight of his hips press down on me and I let out a moan. He pulls back, dropping his forehead to mine and brushing the tip of his nose against the side of mine.
“Please,” I whisper harshly.
“I’ll make it as good as I can for you,” he says, his eyes blazing with promise. “But I hate that it’ll cause you pain and I can’t stop that.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. There’s something about the way that he’s being so honest with me that I know that he means it and it’s important to him. I know he really will do what he can to make it good for me and I have to trust in that. “I trust you.”
