Page 12 of Baby Proposal
Further proof: I can’t come from him kissing my neck, that’s obviously not a thing, but when he tries to move away, I complain. Not with actual words, I’m beyond that, but with my hand in his hair and a consonant-less noise of protest.
“You like that do you, little one?” The bastard chuckles and returns to kissing me.
There’s a vague thought in my mind that I want to touch him too, but all my hands do is hold him to me. Past-me is yelling and bitching that I should explore his abs, his thighs, and his… Yeah, all the words for it are terrible but maybe cock is alright? It suits him. Rhys is cocky.
I’d love to touch him, but I’m incapacitated by how much I’m loving Rhys kissing me, and how even in my wildest dreams it never felt this good. My brain is not creative enough to have come up with a scenario where grumpy Rhys Cavendish was ravenously devouring me faster than I can figure out where I want to explore him.
But however much I’m enjoying him sending forked lightning over my body with kisses to my neck, I can’t keep him there. Rhys works patiently down. He is stronger than me and my boss, and that is how I account for the residual obedience. I don’t stop him. He reaches the neckline of my dress, growling when the stiff fabric won’t yield and allow him to access the swell of my breasts.
“You don’t have—”
I’m cut off by Rhys jerking the shoulders of the dress down to my elbows, pinning my arms in place. I’m wearing a soft bralette since I have breasts that are more tangerines than melons. So when Rhys pushes down my dress it goes too, and I’m utterly exposed, and set aflame. I let out a squeak of surprise and he raises his head and pins me with his midnight-blue eyes.
Whatever he sees in my face makes him hide a pleased smile as he lowers his head again. “Lean back.”
He holds my waist, my arms are trapped by the shoulder straps, and it’s utter trust to fall onto the sofa, Rhys’ grip still tight on me.
“So responsive, I bet you’ll be even more so when I come inside you,” he mutters, then my brain goes to mush as his mouth finds my nipple. When his lips touch me there, I discover he’s right. This feels much better.
I’m not really in control of the situation and if I tried to move I think I’d flounder like a chubby seal cub on the beach.
But with Rhys touching me, I don’t care. And I’ve never felt this good before. He is working utter magic. Have all the nerve endings on my skin always been connected to each other, with pleasure in one place firing off a chain reaction of delicious sensations? I presume Rhys hasn’t completely altered my biology with the simple expedient of… I lose my train of thought as he gently bites my breast.Bites. I didn’t know I liked being bitten.
But as he kisses down my torso, still covered with my dress, I think perhaps he has changed me. I guess he will, what with getting me pregnant. But already I feel more vibrant. Like someone turned up the sun.
He drags the skirt of my dress up. No asking, no “Please can I touch you?”. Rhys is the same here as he is at work. He’s decided he knows best, and he’s doing that.
Then he’s on his knees before me. My actual boss, this six-foot-three wall of muscle and testosterone, is kneeling at my feet.
“Lift your hips,” he orders as he looks at the plain white cotton knickers he’s revealed.
There isn’t time or space to be embarrassed about my underwear, because as soon as I move my hips, he’s tugged it down my legs and slips off my shoes too.
He cups my thighs and holds my eyes with his as he pushes my knees apart, then slowly, deliberately eases his gaze down.
“You’re wet.”
I chomp down on my lip to prevent myself from apologising.
“Is all that lovely cream for me, sweetheart?” His voice is gravelly as he lowers his head. I’ve never heard him speak like this.
I nod, but that’s not enough for him, as his breath ghosts over where I’m throbbing with need and he says, “Words. Use your words.”
“Yes,” I gasp out. “Yes, it’s for you. You did that to me.”
He hums with agreement and around his eyes creases in an almost smile. “I knew you’d be my good girl.”
Then he licks. A confident stroke this time, and I moan.
Is that really what I had to do to gain his approval? Let him taste me? Hell, if I’d known, I’d have jumped onto his desk and pulled up my skirt the first time he arrived in the office. I’d have been haranguing him about being an absent boss for a year and a half.
I have just enough presence of mind to watch him. I meet Rhys’ navy eyes looking back at me. They’re intense and hooded and he’s watching my every expression as he drives me wild. He lifts his head the smallest amount, like it’s painful to tear himself away but he must savour this, and runs his tongue over his lips. “You taste delicious.”
I don’t even have a chance to answer because he… Was that his teeth? Who knows, but all the air has gone from my lungs. I’m lightheaded, and every part of my attention is on my clit where he’s doing something specular with his mouth.
Then he licks me again, and again, harder and longer and I think he’s sucking at me as I pant and writhe. My breasts are still exposed and my nipples are hard. Fabric is rucked around my waist, since this shift dress isn’t floaty and easy access.
But Rhys doesn’t seem to care about any of that, so neither do I. He shifts slightly and there’s a touch below where he’s laving my clit.
