Page 48 of The Wingman

I flatten myself and he crawls onto the bed. His eyes never leave mine as he runs his fingers over my arms.

“Hands above your head,” he whispers.

“What?” I frown at him.

“I want to do things to you.”

“I…want that too.”

“Then hands above your head.” He gestures with a nod to the headboard. “Hold the slats and don’t move them.”

“Rider—”

“Yes.” His eyes are dark and serious but also brimming with need…for me.

“What are you…doing?”

“I’m creating a safe place for you. I want your hands up and your eyes closed. Like you said, this isn’t about thinking.” He slants his head. “You trust me to take care of you?”

“I do,” I say, “But I want to touch you too.”

A warm smile curls up his lips. He likes the idea of me touching him too. “You will, but right now, this is all about you.”

My throat squeezes tight, and Lindsay’s warning bursts to the forefront of my brain. Am I giving too much of myself here? Will this end in emotional suicide for me? Rider must sense the change in me.

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to, do it all,” I say quickly, to reassure him, even though I’m not certain it’s a good idea myself.

“Are you scared?”

“Giving up all control is difficult for me.”

Stop being a chickenshit, Jules.

“With great risk comes great reward,” he murmurs.

“Quoting Thomas Jefferson, now are you?”

His soft laugh falls over me, the warmth of his breath raising the hairs on my arms. “Actually, I’m quoting Coach.”

I chuckle slightly, and it turns to a soft moan when his hands brush my hair from my face, his thumb tracing my nose and mouth.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. “Now trust me and close your eyes. I promise to take good care of you.”

I pinch my eyes shut tightly, even though I’d love to open them, see the heat in his eyes as he looks at me. But as darkness surrounds me, a little thrill goes through me. I can’t deny there is something exciting about letting myself go and living in the moment. Honestly, being in control all the time, being afraid of everything is exhausting.

“You’re beautiful too,” I say and his mouth closes over mine. His kiss is soft at first, but when I lift my hips, rub my sex against his raging erection, his tongue finds mine.

“Keep that up, and I’ll ruin you,” he says and shifts his body. He slides a hand between my legs, and slides a thick finger into me.

“Yesss,” I hiss and rock against his finger. His palm presses against my clit, and a keening cry escapes my throat. He swallows it with his kisses, and moves his mouth to my ear.

“I wasn’t kidding last night. I want you so fucking much, I’m going to make a mess of your sweet cunt.” I’m so turned on, my muscles quiver, my climax building. “Oh, yeah, you like that idea, do you?”

Since his finger is inside me, feeling my body’s reaction, there is no hiding my arousal.

“Please, make a mess of me,” I say, and ignore those knowing little bells jangling in the back of my brain—this man could very well ruin me in so many ways.

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