Page 40 of Safe With You

“I can’t have sex with you,” I blurt the words out, instantly embarrassed at how it sounds since I’m the one who just tore my top off. “Not tonight.”

Here I have the most beautiful man I have ever seen, underneath me and most likely willing to go as far as I will let him. I imagine he’s used to women who don’t have to fake their confidence. Women who are willing to let him take and are sure enough in their sexual ability that they equally takefromhim.

He gives a soft laugh and warm breaths fans against my chest. “We won’t be having sex tonight.” His response isn’t sarcastic or condescending, instead very matter of fact.

“No?”

He looks up at me, brushing my hair over my shoulders, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “I can think of a thousand ways to make you feel better that don’t involve sex.”

I stare down at him, chewing my bottom lip.

A husky groan escapes him as he reaches up with his thumb to pull my lip from my teeth. “Do you trust me?” he asks, a level of insecurity in his voice I hadn’t expected.

I brace for the warning sirens to sound in my head—stop, run, tell him to leave—but the only thing I hear is my heart pounding a sweet symphony as his fingertips graze up and down my arms.

There were so many times over the years when my sister and I would drive to the lakeshore during a heavy winter storm. We’d sit in the safety of a warm car and watch the dark, icy waves crash angrily against the rocks. To the outsider looking in, the waves were intimidating. But once you found the patternof each swell and crest, once you overlooked the burn of the cold, you’d find an eerie beauty to the whole scene. You’d realize the waves are a reflection of a larger storm brewing elsewhere. Ryan’s my winter storm; he’s an intimidating shadow, warning off most who dare to enter. Some people see him and only focus on the cold, but to me, he’s peaceful. He’s the calming scene I desperately need.

This man took extra time out of his day, hoping to makemefeel better because he was worried about how I felt. Thesameman who talked me off a ledge the other night after a terrible shift. Gestures that might seem simple from the outside looking in but speak volumes to me. Plus, the last thing I said to Elda was that if the opportunity presented itself, I’d consider it. Doesn’t that give me my answer?

I lean back into him, coaxing a kiss, letting my body show him how much I trust him as I grind my hips over his hardening cock. He shifts below me, lining us up just right. My mouth stays on his as I fumble to pull his sweatshirt over his head, immediately reaching for his t-shirt to do the same, needing more, craving every bit of skin-on-skin contact I can get.

I swallow a gasp when I see his bare chest for the first time.

Somehow, his body is even better than I imagined. Every muscle is toned, defined, and perfectly symmetrical with a hint of a tan leftover from the summer. A dusting of dark hair covers his chest and leads down beneath the waistband of his pants.The hours he spends at the gym training for whatever ridiculous marathon or triathlon, playing basketball, or doing whatever it is men like him do have done him well.

Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around his neck, letting my breasts gently press against his hard chest, causing my nipples to harden at the contact. He kisses me softly, running his broad palms around my hips, squeezing my ass before both hands travel up my back to grip my shoulders.

His fingers comb through my hair, pulling my head back to graze his lips across my flesh, hot breath tickling as his tongue finds the small groove near my collarbone, up my neck, and pausing over my thundering pulse, only to find my mouth again.

I’m speechless, absolutely dumbfounded at the impact his lips have on my skin. If this was it, if this was my last sexual experience on this earth, Lord, I would die a very happy and satisfied woman. My body has become a liquid mess, completely and utterly pliant at the sensations he’s creating. I melt into him as he trails ravenous kisses down my neck, wrapping my hair around his wrist and pulling me back to gain better access to my breasts.

His mouth never stops, marking himself on my skin with each little nibble and lick he delivers, and I can almost hear his smile as he teases my nipple with his tongue. My hips selfishly grind on his thick length, no doubt in my mind he wants this as much as I do.

Ryan pulls his mouth away and I whimper at the loss. With a sinister smile, he locks his eyes on mine as he traces his hand between my breasts, down my stomach, toward the waist of my shorts. He pauses for a second, giving me one last opportunity to tell him to stop.

No chance in hell I’d tell him to stop touching me now.

He glides his palm inside my shorts, his fingertips skimming my pussy, and I buck. He pushes further, sliding one of his thick fingers through my sex, groaning into my chest when he feels how ridiculously wet he’s made me.

“Baby … fuck …” That is all he can manage to say as he slowly uses that wetness to massage my clit, sweeping in circles at a painstakingly slow pace before pushing two fingers deep inside me. I clench myself around him, gasping from the exquisite change of pressure, from the fullness. And then he’s back tokissing me, hard, letting his tongue mimic each thrust of his fingers.

Every motion, every tilt of my hips, takes me higher as I greedily ride his hand. He presses his fingers forward and hits a spot that makes my toes curl. When I throw my head back and moan, he kisses my jaw, along my neck, working his way to my ear, and bites my earlobe.

“I want to be in here,” he grits out, pumping his fingers harder.

I moan louder, breathlessly, wrapping my arms around his neck to crash my mouth to his, nearly drunk from the pleasure.

“And I’m going to be here soon,” he says against my lips.

I’d balk at his comment if it weren’t so damn obvious it’s true. I can deny him all I want—hell, I can tellmyselfI won’t be having sex with him—but we both know my ability to resist him is waning.

My body heats to an inferno as I race toward my orgasm. I run my hands up his perfectly sculpted biceps and study his strong jaw and the soft stubble covering it. My hands thrust into his hair, pulling his head down to my chest. He continues to suck and bite my skin, but it’s not enough. My body wants more, and I find myself wishing he’d make a liar out of me. That he’d throw me down on the couch, strip off his clothes and fuck me senseless. “Ryan.” I cry out, shaky hands fumbling for a grip on his shoulders. “I need … I …”

“I know what you need, baby,” he says, wrapping his forearm around my hips to pull me down on him, adjusting his position to hit the spot I’m so badly aching him to hit.

“Fuck,” he says through gritted teeth. “Let me watch you, baby. Come on my hand, show me how good you look, and next time I’ll let you come on my cock.”

As if I needed any more encouragement than that.

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