I pant for air. “Say that again.”
His lips brush my ear, hot breath warming me. “How about I just f**king kiss you?” He finds my mouth again, and we attack like we’re thirsty for each other. I drink him in with every kiss, my body curving towards his chest and his hardening against mine.
I cross my ankles around his waist, dying in this heat, in this insane pleasure. I don’t stop to think about what all of this means. I just focus on the feelings, some I’ve never even met before.
He breaks away again, this time to suck on my neck, his lips soft but the pressure hard and aggressive like him. My next moan sounds like a piercing cry. The spot between my legs has found his cock, only the fabric of our clothes separating us. The more he sucks, trailing a line to my br**sts, the more my back arches, bucking against him. And in turn, his crotch drives a little harder into me.
I barely notice that he’s untied my hair, the band around his wrist. The long blonde strands stick out wildly. The intensity between us stirs our need, and I thrust forward while he grips my ass, lifting me off the wall. He suddenly spins me around, and my back digs into the stair railing.
He kisses me again. I cry out as he hoists me higher, my bottom resting on the railing now. I sense the forty-foot drop behind me in the stairwell, the danger present, the risk quickening my heart.
He holds me securely, his arms firmly on my hips. And then he grinds forward, his dick right up against the spot that begins to ache and pulse. I have never been so wrapped up in a single person, in a single moment.
Ryke Meadows has invigorated my body and soul.
He is more than just my pillow.
My wolf.
My bodyguard.
He’s my everything.
Every time our lips meet, it’s like a new burst of energy between us. Our hands find new tantalizing places, mine slipping below his jeans, resting on the top of his toned ass. He skims my bare, sensitive skin along my ribs. His incredibly high stamina surpasses mine, and he has to stop kissing to let me catch my breath.
He runs his finger over my tingly lip. “Every theory you’ve ever f**king had about men, I’m going to prove wrong,” he tells me.
My chest collapses. I may pass out from this moment. I truly thought it would never come. “I had a theory that not kissing is sexier than kissing.” I was so stupid. I could do this forever with Ryke.
“I know,” he says. “And now?” His eyes fall to my lips.
I smile bright. “Just f**king kiss me.”
And he does, a grin lifting his lips. But the embrace turns just as sensual, just as intoxicating as the last. His hand rises up my shorts, underneath my panties, landing on my ass. He squeezes and I cry into his shoulder.
I dig into him and clench his hair harder, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, denying him my lips for a second. He tries to go forward to kiss me fully, and I resist, drawing back an inch. He stares at my mouth, his lips parted as he watches me with a lustful gaze. When I close the gap between us, my tongue runs against his, and his muscles harden. A groan catches in his throat.
He’s heated every ice cold crevice. Nothing about being with him is uncomfortable.
It feels right.
I toy with him again. And I lean back, subconsciously thinking a wall will brace me. There’s nothing. Air rushes out of me as I fall backwards, but Ryke supports me with his hands on my bottom. He lets me hang upside down, the blood rushing to my head.
These electric sensations heighten by ten more notches. I laugh, and he lifts me back up. My hair drapes messily in my face like I forcefully came to a stop on a roller coaster.
My voice reverberates off the cavernous stairwell. “I have a theory that skipping foreplay makes sex better, remember that?”
We’ve crossed one boundary, and I know we’re both the type of people to never slow down, to run around the bases at high speed. I want that with him. To freakin’ make a home run like we’re track stars on a baseball field.
He kisses my cheek, which almost restarts us all over again, but we restrain ourselves from attacking full force. “Not now,” he says. His eyes flicker to my canvas watch.
“I’m not tired,” I tell him. “If anything, I’m…” I can’t even say it.
“Wet?” He takes his hand off my ass and slips it down the front of my shorts. Holy shit. His fingers don’t go beneath my panties. He cups my heat, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re not nearly soaked enough for me, sweetheart.”
Ahh. I breathe heavily and I wrap my arms around his neck. Take me there. Right when I think he’s going to brush my panties to the side and slip his fingers into me, he retracts his hand from my shorts.
“Why stop?” I frown. “Is it because we’re in a stairwell?”
His hard gaze soaks in all of me. “Calloway, I’d f**k you in every corner of every hallway and then do it over again for good measure.”
My jaw unhinges.
“And I’d be more likely to f**k you in a stairwell than on a bed.”
“Why?”
He combs his fingers through my hair and holds the back of my head. “It’s more f**king fun.” He kisses me strongly again, my whole body pulling towards him. My h*ps roll into his pelvis. He turns his head from me and grips my waist hard. “Fuck,” he groans. His eyes fall to the way we’re pressed together, his c**k rubbing along a throbbing place of mine.
“How big are you?” I ask with heavy breath. I can feel him through his jeans. I know he’s big. I know he’s hard. I know he’s everything that I want.
“You’re not finding out today.”
I stick out my bottom lip.
“Don’t flash those green doe eyes at me.”
“They don’t melt your heart of stone?” I banter.
“Stone can’t f**king melt,” he retorts. “It just grows hot.”
“Are you hot now?”
His brows rise. “What do you think?”
I smile again. “So…” And then my lips slowly downturn as I realize something. He never answered me about his “girlfriend”—not really. “Are you going back to that girl when we return to Philly?” Is this some Paris hookup while we’re both away from our families?
He glares. “Fuck no.”
“Would you be upset if I dated the model from the other night again?”
His reaction says it all. He sets me on my feet with firm hands, and he clenches the railing on either side of me. Anger laces his dark eyes. “Do you want to date the other model?” His words sound stilted like he tried pretty hard not to swear.
“Wow, you managed to say that without cursing.”
“You’re killing me.”
I poke his chest with my finger. “You crushed my heart when you told me to go sleep with another guy.”
“I didn’t f**king—” He growls in frustration and runs his hand through his hair. I love, love when he does that, even when he’s upset. It lights my core on fire. “I never wanted you to screw someone else! For f**k’s sake, it broke my heart telling you to even pursue another guy.” He glances at his jacket pocket and groans with more irritation. He takes out his vibrating phone and ignores the call, putting it back. “Look at me,” he says.
My eyes meet his. He cages me back against the railing. “I can’t watch you flirt with another f**king guy.”
I shouldn’t bring it up again, but I do. “I watched you go down on another girl.” Pain wells inside me again, my stomach tightening at the image. “You kissed her knee. You looked at her like she was beautiful—”