And then her lips touch mine. Soft and sweet. That fucking perfect contradiction against her hands pulling my body into hers. Her tongue teases by tracing my bottom lip and thoughts of how it can trace the line of my cock have me reaching up to touch her face.
I make my hands go there so I can control the need to rip zippers and feast on her flesh, take the usual route when she is anything but my usual, when the situation is so far from my norm that I’m flying solo without a pit crew for back-up. So instead I force myself to part her lips with my tongue, challenge myself to see how long I can last with this tender and soft when all I really want to do is be rough and sate my greed.
I push my limits. Control the desperation. Even when her fingers dig in my shoulders and urge me on, I rein it in. Every time she moves, my dick rubs against her lower belly and I kiss her a little deeper to lose myself for just a moment. To encourage my resistance.
And then she sighs.
Sweet Christ. How can such a simple sound make a man want to lose his fucking control when he’s already held out against every other form of her unbeknownst seduction? But that sigh … fuck, the sound owns me in ways I never thought possible.
I can’t take the assault on my senses anymore. I just fucking can’t. I press my hands on the wall on either side of her head, my last attempt at restraint. And I’m such a dumbass that I think if my hands are not on her, I can control my urge to take her as I see fit. Take her in ways I don’t think by the innocence in her eyes she’s experienced yet.
Because shit, she’s a soft and slow, make love not just fuck kind of girl and I’m the exact opposite. Physical overriding emotional every day because I can’t do emotional. And she deserves so much better than me. I might be a selfish prick but I know this much.
The problem is she’s so goddamn addictive that even though I’ve occupied my hands, I allow myself one small hit. I rest my forehead against the curve of her neck, nose buried. My chest heaves for air. The scent of her perfume and shampoo make my balls tighten and use up my last ounce of control.
“Sweet Jesus, Rylee.” I lace kisses along her shoulder while my body aches painfully to have her wrapped around me. “We need to get out of here before you unman me in the hallway.”
I raise my head and look into her eyes. Last chance, Ryles. Escape while you can. But she stands her ground, unwavering, accepting of the warning in my eyes and the dominance in my stance.
“Come.” God help me because when all is said and done, I think I’m going to need it to walk away from her. She bites her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Even she knows I’m inviting her into the lion’s den.
I give her a soft smile, pretending I can’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, ignoring it as I draw her further in … and that makes me even worse of a man than I already thought.
We walk, desire leading us and desperation owning our thoughts. I think I mumble an explanation that I have a room, but I’m not sure because my thoughts are consumed by every single thing about her. Fucking consumed when I’ve never been this way before.
I usher her into the elevator, unlock the penthouse all the while my dick is begging me to push the red button, halt the elevator right here, right now and take her on the floor. Feed the greed and be done with her.
Return to familiar ground and be the asshole I know that I am.
I reach out to touch her back, begin the process, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t treat her like she’s inconsequential and prove her right. I mutter something about her hair, asking why she’s changed the curls I’ve thought about holding in one hand so I can watch while my cock fucks her mouth. She responds about not fitting a mold but shit my mind is back onto the image of her bobbing her head up and down with hollowed out cheeks and I can’t focus.
“Sometimes change is good.” She’s staring at me when I break from my thoughts.
I mumble a response about liking her curls, sounding so innocent but really being anything but because my mind is thinking about how fucking bad I want her right now. And then her comment breaks into my thoughts … sometimes change is good.
Is that what this is? A change from my typical so it’s got my dick in a twist?
Gotta be.
The warnings flood my head again. I need to tell her I’m in uncharted territory, that I don’t know what the hell is going on but the one thing I do is that she deserves a chance to leave before I can’t turn back.
“You have one chance to walk away.” The elevator dings, shattering my concentration that’s scattered as it is. I stare at her, need to see her eyes and hear her tell me she wants this without hesitation. “I won’t be able to walk away, Rylee.”
And that’s exactly what I need to do to ease the unsettling I already feel deep down in the parts of me I buried so very long ago. In the dark recesses where the promises I made to myself feel like they are beginning to unseat themselves.
Am I doing the right thing here when I know that fucking her just might hurt … both her and me?
Fuck. That’s exactly what all this is. I turn from her, needing a minute myself to decide whether the discorded peace in my soul is worth disturbing.
Snap out of it, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy. You have a woman willing right now. The same one you’ve passed up Raquel and her blow job skills for twice. You obviously want this. So fucking take it. You know how to walk when the sex turns to emotion so get your shoes and put them by the door for an easy escape.
But fucking hell take what she’s offering. Man the fuck up. Tell her how it’s going to be and then do it. Give her the option to only say yes because sweet fucking Jesus, if her kiss is that goddamn sweet imagine what the fuck her pussy tastes like.