Page 81 of The Downside of Love
Clearing my throat, I say, “I thought about how happy I’ve been for a while now with you in my life. How much I like you.” My eyes are tilted down as I say the words, too shy to admit it to his face.
He tilts my chin up, those eyes of his searing into me. “I don’t think I can come close to describing how happy you make me, Rory.” His voice is soft and heartfelt, pulling me in.
Shifting on his lap, I straddle him and grip his cheeks. I pause and search his eyes right before I lean forward and press a kiss against his lips.
At first I keep it soft. Little nips, warming him up, until I swipe my tongue along the seal of his lips, searching for entrance.
He doesn’t hold out on me, opening his mouth just as his hands slide up my thighs, just barely under the fabric of my sundress. He groans against my lips when my hands slide to his chest where I press against the thickness of his pecs.
So strong.
So stable.
My rock.
I wiggle my hips on his lap, feeling his excitement start to grow. Diving my tongue into his mouth, I lower my hands a few more inches, my fingers grazing over his hardened nipples. His body is like stone, thanks to the countless hours in the gym, or on the floor doing pushups. Constantly. At first, he tried to hide them in the morning when he started staying here. But I figured it out after I got out of the shower, his face red, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Now he does them without hiding, and I just sit back and watch the amazing flex in his back work up and down.
Mouths still connected, I shift back on his lap and move my hands to the belt of his pants. Sucking in a sharp bout of air, he grips my hands, halting them in their pursuit.
“Rory,” he breathes out, his voice labored.
“What?” I try to move again but he doesn’t let me, pinning me in place.
“What are you doing?”
Do I have to spell it out for him? “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Rory . . . “
Frustrated, I let out a sharp grunt and then move to the cushion, my body turned toward him, my mind igniting with irritation, frustration, and a whole lot of anger. “Why, Stryder? Why won’t you have sex with me?”
“We’re taking things slow.” He drags a hand down his face.
Taking things slow, yeah, I didn’t decide that. Wanting to get to the bottom of this, I decide to push his buttons. “Is it because you can’t bear the thought of seeing me naked? Am I that repulsive to you?”
His eyes narrow in on me, like lasers, anger piercing his pupils. “You know that’s not the truth, Rory.”
“Yeah? Seems like it. Every time I try to get more intimate with you, you’re always turning me away. Unless there is another reason, it’s the only thing I can come up with.” Getting really angry, I stand and grip the hem of my dress and pull it up and over my head, leaving me in nothing but my matching red lace bra and underwear.
“Jesus Christ,” Stryder mutters, dragging both his hands over his face this time. “Rory, what the hell are you doing?”
“Look at me, Stryder.”
He takes a deep breath and peers up at me, slouched on the couch, legs spread, a pained look in his expression.
“Tell me you don’t want me.”
“I would never fucking say that, because it isn’t the truth. You know I want you . . . so fucking bad.”
Moving in front of him, I bend at the waist, place my hands on his shoulders and watch as his eyes rake over my body, pupils dilated, strong jaw set in stone, lips thin. “Then take me, Stryder,” I whisper before sitting on his lap, my chest thrust forward, and my lace cheekies riding high on my ass.
“Rory, please.”
I grind on his lap, his erection aching to be freed from his pants, giving me an ample reminder of how big he is.
I lean forward and place my lips on his neck, slowly nibbling and licking, making my way to his ear as his hands find my hips and slowly slide down to my ass. Strong, wide hands splay across my backside, his fingers indenting my skin, his control slipping with each press of my lips.
Moving my hips again, I rub my center across his length, shooting a wave of pleasure up my spine. God, I want this man so bad.
