Page 35 of Rafferty's Rules
‘Lissa.’ I peel her hand away from my waist again, certain her somnolent self wants to get a hold of my junk before I attempt—not for the first time—to push her into the middle of the bed. It’s that or get out and climb in the other side because if I move another inch this way, I’ll fall off the edge of the fucking bed. ‘Lissa.’ I shake her shoulder gently. ‘Move over, sweetheart.’ In semi-darkness, her eyes flick open and blink furiously.
‘What time is it?’ she mumbles.
‘About time for you to relinquish some of the bloody mattress.’
‘Sorry,’ she mumbles again, flopping like a fish on a line as she manoeuvres herself to the other side of the bed.
But my head has barely touched the pillow when she’s behind me once more, her skin as hot as a thousand suns as she plasters herself to my back. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that the voluminous T-shirt she’s wearing is currently up around her tits. I sigh, even though my cock seems to be enjoying the feel of her leg as she hooks it around my thigh.
‘It’s like sleeping with a radioactive octopus,’ I grunt as her fingers trail across the front of the boxer shorts I don’t usually wear to bed. ‘A fucking randy hot octopus.’
‘What was that?’ Even her words are pure heat across my neck, even slurred with slumber. ‘You should go to sleep,’ she murmurs, brushing her lips against my shoulder as her hand sneaks up my chest this time. ‘I’m having such a lovely dream.’
‘Are you?’ I grate out because I’m having a nightmare. I readjust my cock. It’s as hard as a pole, and the fabric of my boxers are chaffing my knob end. Talk about fucking uncomfortable. ‘Did your fiancé never complain about you hogging all the bed?
‘No,’ she whispers, pressing her forehead against my shoulder as she trails her fingers down my chest—unconsciously, maybe—hooking her thumb into the elastic waistband.
I close my eyes and try to will my hard-on away. I should be asleep—knocked out for the count after the couple of days I’ve had. Instead, it’s taking every ounce of my restraint not to turn and press her to the mattress, to kiss her, to slide between her legs and open her up to my touch. What is it about the dark that’s so tempting? The urges I’d felt during the day—the desire to tip her chin and kiss her as she laughed, watching the last few drops of my wine swirling around the glass while wondering how much better it’d taste if I drank it from places other than her mouth—why was I able to push those urges away while, right now, I’m hanging on by a very thin and fraying thread?
‘I don’t suppose he would complain,’ I grumble, readjusting the head of my twitching cock again. What would anyone have to complain about, except for the presence of a T-shirt.
‘I can take it off,’ comes a quiet, and surprisingly wakeful whisper in the dark.
My body goes about as rigid as my cock. Jesus Christ, I hadn’t kept that little complaint in my head. Have I woken her up, sounding like a demanding?
‘Rafferty.’ The darkness amplifies the tremor in her tone. But is she nervous? Excited? Frightened? Maybe she’s still asleep. As her fingers start to tease the soft hair low on my abdomen, I become certain whatever she is, it’s not the latter. ‘Shall I take it off?’ she whispers, not exactly seductively, but there’s a definite huskiness to her tone. ‘Would you... do you want me to?’
Want. It’s such a small word. And it’s gotten me into trouble before.
A desire, an inclination.
A wish or a hope or a demand.
A craving.
A longing.
A yearning desire like nothing else.
‘What doyouwant, Alyssa?’Please say my dick.I don’t think I can be trusted to make this decision. I’m barely hanging on as it is.
So much for turning over a new leaf.
‘I don’t know...’ Her voice in the darkness sounds a little desperate, and coupled with the way she tilts her hips to rub her pussy against me, she definitely hassomeideas. ‘I want you to touch me, and ... I’m not sure what else.’
Reading between the sexual lines: she doesn’t want to have sex. But sex is more than just penetration, even if that’s my favourite part.
‘You want to go slow?’ I feel her nod against my shoulder.
I lift her thumb from where she teases the skin under the elastic, placing a soft kiss against her palm. My heart rate doubles as I turn, propping myself on my elbow to look down at her. Her dark eyes glitter in the darkness, and she sighs as she reaches out to brush a finger down my face. Heat instantly licks at my belly, my heart rate tripling as she trails it farther down my chest, hooking it into the elastic again.
‘We don’t have to do this. You don’t have to.’
‘Shush, Rafferty.’ Her lips brush against mine. ‘I want to see it. Feel it.’
‘You’re killing me.’ My lips chase hers, pressing firmly.Firm but sweet. Soft and slow.It’s a kiss that builds in heat and intensity until she’s moaning softly into my mouth.
‘You’re a really good kisser,’ my temptress whispers, her compliment like a caress in the night air. She tilts her head, giving me access to the column of her neck at the same time as I slide my hand under her T-shirt. My fingers brush the long scar on her chest but before I’m able to process that thought, her body reacts as though electrified as my thumb brushes her nipple.
