Page 59 of Rafferty's Rules
‘Lis.’ I close my eyes and swallow as I resist grabbing her tits. ‘Lis—’ I can’t get the words out, a question I barely comprehend.
‘Shh.’ It’s like she knows what I’m thinking as she presses her finger against my lips. ‘Oh, this is... ’ Her mouth is a softOas she grinds herself against me, causing us both to jerk.
‘Fuck! Fuck!’
‘Yes. Yes, please.Now.’ Her hand still at my nape, she pulls me forward, our legs tangling as she struggles to verbalise what she wants. I end up on top of her, her arse cupped in my hands and were kissing again, like we can’t go more than a few moments without our lips meeting.Lips. Tongues. The way her hot walls pull me in.
I start to move, slowly at first, as slow as she’d moved, but deeper, so deep we’re both moaning. Our fingers entwined, I alternate between these deep slides and small punches of my hips. And Lissa loves it, her lips chasing mine with each withdrawal.
I tighten my hands on her cheeks, pinning her in place as I thrust into her hard and fast, fucking her like I need to. Fucking her like she begs me to as her heels dig into my arse, her moans become louder, and her movements more desperate. As I work her nipple into my mouth, she cries out hungrily. My hips begin to pump and flex as I fuck her harder. I fuck her as though I need to be inside her.
Her eyes glazed, her body stiffens as I lower my mouth to her ears and whisper,
‘I can feel you coming. Coming for me.’
She is a thing of beauty. And she is mine.
And with that last sentient thought, I do as her body commands, following her swiftly.
~*~
‘Wow,’ Lissa whispers. ‘Just wow. I’m beginning to wonder about the logic of not doing that earlier.’
My heart has only just begun to regulate as Lissa’s words float into my brain, my chest rising with some semblance of a chuckle. We’re both on our backs, and where our skin touches, there’s heat. The temperature kind, sure, but if I’m honest, there’s also the lingering, craving kind. The kind that makes me want to see what other ways I can make her call out my name in the throes of passion.
On her knees?
Her side?
With her ankles over my shoulders?
‘Earlier?’ I must be fuck drunk because the point is only just sinking in. ‘You’ve only been here two days.’ Her responding laughter sounds forced, and if I’m honest, kind of cryptic.
‘I bet you’ve had women from first meeting to bed in much less time.’
I frown even though it doesn’t sound like an accusation, mainly because she’s right. I’ve had my share of one-night stands and casual fucks, and I even once screwed a nurse in a hospital broom cupboard who, not five minutes earlier, had dressed my sports-induced wound. But I’m not doing that kind of shit these days.
Except look what you’re doing right now.I push the thought to the back of my mind.
‘But if we’d fucked the first night, a, you wouldn’t have remembered it, and b, it wouldn’t have been fucking.’It would’ve been rape, my mind unnecessarily supplies. Like I’d ever fucking consider something so abhorrent.
‘Yeah, but that’s not you,’ she says, rolling over to face me. Jesus, I love how flushed her face is, her eyes dark and sparkling, taking on an amber hue in the light.
I reach out and brush a tangle of hair away from her face. She looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards; just another sign of a good, solid fuck.
‘Do you... do you think we might do it again?’
‘Are you tryin’ to kill me?’ I joke, welcoming the sudden gust from the window to cool my heated skin.
‘Oh, does it take you a while before . . .?’ She blinks rapidly but keeps her eyes level with mine. ‘Please pretend I didn’t ask that. It was very insensitive of me.’
I prop my head on my hand, and with a telling glance at my already stiffening dick, I ask, ‘What do you think?’
Her eyes follow the motion, the colour in her cheeks deepening.
‘I wasn’t sure if—’ She halts again, which I immediately put down to her preventing some comparison, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what makes her smile fall, her hands beginning to pat the mattress as though she’s looking for something. The note?
Something prods at me, something in her expression or her reluctance to hold my gaze. Something creates a question. Not the kind of question new lovers asks as they bask in the luxury of a post-coital glow. Not the playful kind of question or the kind meant to deepen a connection or add a little meaning to a moment that might otherwise be nothing but a meeting of flesh.
