Page 63 of Rafferty's Rules
‘No, babe, I always wear a condom,’ my mouth replies as my dick suggests a different plan.How about just this one time...
‘But I’ve never—and you always. And I got the implant last month.’In preparation for her wedding, she doesn’t add. But she doesn’t need to because my mind has shut down.
There’s no thinking to be done.
Unless I’m thinking about the experience.
No right or wrong.
Unless we’re not doing this.
Only want and desire and pleasure as, with a sigh, she opens to me, and I slide myself home.
Chapter 17
ALYSSA
This morning... this morning, I feel like singing. My smile would take up half my face constantly, if I’d let it, because I’m happy. When was the last time I could truly say that—that I feel joy? That I’m happy with my life and my circumstances? I inhale deeply, tempering my resulting grin for the hundredth time, and this time because I smell of Rafferty’s body wash. Though I’m pretty sure his deliciously manly smelling bodywash is the reason for the way my skin seems to glow. But I just feel good. No, great. I feel so peppy and happy that I would not be surprised if birds flew in through the window right now, along with possums, or maybe squirrels—do they even have squirrels in Australia—to attend my morning routine.
Because not only do I feel happy, but I also feel content. And just a little bit special.
I may have argued that my virginity was merely a construct—something I hadn’t really considered until the statement was falling out of my mouth—but I guess the lack of thinking it doesn’t mean it’s not true. Virginity isn’t something to be given or taken as a token of my desirability because patriarchy can kiss my butt. But... for all that thought, I’m glad I waited. If not for Rafferty, then at least for the experience.
Or experiences, technically.
The man has stamina. And mad, mad skills. And a tongue that should be illegal. In fact, I imagine it is in a few states!
A shiver of pure deliciousness shimmies down my spine, and I pause in the act of tying up my hair with my hands suspended in the air.
‘You okay there?’ I don’t turn from the mirror but watch his reflected appreciation from where he stands at the bathroom door, his eyes travelling over me in my entirety. I can almost feel the touch of his gaze from my feet to my face. I’m showered and fully clothed for this gorgeous day. Meanwhile, Rafferty is wearing nothing but the pair of shorts he’d stepped into when his phone had begun to ring at eight this morning.
He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist before his hands are pushing up my top and holding my breasts. That isn’t a noise of disapproval I make as his lips travel the sensitive skin of my neck. I’m not sure who I’ve become, this being of ripe sensitivity as I press myself deeper into his hands, the sight of them on my body coupled with his wicked expression makes my insides contract like nobody’s business.And it’s nobody’s business, even if I think he can tell.
‘I’m fine,’ I answer, my voice a little scratchy as he begins to tease my nipples through the fabric of my bra.
‘I have a meeting soon, so I’m gonna hop into the shower. I’d ask you to join me but...’
‘I beat you there.’
‘Maybe next time.’
‘Maybe you should add it to your list?’
He laughs and strokes his hands over my shoulder. ‘Maybe but what I was going to say was I’m going out and grab you some breakfast before I go. What would you like?’ His eyes travel over me in the most suggestive of ways.
‘You’re not eating?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’ll grab something later, but let me take care of you first.’ Gosh, even his low spoken words turn me on. ‘Because as my old mum would say, the status of my kitchen cupboards would put Old Mother Hubbard to shame.’ And how can he sound so matter of fact when he’s as hard as a rock at my back?
‘You don’t have to feed me.’ His response isn’t verbal, but I hear it all the same. He wants to feed me, and most likely not just breakfast. ‘But c-coffee would be good.’
‘Nothing else?’ he asks as his fingers continue to tease. With a small shake of my head, I place my hands on the cool countertop to centre myself, putting myself in a position he really seems to appreciate, if the noises he makes are any indication. Maybe I need to add this position to the list because if I tell him now, I might end up at the local emergency room. Not because I want anything kinky—no X-rays of cavities filled with bathroom implements for this girl—but because I think my lady parts might need a rest. Let me just say that Rafferty Phillips wasnotin the back of the line when God was dishing out that part of a man's anatomy.No wonder I’m moving about the place like a cowgirl who’s misplaced her horse, I think, as I make a mental note to explore my suspicion that Rafferty likes a little pain.
‘Granola?’ How can he make cereal and nuts sound sexy as he uses his teeth to slide the strap of my top off my shoulder?A soft kiss. ‘A bagel?’A tempting lick. ‘A bacon sanger?’A tease of his teeth.
Before my knees turn to Jell-O and I end up with my shorts around my ankles and bent over the sink, I twist out from under him, shaking my head again as though I’m fully conversant in his language. What the heck is a sanger? Maybe a sandwich?
‘I’m not really hungry.’ Unless we’re talking about feasting on him. Of course, that would be when my stomach makes a liar out of me by gurgling, and by gurgling, I mean it makes a noise like a whale in the last throes of death.Talk about embarrassing. ‘Mmmaybesome toast?’ I ask from the bedroom. ‘Oh, with peanut butter! And a blueberry muffin, if they have them.’ My mouth starts to water ridiculously as I add, ‘Don’t laugh at me!’
