Page 76 of Rafferty's Rules
I can’t help it—I grin up at him like he’s just paid me the biggest compliment. He takes my hand and sets off at a punishing pace, striding along the sidewalk, my own sore feet trotting after him. We’re just a block away from his house, but by the time we’re at his front door, I’m already out of breath. Speed walking, anticipation, and heart problems don’t really make a good cocktail, but as he slides the key in the lock, I decide if we don’t do this soon, it doesn’t matter, because my heart might explode anyway.
The door closes behind us, the noise of the street dropping away. The hallway is almost entirely dark but for the tiny glow of light from somewhere upstairs. There’s something about the intimacy of darkness, something I don’t think I’ve appreciated fully until now. As Rafferty steps towards me, like some genetic throwback or instinct, every one of my senses becomes amplified.
I’m aware of the rhythm of his breath and the hitch in it as I slide my hands under his shirt, pushing it off over his head. See the way his eyes roll closed as I wrap my hand around him, tasting the salt of his skin as I kiss his neck. The scent of him, musky and masculine under his cologne, but most of all, there is touch. Hands and fingers, lips and tongues, our mouths fused together as he moves me backwards along the hall.
At the base of the stairs, I realise he’s worked most of my dress open, cool air and his attentions have my nipples pebbling. He breaks our kiss only long enough to untie the belt from my waist, allowing him to push it from my shoulders. His hand spans my chest, his palm hot over my scar and his voice when he speaks is deep and masculine and genuine.All the wonderful boy things.
‘You’re so fucking gorgeous, Lis.’
‘You’re kind of pretty yourself.’
‘I’m pretty hard,’ he says in a low rumble that feels like fingertips against my skin.
His body bows as I flatten my hand on his hard length. And then he’s not the only one moaning as I tighten my grip on his girth, because he’s hard and so ready, I physicallyacheto have him inside. This thing between us, it’s like a living, breathing thing, a monster we’ve created, something with an insatiable need to feed. Because I know I’m not alone in this, not as his hands slide over me and his tongue strokes me in turn, and not as he thrusts into my hand. The next thing I know, I’m wrapping my legs around him, and he’s walking up the stairs.
Up...
...Three flights.
The man carries me the whole way and doesn’t let up on his kisses. As we reach the top, his hands are hard on the cheeks of my butt, the very tips of his fingers teasing where I’m wet. And I’m arching into him, my fingers woven into his hair as I moan and whisper broken sentences against his mouth.
‘I need.. . Oh God. Yes! Sweet Jesus, give—’
I can’t touch enough of him. Not with my hands or my mouth, not as I rub myself over him. We’re still kissing when we reach the closed bedroom door. He hooks his arm under my butt, while his hand blindly seeks the handle, his mouth descending on my breast, sucking hard before flicking with his tongue.
I wrap my hand in the hair and tug, bringing his gaze level with mine. ‘Please, Rafferty, hurry.’ I release his head. My demand is needy and desperate, but I need him to concentrate on the handle so we can get inside.So he can get inside me.
‘I have to taste you,’ he rasps, his head moving back to my wet, swollen nipple. But then the door opens, and we stagger in, a tangle of limbs and half-worn clothes, we collapse against the bed. ‘Need to feel you.’
A moment later, I cry out as his fingers thrust between my legs, whimpering as he gathers wetness from my seam, before dragging his fingers back to my clit. My body is electric, jolting from the bed, and though I’ve no recollection what I’ve said in response to his touch, it was clearly something as Rafferty whispers a low, ‘Fuck.’
‘Fuck.I thought dirty talk was new to you.’
His voice is deep and husky as he begins to deliver biting kisses along my body, working himself down the bed.
‘Yes, yes!’ A million times yes. ‘I need you inside me.’
‘No,’ he suddenly grunts, rising above me. ‘You need me to fuck you.’ The word pulses like a tiny burst of temptation inside. ‘Say it,’ he demands, rocking his pelvis into me. ‘Tell me again what you need.’
‘Make me.’
The words are in the air, and he’s looking down at me, smiling the kind of smile that’s almost a congratulation of his own cunning.
I actually groan as the delicious weight of him lifts, pushing up onto my elbows to watch as he stands by the edge of the bed. My heart rate stutters as he loosens his belt, pulling it free from the loops with an inciting glance.
‘You look like a Bond villain.’ His laughter isn’t at all comforting. ‘A pretty Bond villain,’ I add, my voice a little high and a little scratchy as he pops the button on his jeans then begins wrapping the black leather strap of his belt around his fist.
What is he up to? Was this on the list?
I rack my brains as I try to remember and come up blank. Who am I kidding? I can’t concentrate on anything but this man of angles and slopes, of wicked glances and secretive looks as he pulls my panties off and draws me up from the bed. He turns me, pulling my back to his chest. I shiver with anticipation as our eyes meet in the darkened dresser mirror. What’s his plan? The belt has several possibilities, but I discount most of them. He’ll tie me, not gag me, or worse.
What’s worse than surrendering to his will?
‘You look a little scared, bite-size.’ I physically jump at the sound of his voice, my body relaxing as he gathers my hair, pulling it over my shoulder. ‘Do you want to take it back?’Make me.I shake my head, and he chuckles like the devil himself. ‘I didn’t think so.’ My hair in his fist, he yanks back my head, and somehow, the sensation resonates right between my legs. ‘You’re not one to back down from a fight, are you?’
‘I’ve found I do like to wrestle.’
Lips pursed to resist his burgeoning smile, he shakes his head as he takes my hands in his, pressing them together as though in prayer. There’s something ritualistic about the motion of him wrapping the belt over my wrists again and again, and as the belt tightens, my insides begin to pulse greedily.
