Page 132 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Stay with me.”
“I’m trying—I’m—oh God—” I moaned low in my throat.
“Your sweet pussy is going to destroy me.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “My cock aches to be inside you.”
I moaned low in my throat. “Marc, I’m so … God … so close.”
“Let go baby,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”
There it was again.
I shattered. Not politely. Not quietly. My whole body locked up and then broke, and I screamed his name at a volume I might think about later with some embarrassment and absolutely no regret.
“Okay,” I finally said to the ceiling. “You win. Your way was better.”
“I wasn’t aware it was a competition.”
“Everything is a competition, and you know it,” I joked. I turned my head to look at him. He was already watching me—too focused to be casual, as if he’d been paying attention longer than I realized. He’d looked at me a thousand times before—annoyed, unimpressed, angry. Never like this. His gaze lingered—steady and deliberate—committing this moment to memory. As if he’d discovered how well we fit. As if that realization had caught him off-guard. As if part of him wondered whether this—whatever this was—had been inevitable all along. I reached for him. “Come here.”
A shift flickered across his face. The careful patience didn’t disappear—it cracked. Just enough to show me what lay beneath it—like he wasn’t about to miss a single part of me. His shoulders eased just a fraction, like a decision had been made. His gaze locked onto mine and then drifted, slow and intentional over me.
My breath caught. There was nothing restrained about it now. No careful distance. Just heat. Focus. Certainty. And the unmistakable sense that whatever had been holding him back—wasn’t anymore
He didn’t move.
I closed my eyes, debating whether to scream or jump him. Until I felt the bed shift and heard the rustle of clothes. “So help me, Marc. If you’re not undressing right this very fucking second, I’m leaving.”
We both knew I was bluffing.
He undressed with more speed and less finesse, then retrieved a condom from the nightstand and ripped it open.
“Stop!”
His hand jerked at my sudden shout, almost throwing the condom across the room.
“You got to look your fill at the sight of me. Let me admire you.” Now it was my turn to demand what I wanted. I gently slid the vibrator off and out of me. I shuddered from the aftershocks that sparked up my spine as I dropped it onto the bed.
“Delaney,” he warned. “What happens to brats?”
“What I want to happen,” I answered boldly. “Your cock in my mouth.”
He closed his eyes.
His cock bobbed in front of my face. It was long and perfectly thick, the head flared wide. I couldn’t wait to get my mouth on it, but first I wrapped my hand around the tip, spreading theleaking precum over my palm. It was thrilling to finally be the one to take control. He grunted as I slid my hand down over the head to rest beneath it as my thumb rubbed across the slit.
His hands landed on top of my head as I leaned forward and licked him from root to tip. I put my other hand on his thigh and pulled him closer before wrapping my lips around the head and sucking. His muscles beneath my fingers flexed as he moaned, his head falling back.
I let the saliva build in my mouth before I slid forward, working him deeper, running my tongue along the underside. I swallowed him further, then pulled back and sucked on the tip.
“Fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good.” He ran his hand over my hair, twined his fingers at the base of my skull, and without warning pulled, forcing my mouth to release his cock with a pop.
I frowned, already reaching for him—then stopped. The look on his face made me pause. “Later,” he said, his voice tight with need as he sheathed his cock with the condom.
I barely had time to say anything before he covered me with his body and settled himself between my legs. When he pushed against my entrance, I already knew what was coming. He was going to be devastatingly, infuriatingly, tenderly slow about it.
I pressed my heels into the back of his thighs.
“Not yet,” he said.
