Page 133 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
I raised an eyebrow. “I have cooperated with everything you asked tonight.” I slid my hands to his hips. “I have been so very good. Don’t be gentle with me.”
“I didn’t plan to be,” he growled.
“I can take it,” I whispered just in case he second-guessed himself.
He held my gaze for one long second. His jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he said, low, like the word had weight. “I know you can.”
And then he drove into me in one long stroke, and I stopped being capable of complete sentences. Instead the wordyesechoed over and over in whatever part of my brain that was still operating.
He paused, his breath coming out in short, sharp pants.
“More. I need more.” My hips pulsed and circled.
He dropped his head to the crook of my neck, pulled out almost all the way, and then slammed back inside.
He set a pace that was not gentle or slow, and I met each thrust. His mouth pressed to my throat, and I tipped my head sideways to give him better access. Because whatever he wanted, I wanted it too.
My nails found his back. He groaned against my skin as I dug in.
“You’re so damn addictive,” he said, his voice rough and unsteady in a way I’d never heard before, and in that moment I was determined to make it happen as often as possible.
He shifted his angle—deliberate, precise, entirely on purpose—and hit exactly the right spot, and I lost what little was left of my composure.
His hips pistoned faster. His thrusts went deeper. His balls slapped my ass. Then he hit that spot one more time, and my vision blurred around the edges.
I shuddered beneath him, barely able to speak in single-word sentences. “Close. Close. God. Yes!” I came again, clutching him, gasping his name. It hit all at once—too much, too fast—pulling me taut until everything gave way, and I shattered around him.
“Fuck, Delaney. The way you’re squeezing my cock.” He grunted, low and deep. “I don’t think I can hold off much longer.”
“Then don’t,” I whimpered.
His hips sped up, snapping into mine. The slick sound of our bodies meeting filled the room, broken only by our moans. His whole body tightened after another hard thrust.
Marc’s chest heaved as he shuddered. His cock pulsed as it spilled his cum and my pussy clenched around him as my release kept going at the feel of his.
We lay there afterward, not moving or talking, our breathing returning in stages.
He placed a sweet kiss on my lips and rested his forehead on mine. “That was?—”
“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “It was.”
He pressed another kiss to my lips and got up to deal with the condom. When he came back, he opened the small mini-fridge tucked into his closet because, of course, he had a mini-fridge in his closet, and handed me a cold bottle of water.
I accepted it gratefully.
We sat against the headboard, shoulders touching, drinking water in the comfortable silence of two people who had just thoroughly exhausted each other.
I turned the water bottle in my hands. Thought about the evening. The couch, the movie, the dish soap I’d never found, his thumb rubbing along my arm. The lip balm on the nightstand. All of it accumulated into something I didn’t know what to name.
I didn’t have a category to place what we were.
And I was starting to think that was okay.
It was awhile before we said anything. The silence was peaceful as we came back into our bodies and just enjoyed each other’s company.
“Okay,” I said eventually. “Fine. Now you really win. Your way was so much better.”
“Still not a competition.” He laughed.
