Page 75 of Offside

“Good girl,” he said. “My good girl.”

I clenched around him and he groaned—low and wrecked—and I felt it everywhere.

He started to move.

It was exactly what I’d asked for. Deep and hard and not gentle, each stroke building on the last, finding the angle that made me gasp and staying there. He reached around and took my breast in his hand, his fingers finding my nipple, rolling and tugging while he moved inside me and I pushed back to meet him and lost the ability to be quiet about any of it.

“Feel how well you take me,” he said against my ear, his voice rough and low, his rhythm not letting up for a single second. “You feel that? How perfectly you fit around my cock?”

“God,” I said. “Yes. Yes.”

“This pussy was made for me, Maren.” He drove deeper and felt me clench and groaned against my throat. “Nobody gets to touch it but me. You understand that?”

He’d already ruined me for any other man. There was no way I’d ever get over the combustible chemistry we had.

“Yes,” I said. “Only you. Only ever you.”

He pulled me up then—hands at my waist, bringing me up onto my knees with him, my back to his chest, the full length of him inside me from this angle making my vision blur at the edges. His arm crossed my body, holding me against him, and I felt his heart pounding against my spine and his breath against my neck and every point of contact between us was electric and certain.

His mouth found the curve of my neck. His other hand slid down my stomach—slow, mapping every inch of skin—and then he guided my hand between my thighs, pressing my fingers to where I was swollen and slick and desperate.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Right there. Do you feel how wet you are for me?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Don’t stop.” He kept moving inside me, deep and steady, his mouth at my throat, his hand covering mine, guiding the pressure and the rhythm. “Do you want to come, baby?”

“Yes,” I said. “Please. Ryan. Yes.”

“Then show me,” he said. “Let me feel it. Come all over my cock.”

I looked back at him over my shoulder—flushed and completely undone, past the point of managing anything, past the point of pretending—and he slowed, just barely, his eyes finding mine in the low light.

“Baby, you okay?” he asked, a quick moment of tenderness, checking in. Quietly. Just Ryan.

I met his eyes for one second. I stared at his jaw, tight with the effort of holding back. At his stare, dark and certain and completely focused on me.

“Please,” I said, “don’t ever stop fucking me like this.” Nothing had ever felt so good, so overwhelming of all my senses. I was lost in it, and it was because of him. He gave me everything.

“Aldrig,” he said. Low. Wrecked. Like the word came from somewhere he didn’t usually let anyone near.

He ran his palms over my tits, pinching each nipple, and then he put me back on all fours.

He drove into me harder—deeper, relentless, his hands gripping my hips with no pretense of gentleness, exactly what I’d been begging for—and I gripped the headboard and pushed back to meet him and let myself be completely loud about it. His hand found my hip, the other splayed warm and firm across my lower back, holding me exactly where he wanted me, and I felt every stroke of him deep and full and perfect and I was right there, right at the edge, my whole body coiling tight⁠—

The slap landed on my ass, sharp and sudden and completely unexpected.

I came apart.

Instantly. Completely. Every muscle I had releasing at once, my whole body shaking, his name breaking apart in my mouth in fragments I couldn’t control. He worked me through it without letting up—deeper, harder, wringing every last second out of it—until I was trembling and gasping and boneless and the grip on the headboard had gone slack.

He followed me over moments later. Both hands gripping my hips, his forehead dropping to my back, my name rough and wrecked in his throat like it was the only word he had left. “Fuck, Maren.”

We stayed like that for a moment. Both of us breathing hard. The room very quiet around us, the city light low through the blinds, the sheets twisted and warm underneath us.

Then he gathered me up—arms coming around me, pulling me back against his chest—and pressed his mouth to my hair and held me there while our breathing slowed.

I leaned back against him and thought about what I’d said.