Page 443 of Face Off

Ryan’s eyes meet mine. “Say it again.”

“I want you.”

“More.”

“I want your cock inside me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I want to feel who I touched myself for the night you called and every lonely night after. I want the real man, the real weight, and the real sound you make when you stop controlling yourself.” My legs close around his hips. “I want you to fuck me in your kitchen because neither of us can survive waiting long enough to reach your bed.”

Ryan pushes inside me.

The stretch steals every word I might have given him next.

My fingers dig into his shoulders as he enters slowly enough for my body to take him, but there is nothing gentle in the expression moving across his face. His control hangs by whatever remains after seven months of remembering my body and one night of listening to me come around my own fingers while telling him I wished they belonged to him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Charm.”

He presses deeper.

The fullness becomes almost painful before my body yields around him. Ryan watches every change in my face, stopping only when his hips settle against mine and no distance remains between us.

Neither of us moves.

His entire body shakes.

I place both hands against his face. “You’re here.”

He turns his mouth into one palm. “You’re around me.”

A laugh breaks through the tears burning behind my eyes.

Ryan’s expression collapses with mine. He kisses me before the laugh can become a sob, swallowing every sound while his arms close around me.

Then his hips move.

The first thrust is slow and deep.

My body grips him on the retreat, reluctant to lose a single inch before he presses inside again. His pace builds with every stroke, control surrendering to the desperation that drove us across states and through months of separation.

The counter begins striking the cabinet beneath it.

Ryan’s mouth stays against mine while he fucks me harder. One arm locks around my waist to prevent the slick surface from moving me away from him. His other hand grips the back of my neck, keeping my face close enough that every ragged breath passes between us.

“This is what you were begging for over that fucking phone?”

“Yes.”

“You wanted me instead of your fingers?”

“I always wanted you.”

His next thrust tears a cry from me.

“Say it again.”

“I wanted you every time.”