Something Reckless
Page 46
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Obviously, there was somewhere Dad would’ve rather been. Jacqueline wouldn’t have happened if Mom had been enough for him.
When I tell a woman that I’m a no-strings-attached kind of guy, I mean it, and I’ve never been tempted to be anything else—except for with Liz.
Last night, I confessed that I think about her, but that was a watered-down version of the truth. The truth is that Liz has a hold on something so much deeper than my thoughts, even deeper than my fantasies. I crave her. I have since she came to my house at Notre Dame. She’d gotten drunk and climbed onto the bar in the basement, and every guy in the room had been captivated. I’d wanted to punch them all—because she was only seventeen. And because she was mine.
That possessiveness where she’s concerned has never gone away, even if it doesn’t make any damn sense. But if my father is going to insist I see someone, why not her? Why not the woman who occupies so many of my thoughts and fantasies? It’s the perfect solution. I appease Dad and set Della’s mind at ease. And maybe by the time the election rolls around, I’ll finally be able to let her go.
She moans as she rolls away from me and slowly sits up.
Without looking at me, she climbs out of bed, gathers her underwear off the floor, and tiptoes to the door. I could stay here and let her leave. It would send the message that this is just sex, and that I’m still the guy who has nothing more than that to offer.
And that’s exactly why I climb out of bed, pull on my boxer briefs, and follow her into the living room. I find her standing there in nothing but her panties, her arms behind her back as she clasps her bra.
Stalking to her quietly, I wrap my arms around her from behind, pinning her hands to her sides.
She moans as I drop my mouth to her neck. “I have to leave. My family will be expecting me at breakfast.”
I cup her breasts in my hands, finding her nipples through the lace of her bra. “Tell them you’re sleeping in,” I murmur against her throat, and she melts into me.
“Can’t,” she whispers. “My mom would come to my room.”
I snake my hand down her stomach and let my fingers brush the lace of her underwear. She draws in a long breath, fighting for control in a struggle I intend to see her lose. “I’m not done with you yet.”
My fingers slide under the lace. She sighs and covers my hand with hers, urging me further south.
Instead of obeying the silent plea, I spin her around, grab her by the hips, and hoist her onto the back of the couch. I spread her legs and step between them as I draw her closer.
She grabs a handful of my hair and draws my mouth to hers, and I kiss her. She tastes like breath mints and temptation.
She locks her ankles behind my back and squeezes me with her thighs. I drop my mouth to her breast and latch on, sucking at her through the lace until she cries out.
My fingers replace my mouth, and I toy with her nipple. Her lips part and desire sweeps across her face in waves.
I love how Liz resigns herself to pleasure. She doesn’t fight for it or against it like some women. She lets it wash over her, accepts it as the natural process that it is. She rides the wave, cresting with the highs and wallowing in the lows.
“I need to feel you,” I hear myself whisper. Half a step back, and I slide my hand between our bodies and cup her wet heat in my hand. I feel her, hot and slick through her panties, and it’s not enough. Tugging the lace to the side, I sink two fingers into her. She’s ready and wet around my fingers.
“Yes. Please,” she whimpers. Her head falls back and her nails bite into my arms.
“I love the way your pussy squeezes my fingers,” I whisper in her ear. “Hot and tight and greedy—Jesus, Liz.” I swear, if she so much as grazed her fingers over me right now, I’d be at risk of going off in my briefs. She’s just that sexy.
I rotate my hand slightly and find her clit with my thumb, grazing it lightly as I grit my teeth and hold back my own need. I want to peel off my boxers and bring her down on my shaft, cradle her ass as I take her against the wall.
Suddenly, she stiffens in my arms and starts smacking my hands away.
“Sorry!” The squeaked apology comes from behind me. “Oh, God! So sorry!”
* * *
Liz
I hop off the couch and scramble away from Sam. I feel like a teenager who just got caught letting her boyfriend get to third base.
“Jesus, Ryann,” Sam growls. “Heard of knocking?” He’s standing there in nothing but boxers, his hard-on clear as day.
Ryann, his younger sister, is standing with her back to us now. “I didn’t know you’d have company. Trust me, I didn’t want to see that. Ever. I’m going to have to take a scouring pad to my brain.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’ll go get dressed,” I mutter.
“Um . . .” Ryann grabs my dress off the foyer floor and holds it out to the side between two fingers without turning to look at me.
“Thank you,” I mumble. As I grab it, my phone buzzes from my purse where I left it by the door last night. I frown. That tone is the sound for the chat client, and no one but River uses that to contact me. No one but Sam, I mentally amend. I hurry into my dress then grab my phone from my purse to open the message.
Riverrat69: I’m sorry I had to bail on you. I had a family matter and couldn’t get away. I hope you can forgive me.
I blink at the message then look up at Sam, expecting to see his phone in his hand, but he’s standing in the living room in his boxer briefs, no phone in sight.
When I tell a woman that I’m a no-strings-attached kind of guy, I mean it, and I’ve never been tempted to be anything else—except for with Liz.
Last night, I confessed that I think about her, but that was a watered-down version of the truth. The truth is that Liz has a hold on something so much deeper than my thoughts, even deeper than my fantasies. I crave her. I have since she came to my house at Notre Dame. She’d gotten drunk and climbed onto the bar in the basement, and every guy in the room had been captivated. I’d wanted to punch them all—because she was only seventeen. And because she was mine.
That possessiveness where she’s concerned has never gone away, even if it doesn’t make any damn sense. But if my father is going to insist I see someone, why not her? Why not the woman who occupies so many of my thoughts and fantasies? It’s the perfect solution. I appease Dad and set Della’s mind at ease. And maybe by the time the election rolls around, I’ll finally be able to let her go.
She moans as she rolls away from me and slowly sits up.
Without looking at me, she climbs out of bed, gathers her underwear off the floor, and tiptoes to the door. I could stay here and let her leave. It would send the message that this is just sex, and that I’m still the guy who has nothing more than that to offer.
And that’s exactly why I climb out of bed, pull on my boxer briefs, and follow her into the living room. I find her standing there in nothing but her panties, her arms behind her back as she clasps her bra.
Stalking to her quietly, I wrap my arms around her from behind, pinning her hands to her sides.
She moans as I drop my mouth to her neck. “I have to leave. My family will be expecting me at breakfast.”
I cup her breasts in my hands, finding her nipples through the lace of her bra. “Tell them you’re sleeping in,” I murmur against her throat, and she melts into me.
“Can’t,” she whispers. “My mom would come to my room.”
I snake my hand down her stomach and let my fingers brush the lace of her underwear. She draws in a long breath, fighting for control in a struggle I intend to see her lose. “I’m not done with you yet.”
My fingers slide under the lace. She sighs and covers my hand with hers, urging me further south.
Instead of obeying the silent plea, I spin her around, grab her by the hips, and hoist her onto the back of the couch. I spread her legs and step between them as I draw her closer.
She grabs a handful of my hair and draws my mouth to hers, and I kiss her. She tastes like breath mints and temptation.
She locks her ankles behind my back and squeezes me with her thighs. I drop my mouth to her breast and latch on, sucking at her through the lace until she cries out.
My fingers replace my mouth, and I toy with her nipple. Her lips part and desire sweeps across her face in waves.
I love how Liz resigns herself to pleasure. She doesn’t fight for it or against it like some women. She lets it wash over her, accepts it as the natural process that it is. She rides the wave, cresting with the highs and wallowing in the lows.
“I need to feel you,” I hear myself whisper. Half a step back, and I slide my hand between our bodies and cup her wet heat in my hand. I feel her, hot and slick through her panties, and it’s not enough. Tugging the lace to the side, I sink two fingers into her. She’s ready and wet around my fingers.
“Yes. Please,” she whimpers. Her head falls back and her nails bite into my arms.
“I love the way your pussy squeezes my fingers,” I whisper in her ear. “Hot and tight and greedy—Jesus, Liz.” I swear, if she so much as grazed her fingers over me right now, I’d be at risk of going off in my briefs. She’s just that sexy.
I rotate my hand slightly and find her clit with my thumb, grazing it lightly as I grit my teeth and hold back my own need. I want to peel off my boxers and bring her down on my shaft, cradle her ass as I take her against the wall.
Suddenly, she stiffens in my arms and starts smacking my hands away.
“Sorry!” The squeaked apology comes from behind me. “Oh, God! So sorry!”
* * *
Liz
I hop off the couch and scramble away from Sam. I feel like a teenager who just got caught letting her boyfriend get to third base.
“Jesus, Ryann,” Sam growls. “Heard of knocking?” He’s standing there in nothing but boxers, his hard-on clear as day.
Ryann, his younger sister, is standing with her back to us now. “I didn’t know you’d have company. Trust me, I didn’t want to see that. Ever. I’m going to have to take a scouring pad to my brain.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’ll go get dressed,” I mutter.
“Um . . .” Ryann grabs my dress off the foyer floor and holds it out to the side between two fingers without turning to look at me.
“Thank you,” I mumble. As I grab it, my phone buzzes from my purse where I left it by the door last night. I frown. That tone is the sound for the chat client, and no one but River uses that to contact me. No one but Sam, I mentally amend. I hurry into my dress then grab my phone from my purse to open the message.
Riverrat69: I’m sorry I had to bail on you. I had a family matter and couldn’t get away. I hope you can forgive me.
I blink at the message then look up at Sam, expecting to see his phone in his hand, but he’s standing in the living room in his boxer briefs, no phone in sight.
