22
Summer
My eyes roll back in my head, and I see stars. Bright and shiny, almost blinding. I’ve heard good sex compares to an out-of-body experience, and I never quite understood that sentiment.
But with Rhett Eaton’s face between my legs, I do.
Both his muscled arms loop around my legs, and one hand splays across my stomach, holding me down. The other is wrapped tight around my thigh, and his fingers dig in so hard that I feel like he might leave bruises right next to the ones from the saddle pinching me a few days earlier.
His tongue.
His. Tongue.
His goddamn tongue.
He’s licking me, almost the way he did at the whipped cream on my breasts, reverently, but with just enough pressure. Just enough suction.
Just the right amount of teeth. He slides his tongue right into me, and when I try to squirm, his calloused hand pushes me harder into the too-soft mattress beneath my back. His beard is prickly and rough against my pussy. Grating on my inner thighs. Increasing my pleasure tenfold. Partly because of the actual sensation, and partly because, well, because it’s Rhett.
Rhett Eaton. My teenaged crush. Rhett Eaton. Sex symbol. Rhett Eaton. Ladies’ man.
Or is he? I’m thinking that’s an outdated perception that he hasn’t been able to shake.
He said he’s been obsessed with me. That was almost as shocking as how good it feels to have his mouth between my legs.
I thought Rhett hated me but tolerated me.
But based on the things he’s said, it seems I have been wrong. Very, very, wrong.
“Rhett!” I cry out, one hand still working at my nipple while my other shoots down to his head. I’m alternating between feeling self-conscious and not giving a fuck because it’s just so damn good.
He pulls back, pausing, “Tell me what you want, Summer.”
He’s killing me with all this talking. Having to say things out loud is firmly outside my comfort zone. For a man who’s never been huge on chatting, he sure has a lot to say once my clothes come off.
I push up onto my elbows and look down at him, his eyes still fixed on my pussy. “I want you to stop making me say things out loud.” I half laugh.
His eyes flit up to mine and he grins, the most carnal grin, before he licks his lips and winks at me. “What can I say? I like your pink cheeks and watching you squirm.”
I blush harder.
He gently unhooks my legs and stands, towering over my exposed body. Making me feel remarkably vulnerable. He drops his ruined shirt on the floor and quirks a brow at me. “Did I tell you to stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Touching yourself. Keep going.”
I swallow, wondering how I’m reacting to him this strongly. It’s consuming, and I don’t even consider saying no. Instead, I fall back onto the bed and slide one hand up my stomach before gripping my breast.
I do the same with the opposite, but when my knees tilt inward, his calloused palm gives one leg a little push open. “I’m not done with that,” he growls as he shucks off his pants, turning briefly to pull something out of his bag, giving me a glorious view of his ass.
Round and muscled, and so goddamn grabbable.
When he comes back, he’s holding a foil condom package. His cock is huge and hard and it’s pointing straight at me. “You still want this, Summer?”
He sounds almost uncertain now, like he’s concerned I might turn him away.
“Yes,” I breathe, wanting to give him more. “I want you inside me.”