Page 61 of A Real Goode Time

To wrap my lips around it. To feel him surge, throb, and explode.

I’d done that once, with Max, and I’d enjoyed his reactions. That had also been the last time I’d seen him, over a month ago. And that, coincidentally, had been the last time someone other than me had given me an orgasm.

And I wanted one, from Rhys. Because it just wasn’t the same taking care of yourself.

But Rhys had said he couldn’t stop partway.

Oh god, my brain. Why wouldn’t my brain stop?

He was still kissing me, and I was delirious from it. Completely breathless. He pulled me toward him, rolled to his back, and I went with it. I slid over top of him and straddled him. God, he was big. Lean, hard. So strong, so powerfully built, like a wolf. His hand brushed my cheek and cupped my jaw, still kissing me, still devouring me like he’d never kissed anyone before, and would die immediately if we stopped kissing. His other hand grazed over my back. My T-shirt had hiked up which meant, considering I was wearing a teeny little string thong, my ass was bare. And his hands were headed that way.

Yes, oh yes. Please, please put your hands on my ass. I wanted his touch in the worst way. Ever since I’d seen those big strong hands wrapped around the steering wheel the first moment we met, I’d wanted him touch me. Then I’d seen those hands covered in grease, and the need to have his hands on me had only gotten stronger.

His palms slid down my spine, teasing each knob of vertebrae, dancing, scratching, smoothing. My ability to remain focused on the kiss caught a hitch as his hands neared my tailbone.

And then, god, oh glory; he was cradling my ass in his hands like it was the Holy Grail. He growled, a wolfish noise low in his throat—raw male appreciation. My body showed its appreciation for his touch by flexing my hips into his.

Holy shit, oh my god, dear lord, was that hiscock?

I’d seen it, sure, but only from a distance, and wrapped in his fist.

I’d known it was big, but…

I shivered, breaking the kiss, touching my forehead to his.

“Okay?” he whispered.

I nodded. I pulled back enough to be able to look him in the eye again. But I had no clue what to say.

I needn’t have worried. My body did the talking.

My hips flexed, and when he kneaded my ass again, I whimpered. My mouth dropped to his and my lips slashed across his, but I need to sate a curiosity: what would his stubble taste like, what would it feel like as I kissed it? So, I set about finding out. I kissed his upper lip, his cheek where the stubble ran in a curved line down to his lip and up to his temple. I kissed his jaw, where his ear met his jawline. His breath caught and his hands clawed into my ass, and he held on tight—he liked me kissing his face. So I kept going. Down the sharp hard edge of his jawline. He tilted his head, and I kissed the tender, almost delicate spot under his jawline, where I tasted thebumBUHbumof his pulse. He hissed, and I needed to taste more, to elicit more hisses and more reactions.

What would he do if I kissed him…there? Right under his chin.

He groaned softly, and that was a sound which shot straight to my core.

The groan made me throb and pulsate, and it created liquid heat between my thighs.

I was dripping with arousal.

I kissed his throat, and his grip on my buttocks became almost painful—he seemed to realize that, and immediately relinquished his death grip, and began gently stroking my butt. I liked that, a lot.

I meowed as he petted me, and he laughed, lifting my shirt and caressing my bare back. I arched my back and pressed my core into him. I felt something the size of my wrist pressed against me. I also felt the little dot of wetness on his underwear that told me exactly how he was feeling about this.

This was so hot I could barely think.

Then we were rolling over, and I was under him, and I just belonged here, beneath his broad shoulders, pinned beautifully against the bed by his bulk, his hard abs and round shoulders and lean hips my entire world. Then Rhys returned to the glorious torture of a thousand kisses. Everywhere I’d kissed him, he kissed me.

And then he delved lower, to the circle of my shirt’s neck. He tugged it lower. And god, the stupid thing was in the way. I ripped it off, or meant to, but I accidentally whacked him on the chin.

“Graceful I am not,” I murmured, now tangled half in my shirt and half out.

He laughed, and rescued me from my shirt by pulling it off and tossing it aside. And now I was all but naked under him, the only article of clothing left was a miniscule scrap of blue fabric covering the slit of my sex. Rhys lifted up on an elbow and gazed down at me, his eyes raking over me, absorbing and soaking up every line and curve of my body.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed, awed. “You are so perfect.”

My heart melted and began hammering at the same time. “I’m not.”