Page 27 of Falling for Mr. Wrong (The Rules We Break #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Damien

S he tastes like the ocean and every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make.

The second I set her on my couch, I think I’m going to take her slow, make it last. But then her hands are in my shirt, shoving it up, nails dragging over my stomach like she’s marking me, and I’m gone.

We’re kissing like we’re trying to breathe through each other, but then she pulls back with that look in her eyes — the one that says she’s about to wreck me — and drops to her knees between mine.

“Lyla…” I start, but my voice is already wrecked. My jeans are open before I can think of a reason to stop her, her small hand wrapping around me and pulling a groan straight out of my chest.

When her mouth closes over me, hot and wet and perfect, my head hits the back of the couch. My hand finds her hair, not to push, but to keep her there — to feel every inch of what she’s giving me.

“Slow, baby,” I grit out, guiding her with my hips. “Fuck, you feel so good… gonna have me losing it before I even get inside you.”

Her tongue swirls along the underside, and I feel my control fray. “Christ. I’m gonna fuck this pretty mouth… then I’m gonna fuck you on this couch, on that table, against that wall—every damn surface in this place until you can’t remember your own name.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, lips wet, eyes burning. “Then do it.”

My blood turns molten.

I haul her up, kiss her deep, tasting myself on her tongue, and then scoop her into my arms. Two steps and her ass hits the kitchen table. I push her hoodie and shirt up in one move, and the second I get my mouth on her breasts, I know I’m not stopping tonight.

Her nipples harden under my tongue, her hands tangling in my hair as I suck and bite, and I swear I could get drunk off the sounds she’s making.

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings and panties and yank them off in one move, letting them hit the floor without a second thought.

She gasps, half from the rush of cold air on her skin, half from the way I grab her hips and drag her right to the edge of the table. My chair used to sit here — now it’s me on my knees.

The sight of her spread open for me, flushed and glistening, is enough to make my cock ache.

I start slow, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, then another higher up, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling her shiver under my hands. She makes this sound — a soft, frustrated whimper — and it’s all I can do not to bury my face between her legs right then.

When I finally lick her clit, her whole body jerks.

“Damien—”

I groan into her, the taste of her filling my mouth, and I press two fingers inside her. The tight, wet heat squeezes around me, and I curl my fingers just enough to make her cry out.

“Ride me, baby,” I murmur against her. “Use me. I want to feel you lose it.”

She does — hips rocking against my face, chasing every flick of my tongue, every thrust of my fingers. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her breath coming faster, sharper, until I know she’s close.

I’m rock hard, straining against my zipper, every instinct in me screaming to get inside her. But I hold back, because I want this — need this — to be the first thing she remembers about being in my house: me breaking her apart with my mouth before I even think about claiming her again.

Her orgasm is still trembling through her when I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I don’t give her time to come down — not when I’ve been holding back for this long.

I hook my arms under her thighs and lift her straight off the table, her arms instinctively wrapping around my shoulders. She’s warm, soft, still breathing fast against my neck, and it’s killing me not to be inside her already.

My bedroom’s only a few steps away, but it feels like a straight shot into every fantasy I’ve had about her. I set her down on the mattress, watching her sink into the rumpled sheets, her hair wild, lips swollen.

“On your knees, baby.”

Her eyes darken, but she obeys, moving to the center of the bed. The headboard’s mirrored panel catches the faint light from the window, and I step behind her, pulling her hips back until she’s exactly where I want her.

I press forward, letting her feel how hard I am against her slick heat. “Look at yourself,” I tell her, my voice low in her ear. “Watch me fuck you.”

She glances up, her gaze meeting mine in the glass just as I slide into her. The sight of her lips parting, her eyes fluttering, nearly unravels me.

“Yeah,” I groan, gripping her hips. “That’s it. Watch.”

I set the pace — deep, deliberate thrusts — my hand sliding up her spine to the back of her neck. I curl my fingers in her soft hair and tug, pulling her upright until her back is flush to my chest.

Her head tips to the side, exposing her neck, and I kiss her there, slow and possessive, while my other hand slides down between her legs. My fingers find her clit, stroking in time with my thrusts.

“Look at us,” I murmur against her skin. “Look how perfect you take me.”

Her breath hitches, her hands clutching the sheets, but her gaze stays locked on the mirror, watching every movement — every claim I make on her body.

She’s trembling in my arms, her body tightening around me with every stroke of my fingers, every deep push of my hips. I can feel how close she is — the way her breath catches, the little helpless sounds in her throat.

And then the words are just there , raw and certain, no hesitation.

“Move in with me.”

Her eyes widen in the mirror, her mouth parting, and I keep thrusting, my fingers circling her clit, my grip in her hair holding her against me. “Be my girl, Lyla. Stay with me. We’ve waited long enough.”

Her head tips back against my shoulder, a soft, shuddering gasp escaping her. “Yes…” she whispers, the word almost breaking. “Yes.”

That’s all it takes. She shatters in my arms, her whole body pulsing around me as she comes, her nails digging into the sheets. I hold her through it, fucking her through every wave, until the tight pull in my own body finally snaps.

With a groan, I spill into her, our eyes locked in the mirror as we watch ourselves come apart together.

When I finally slow, we’re both breathing hard, still joined, still holding each other like neither one of us has any intention of letting go. I turn her head just enough to kiss her, deep and slow, sealing the promise I just made her — and the one she made me.