Page 43 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)
STRADDLE THAT SADDLE
“Take what you need, sweetheart.”
Goddamnit! Why is this man so attractive? It should be illegal. Clearly, it’s messing with my head.
When I woke up this morning with his absolutely massive dick wedged between my thighs, I was in shock, but that only lasted for a split second before the desire to come all over him took over.
And now, as he tells me to take my pleasure from him, it requires even less time before I do exactly that.
I roll over to face him and swing my leg over his waist, straddling his hips.
Just gotta get back in the saddle.
I brace my hands on his chest, sucking my lower lip between my teeth as I glide over his rigid length. His quick intake of breath and the way his eyes roll back tell me everything I need to know about whether he’s okay with this.
And right now? Ryder is more than okay.
“Touch me,” I whisper on a moan as I increase the speed of my movements and roll my body over his.
“I can’t,” he grits out, clenching his eyes closed once again. “ If I touch you, I’m liable to do other things, and I can’t think about that right now, Lola.”
Understanding sends a thrill of satisfaction up my spine.
I love how unhinged I make him.
Grabbing his hands, I place them on my hips before leaning forward. My face is mere inches from his, and when those full lips open on a puff of air, it all becomes too real.
I want nothing more than to kiss him right now, but I can’t.
If I’m going to ride this man fully clothed until I get myself off, I can’t break this boundary too.
We need to have a conversation about what we both want.
The sooner we do, the sooner we can get these clothes off.
But right now is not that time, not when he’s likely to tell me anything I want to hear.
I focus my attention on the utter magic happening between my thighs as my clit meets the head of Ryder’s length with each roll of my hips.
“Oh, god,” I cry, and, finally , he starts meeting my movements with thrusts of his own.
“Climb up here and ride my face, Lola,” he pleads.
“I thought,” another sweep of heat dips in my belly, “you said,” another moan, “you couldn’t handle more , right now.” I can’t handle more right now.
He releases a strangled groan, bucking up into me with renewed vigor. The thin, silky pajama bottoms I’m wearing and his boxer briefs do nothing to dull the pleasure searing through me as I come undone over top of him.
His blue eyes, framed in dark lashes, pierce me as my body ripples with pleasure.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “Lola,” he moans, and it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, doubly so as his hot cum coats my seam through our layers of clothing.
I should regret this, but I don’t. I don’t regret a single thing about Ryder Lockhart, except for ever leaving him.
“Darlin’,” he says, his voice cautious as his calloused fingers dig into my hips.
I give him a reassuring smile and bend forward to plant a chaste kiss on his sharp jawline. His stubble leaves my lips raw, and I climb off his lap.
He jolts from the bed, rushing to the bathroom.
“Ry, what are you doing?”
“Getting something to clean you up,” he says, the words coming out in a rush.
I chuckle. Ryder, always the gentleman. “Ry, I’m going to take a shower,” I tell him, hoping to ease his mind, but instead, his eyes go wide, and he stammers on his words.
“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll go grab you a towel.”
I shake my head, a grin plastered on my lips. “I meant in my own shower,” I clarify.
He runs a hand through his disheveled, sleep-ridden brown waves and clutches the short hairs on the back of his neck, chewing on his lip.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, suddenly so damn shy I have to suck my cheeks in to stop myself from laughing at his expense.
“That, uh, makes more sense,” he says, unable to maintain eye contact any longer.
I get out of the bed and stop to squeeze his bicep. “Hey, quit freaking out. We’re married ,” I tell him, trying to lighten the mood, but it has the opposite effect.
His eyes flash with need before he’s able to cover the expression up with a more serene one that feels more like him.
“Want anything for breakfast?” he asks, but his cheeks turn pink almost immediately, and it feels damn good to have him flustered for a change.
He clears his throat. “After I shower too.”
“Sure. Breakfast would be good,” I say, heading to take that much-needed shower in my own room. Because truthfully, I can’t stand to watch him flounder for a second more.