Page 15 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Charley

M y heart pounds fast, as the man between my legs leans over me, his lips seeking mine. My lids flutter and I’m about to close my eyes, to slip into this real-life fantasy but stop when he whispers, “Keep them open. I want you to see me, and I want to see you.”

God, no man has ever said that to me before. Not like that. Not with so much quiet conviction and care.

One big hand touches my hair, and he rubs it between his fingers before he gently pushes it from my face. I lay still, and honestly, I’m not sure what I expected from Ripley Stripley, but tenderness…that wasn’t anywhere the top of the list. It actually wrecks me a little.

But until this moment, until his body was on top of mine, I hadn’t realized that it was tenderness, and safety that I craved all along.

“Rip,” I murmur, pouring everything I feel into his name.

And somehow, impossibly he gets it. “I know babe,” he breathes. “I know.”

His mouth meets mine, and the sound he makes—a low, hungry moan—shakes me from the inside out. His kiss is slow, reverent, like he’s trying to imprint himself on my soul. Like we’ve got all the time in the world and he wants to savor every single second.

I curl my hands around his back again. Only this time, I’m not pretending it’s to stay afloat. I’m not hiding anything. I want to touch him. I want to feel every inch of this man. My hands roam—exploring, mapping, claiming—and when he groans against my mouth, I feel the tremor of it echo inside me.

“For the record,” he mutters, breaking the kiss just long enough to brush his nose against mine, “I like when you touch me too.”

So I do.

God, do I.

I run my hands down his spine, over the ridges of muscle, memorizing the hard curves and lean strength that make up Ripley Hart. He draws back a little, like he’s trying to get a better look at me, but I cling to him—desperate to keep him close. It’s like this man has somehow become my lifeline.

“Babe,” he says, voice rough with need and something deeper. “I want you.”

I swallow hard. There’s no pretending now. No games.

“I want you too, Rip.”

He starts with the softest kiss, barely brushing my mouth, then moves to my nose, my eyelids, the curve of my cheek. Each one lands like a promise of more to come before he drifts lower.

When his lips reach my neck, he breathes me in, like he needs the scent of me to survive.

Then, with slow, open-mouthed kisses, he charts a path along my skin, easing lower, sinking his body against mine until the mattress holds us both.

Heat pools deep inside me, anticipation simmering just beneath the surface.

His mouth finds my breast, and I cry out before I can stop it.

“Oh God, Rip, that feels so good.”

He groans against me, the sound vibrating through my skin as he pulls my nipple into his mouth.

He doesn’t rush—he lingers, sucks, flicks with his tongue, like this is a feast and I’m the first course he’s ever truly wanted.

His hand cups my other breast, kneading and teasing, stoking every nerve ending with unhurried care.

My fingers slip into his hair, holding on—not to guide him, not to rush him—but to anchor myself to the sensation of being completely seen, completely wanted.

When he moves lower, kissing a trail over my stomach, my thighs tense in anticipation. Then, when his lips hover at the apex of my legs, he parts me gently with his fingers.

And pauses.

Like I’m a masterpiece he’s savoring before the first touch of paint.

His gaze flicks up, locking on mine, and I rise onto my elbows, needing to see him see me.

“I like everything I see, babe,” he says, voice rough, reverent. “And I bet you taste just as sweet.”

“Ohmigod,” I whisper. “Rip.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah, babe?”

“You just—I mean, I just?—”

His thumb strokes my hip. “How about you stop thinking and let me take care of you?”

There’s no part of me that can argue with that. I nod, as my body trembles under his gaze.

He slides his hands beneath me, lifting my hips like I weigh nothing, and cradles me to his mouth. And then he devours me.

The first stroke of his tongue, hot and slow from bottom to top, pulls a sound from my throat that’s more raw than human. My spine arches, pleasure slicing through me like lightning. He laughs, a low, sinful rumble, and the vibration nearly undoes me.

My fingers clutch at the sheets, at him, at anything, as his mouth moves in dizzying, perfect circles around my clit.

He’s not guessing. He’s not fumbling. He’s tasting me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered, like he has all night and all the skill to bring me apart, piece by glorious piece.

And when my hips twitch, desperate for more, for him, I nearly reach down to grab his head and guide him home.

Nearly.

Because I think—no, Iknow—he’s already on his way, and my only job here is to relax and let him take care of me.

He glances up at me with a knowing grin—the kind that says yeah, I’m going to take you there…eventually.

Oh, he wants to play games does he. Fine. I’m game.

Or at least I was.

Until he slides a finger inside me.

My thoughts scatter like sparks. All I know is that his finger feels like it belongs there, like it was made to be inside me. My muscles clench around him, involuntary and intense, and his groan vibrates through my core.

“So fucking sweet,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he’s just tasted heaven and can’t believe his luck.

I lift my hips, nudging into his face, and when I see the shine of my slick on his mouth—see the way he licks his lips like he’s savoring me—I nearly lose it. It’s filthy. It’s worshipful. And it’s everything.

My arms give out, and I collapse back on the bed, breathless and boneless, but I don’t look away.

I won’t. He asked me to keep my eyes on him, and I don’t want to miss a single second.

His mouth finally closes around my clit, warm and soft, and then he adds the pressure of his teeth—just the lightest graze—and crooks his finger inside me.

I swear my soul leaves my body.

“Rip…”

He answers with a low, contented mmm and keeps going, steady and focused, like he’s chasing something—and that something is my orgasm, which seems to be more important than his own.

Then he adds another finger, the stretch deep and snug, and the pleasure shoots through me like lightning. My hips twitch, my legs tremble.

“Oh God, Rip.”

“You like that, Goldie?” he teases, his voice deliciously thick with arousal.

I huff a laugh, breathless. “Oh yes, Big Bear. I loveyour moves. I was hoping I’d get to see them one way or another tonight.”

He grins like I just made his whole damn year, then goes back to devouring me with maddening precision, tongue swirling and stroking like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted—and he’s determined to finish every bite.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” he says, eyes hot and hungry. “I want to taste all of you.”

My heart gallops at the bluntness, at the raw need in his voice, and suddenly I needit too. Desperately. I reach for him, threading my fingers through his thick hair and pressing him closer. I grind against his mouth shamelessly, chasing the edge like a woman with nothing left to lose.

Because I don’t. In a week, I’ll be gone. This is a moment out of time, a memory I’ll carry like a secret, and I’m going totake every dan second of it.

“Yeah, babe,” he growls against me, voice low and rough. “Do what you need.”

And I do.

I move against him, chasing every spark of pleasure, as he works his fingers inside me—deeper, slower, faster—shifting pressure and rhythm until the heat boiling in my belly explodes outward.

“Rip,” I cry out, loud and unfiltered, and then I break apart.

My body spasms, pleasure ripping through me in wild, uncontrollable waves as hot release spills over his face. He groans in satisfaction, holding me through it, tongue sweeping to catch every drop like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

When he finally pulls back, he slips his fingers from inside me and slides them into his mouth, eyes locked on mine. He sucks them clean, slow and decadent, andGod help me, I feel the aftershocks hit all over again.

Then he leans back on his heels, and my gaze drops—straight to the heavy length of his erection, hard and waiting.

Even with my body trembling and my brain still swimming in post-orgasm bliss, I rise up, shifting closer to him. I slide my legs around his, wide and wanting, and his eyes drop between us.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice ragged.

I wrap my hand around his cock and stroke once, slow and sure. His head falls back.

“Fuck,” he groans.

I grin, breathless but teasing. “Aww… you guessed it,” I purr.

I wrap my fingers around him, stroking slowly, letting my palm glide from base to tip, savoring the silky heat of his skin.

When I give a gentle squeeze, a bead of pre-cum gathers at his slit—and I can’t help myself.

I lean in, tongue flicking out to catch it, moaning softly at the salty-sweet taste that’s so him .

Then I draw my tongue into my mouth, letting the moment linger, and when I peek up at him through my lashes, his eyes are nearly black with lust. His chest heaves. His legs look wobbly, like he’s one deep breath away from collapse.

Yeah. Not exactly an ideal position for a guy who looks ready to break apart.

“How about we get you a little more comfortable?” I murmur.

I gently guide him back, nudging and coaxing until he’s stretched out on the bed, flat on his back.

That gorgeous body—all lean muscle and heat—invites me in like a siren song.

I crawl over him, letting his cock press into my belly as I slide up his chest. My lips find his mouth, and I lick along the seam before diving into a kiss that’s deep and slow and full of everything we’ve been holding back.

When our tongues tangle, I taste myself on him—intimate, raw, intoxicating—and it only makes me hungrier.

He threads his fingers through my hair, sweeping it away from my face so he can see me. Really see me. And then he whispers, voice hoarse and full of want, “I want to be inside you. I need to fuck you, Char.”

A tremor rolls through me. I could give in right now. I want to.

But I also want to drive him just a little bit crazy first.

“There are so many things I want to do to your cock,” I whisper, tracing his lips with mine. “It’s only fair… don’t you think?”

He groans, eyes squeezing shut. “Babe, if you put your mouth on me again, this moment is going to be over before it starts—and I need to be inside you.”

I pretend to ponder that, tapping my chin. “Hmm. Dilemma. We had a bed dilemma earlier and solved it like pros… so now we just do what any reasonable adults would do.”

His brow lifts, half-wild with tension. “And what’s that?”

“We go for round two later.”

His grin is immediate and devastating , like I just handed him the moon. I move my hips, grinding slowly against him, letting the thick ridge of his cock slide against me through slick heat. His breath stutters, and then?—

“Fuck,” he grits out, hands flying to his head as he grabs fistfuls of his own hair.

I freeze. “What?” I ask, eyes narrowing as I search his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving as he pushes up on his elbows, eyes stormy. “I… I don’t have any condoms. I didn’t bring any. I wasn’t planning…” He trails off, and then cups my face like I’m something precious, like he can’t believe I’m real. “You.”

That one word, wrapped in softness and awe, hits me straight in the heart. Untangles something tight in my chest I didn’t even realize I’d knotted up.

“I wasn’t expecting you either,” I whisper back, voice a little shaky with the weight of everything we didn’tplan but still somehow landed right in the middle of.

He exhales, resigned. “Which means you didn’t bring any either… and it’s too late to go out tonight.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

He kisses me lightly. “Yeah. First thing tomorrow. As soon as the store opens, I’m buying every damn box they have.”

I laugh. “Every box? I’m only here for a week, Big Bear.”

He levels me with a serious look. “Exactly. And I plan to take advantage of every single day… at least three times a day.”

A thrill hums low in my belly at how much he wants me. “Then I guess we don’t have a problem after all.” I wiggle my brows and start sliding down his body. “Because if you can’t be inside me tonight, then there’s really no reason to hold anything back, is there?”

His cock pulses against my belly, and I don’t wait—I wrap my hand around him, warm and eager. He grabs the back of my head. “There is a reason to hold back… I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

I flash him a dirty grin. “Oh no, Rip. You arecoming in my mouth. And maybe all over my face, too. Fair’s fair after what I did to you.”

He groans, like I just ruined his life in the best way. “Jesus, Char. You can’t just saystuff like that.”

I cock my head. “Why? You don’t like the visual?”

“Oh, I fucking lovethe visual,” he rasps. “I’m just trying to stay conscious.”

I lean in, playful and hungry. “Then I better get to work.”

And I do.

I take him into my mouth, savoring every inch, every taste, the way his body trembles, the way he mutters my name like a prayer he’s afraid to finish. My hand slides lower, cradling his balls, and he jerks beneath me. So close. So fast.

He tries to pull me off. I don’t let him.

I wantthis. All of it.

His thighs shake. His hands tangle in my hair.

His control shatters with a raw cry that lights me up inside.

He spills into my mouth, and when I can’t take all of it, I slide back just enough for the rest to land across my cheek, my lips, my throat.

When I finally look up at him, his eyes are wide with awe.

I think I just wrecked him in the best way possible and I can’t deny that I’m a wreck too. .

He reaches for me instantly, pulling me to his chest like he can’t stand the distance. I melt into him, face pressed to the wild rhythm of his heart.

“Char,” he breathes, voice rough and full of something that feels suspiciously like amazement.

“Rip,” I whisper back, because I can’t say anything more.

His hand strokes my hair and he exhales like I’m the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. “You’re fucking incredible.”

I swallow, hard, because this man is incredible too.

Too bad his heart belongs to someone else.

Not that you’d know it from the way he’s looking at me.

But it’s a path I can’t—won’t go down. Not again.

Hell, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that fairy tales don’t exist and perhaps this Goldilocks crawled through the wrong damn window.