My brows shoot up, taken aback by his directness.
“Like what?” My voice comes out quiet and uncertain. Our slightly hostile banter is my comfort zone, but alone with a man like Rhett Eaton, looking at me the way he is, well, it’s way the hell and gone out of my wheelhouse.
Sex with Rob was rushed and unsatisfying.
The friends-with-benefits situation I had during law school ended with unrequited attachments.
And that one-night stand I had was . . . just bad.
I don’t know where the hell that leaves me with Rhett. I don’t know what I want from him. But I know I don’t want to go to bed.
Not alone anyway.
A muscle in his neck jumps and he crosses his arms, shirt bunching around his biceps. “I’d start with those pretty fucking lips.”
My lashes flutter and a whimper stalls out in my throat as I try to work out how I should respond to that.
I opt to take the bull by the horns. With one step forward, my hand darts out and I yank the saddle-brown cowboy hat off his head and place it on mine. His leather and licorice scent rushes in around me, and I sigh.
I’d like to bottle that if I could. Sweet and earthy and so damn masculine all at once.
He growls when I step away wearing his hat and push my back against the flat wall between our rooms, letting a small smirk play on my lips. Reveling in the way his eyes heat when I do.
With two steps, he’s towering over me. My head tips back to take in all his agitated glory.
“You know what I’m sick of, Summer?” His hand comes to my throat, fluttering over the skin so gently that I arch toward him to increase the pressure.
“What’s that?”
“Having you think I’m out fucking everything that moves when I’ve looked at nothing and no one since the first day I laid eyes on you. I stepped into that godforsaken boardroom, and you practically demanded I become obsessed with you.”
I gasp for air, rendered speechless.
His finger pads stroke my neck with such tenderness that I blink up at him, more emotional than I banked on.
“Do you know what else I’m fucking sick of?”
“What?” My question is a breath, a whisper—a plea.
His hand moves up, and his thumb pushes down firmly on my chin, gently forcing my mouth open wide. There’s something crude about it, but the way he’s looking at me as he does it has me trembling with anticipation, my pussy wet and slick when I squeeze my thighs together.
“Having to spend all day, every day, with you and this smart mouth . . .” His spare hand yanks the can of whipping cream from my sweaty grip. He holds it up, hitting me with the most sinful grin.
“And not being able to use it the way I want to. To fill it the way I want to.” His voice is husky, but I barely have time to register it because the whoosh of the pressurized cream filling my mouth permeates the air between us.
When he stops, he presses my chin back up, closing my mouth. “How does that taste, Princess?”
“Mm,” is all I can manage as my tastebuds dance with the creamy sweetness, while every nerve ending dances with scorching electricity.
“Good girl. You wish that was my cum, don’t you?” A strangled whimper lodges in my throat as I nod back at him, trapped in his amber gaze. Then he leans in close, breath damp against my lips and growls, “Swallow, Summer.”
Sharp anticipation races through my veins, and I make this desperate little moaning sound as I swallow for him. “Are we done playing games now?” His voice is heavy, full of promise, raising the hair on my arms.
I nod, nervously licking at my lips and unable to drop his gaze.
“Good.” His thumb strokes the sensitive spot beneath my ear as he grips the back of my neck. “Now, tell me honestly, Summer. If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?”
I don’t even need to think about it. I know what I want from him.
“Ruin me.”
“Good. I’m about fucking done being a gentleman with you. And the only thing I’m ruining you for is anyone else.”
He swipes his key card and shoves us through the door.
And it looks like I’m going to his room after all.
21
Rhett
I drop the can of cream on the carpet right as the heavy door clicks shut behind us, and all bets are off. My entire body hums with need. For her.
Ruin me.
She’d told me to ruin her. The only thing I’m going to ruin her for is any other man. I’m going to give her a night she’ll never get over. A night that will keep her coming back for more.
I push her against the closed door, the brim of my hat on her head brushing against my face as I swoop in to taste her lips. But this time it’s not for show. This time it’s because she told me this is how she’d want to go out. Kissing me.
And fuck, a statement like that is a powerful drug.
I kiss her like my life depends on it, like hers does too. We latch onto each other, her arms curling around my neck while mine roam her body.
It’s a desperate sort of kiss, full of angst and longing. She seems rushed. Like she thinks this might end. Like there’s a time limit on this thing we’re doing.
I pull back just a little, cupping the base of her head, her hair silky beneath my hand, her breathing labored, her breath sweet like sugary cream, hands still feverishly tugging at me. “Stop rushing, Princess. We’ve got all night. Save your energy, you’re going to need it.”
“Fuck,” she whispers as she sucks in a sharp breath.
“Let me show you. I’m going to take my time with you,” I murmur before taking her lips slowly, swallowing the sweet little humming noise she makes, feeling her arms soften, hands tracing across my shoulders. Her nails drag and a shiver races down my spine.
I don’t know what this is between Summer and me, but I want to worship at her throne. I want to give her the best of everything. The best of me.
She slides her tongue against mine, and I taste the whipped cream I just made her swallow. Even with my eyes closed, I can see the way her throat worked, the way she swallowed it the way I told her to. It’s burned on the back of my eyelids.
Didn’t think my cock could get any harder than it already is, but it pushes painfully at the zipper of my jeans at the memory.
I slide my hand down the curve of her body. My thumb flicks at her nipple through the thin cotton shirt as I clear her breast, and she whines into my mouth, trying to rush the leisurely pace I’ve set.
“Greedy girl,” I growl as I pull back and press a kiss to the bottom line of her jaw.
I kiss just beside her mouth.
“Rhett.” My name on her lips. Fuck. It’s a prayer. It’s a plea. It’s my goddamn undoing.
I kiss her cheek.
“I thought I got off on hearing fans scream my name from the stands.”
I kiss her temple.
“But hearing you moan it?”
She tilts her head, giving me more access. Asking for more.
“Hearing you moan it is so much more satisfying.”
I kiss the spot just below her ear, and she squirms against me. She goes all breathy and moans my name again. “Rhett.”
“You like that?” I nip at her ear.
“It’s the beard. It feels so good. I . . . I’ve never had that before.” The girl who is usually so put together and well-spoken is a puddle, all because of my beard.