Chapter Thirty-Three
Leighton
My hair is dyed and blow dried.
My makeup is perfect.
Ryan is waiting for me on the couch.
Nerves rise up in my throat. I curse my past self for her suggestion. Stripping before sex is one thing.
Announcing an intention to put on a show is another.
Yes, I want to erase the ugly memory of Ryan pushing me off his lap.
I want to watch his eyes go wide with pleasure as I tease him mercilessly.
But I also want to live to see tomorrow.
My heart thuds against my chest.
My breath catches in my throat.
I'm still wrapped in a towel, in another room, and my stomach is all butterflies.
Can I really do this?
I suck a breath between my teeth. Exhale slowly. I have to. I want to, yes, but I also have to.
I have to prove to myself that I can.
I have to have him under my trance.
It feels so fucking good, being with Ryan. Whatever we're doing—eating breakfast, dying my hair, taking shower cap selfies, trashing a shitty TV thriller while we wait for the dye to set—I'm where I belong. I'm happy. Satisfied. At ease.
But now that I'm putting on a show…
I hang my towel on the rack. Slide into my sexiest thong—a lacy black thing. Pull on a black mini skirt and that tight white crop top he loves.
Not that he's ever told me he loves it.
More that he stares at my tits enough I know he loves it.
My nipples peek through the sheer fabric.
It's sexy as hell.
I look good. But then that's never really been a question. I have the occasional moment of insecurity. What girl doesn't? But I'm happy with my appearance. I may not be the most gorgeous girl in the world, but I'm in shape. I take care of myself. I work my angles.
Deep breath.
I slide on my black slingback pumps and I step into the main room.
The curtains are down. The string lights twinkle in shades of red and pink.
Ryan's eyes go wide as he takes me in. "You look amazing, baby."
"Thanks." My gait is unsteady. "Could you get the Bluetooth speakers?"
He nods. Reaches for the speaker to turn it on.
It's three steps to the dining table. I pick up my phone. Stream the first song that comes to mind.
My favorite band. The one with the breathy, tortured singer. I introduced Ryan. He constantly teases me about just how broken the lyricist is, but he can't hide how much he loves it.
They're our band.
A heavy guitar riff fills the air.
Then it's the singer's breathy vocals.
I can't remember what he's saying. But there's no ignoring how much he sounds like he's in the middle of a fuck.
Ryan's eyes meet mine. "Perfect."
I nod as I take a step forward. With the lights off and the music blaring, my tiny apartment feels like a private room in some club.
At least if I keep my eyes on Ryan.
I swing my hips, strutting slowly as I approach him.
His gaze travels up my body. From my shiny heels, to my short skirt, over my bare midriff and my low-cut white top, to my red lips.
To my eyes.
There.
My knees brush his legs. His jeans are rough against my skin.
I stare back at him as I slide into his lap.
My hands go to his shoulders.
I use them for leverage to grind against his crotch.
He stares up at me.
His pupils dilate.
His cock hardens.
Fuck, that feels good.
I bring my hand to his cheek. Run my fingertips along his jaw. Slide the pad of my thumb into his mouth.
Rock my hips in figure eights.
He sucks on my digit as I rub against him.
Fuck, the friction of his jeans against my lace panties—
I'm on fire.
I'm buzzing.
Every part of me wants every part of him.
This is supposed to be a tease for him. But, fuck, I don't have a single hint of upper hand.
I need to tear off my clothes.
I need to come.
And make him come.
I bring my hand back to his shoulder. Push myself up.
Slowly, I peel my top over my breasts.
Ryan brings his hand to my side. Slides it over the curve of my waist. Over my breast.
He rubs his thumb over my nipple in time with the music.
My eyelids flutter closed.
I pull my top over my head and toss it aside.
He stares into my eyes as he toys with my nipple.
Fuck, he's so in control.
I love it, but I need to be the one leading this.
I wrap my hand around his wrist and bring his other hand to my chest.
Slowly, I lower myself onto his crotch.
I circle my hips, grinding against him as he toys with me.
His blue eyes fill with need.
When I can't take it anymore, I shift off him. I spin on my heels.
Fuck.
My full-length mirror is set up at the wall.
My reflection stares back in her fuck me heels and her impossibly short skirt.
His eyes connect with mine through the mirror.
I look back at Ryan as I unzip my skirt and push it off my hips.
It falls at my feet.
I kick it away.
Then I back myself onto his lap.
I stare at our reflection as I grind against him.
As his hands go to my hips.
I spread my legs wider.
His hand knots in my hair. He pulls my head back until my neck is pressed against his lips.
"Fuck, Leigh." He nips at my neck. "You're gonna make me come."
My sex clenches. I want to make him come. But not yet.
I rock my hips, rubbing my ass against his crotch. I'm in his lap in a thong. He's naked under his jeans.
But there's still way too much fabric in the way.
I bring his hands to my chest.
He sucks on my neck, toying with my nipples as I grind against him.
I get lost in our reflection.
My hair falls over my ears.
His locks fall over his face as he sucks on my neck.
He works me with those expert hands.
My thighs are light against his dark jeans.
Watching is too intense. I have to close my eyes. My body hums with electricity. My sex aches. My nipples throb.
I need more.
I need everything.
Still, I grind against him until the song shifts to the next.
This one is heavier, harder.
I take his hands and pin them to the couch.
Slowly, I stand.
I watch him through the mirror as I slide my panties off my ass.
I keep them around my thighs as I roll at my hips.
There. My fingers touch the ground.
I'm on display for him.
He lets out a low, appreciative groan. "Come here."
I rise. Step out of my panties. Turn and slide onto his lap.
I grind against him.
Only his jeans are in the way.
And, fuck, the friction of the denim against my clit—
"Mmm." My hand knots in his hair. I stare into his eyes as I draw figure eights with my hips.
He stares back, as needy and desperate as I am. "How long is this dance?"
"Three songs."
He shakes his head.
I nod. It feels so good, torturing him, pushing him to the edge.
Watching desire fill his eyes.
His hand goes to my inner thigh.
Fuck, I want that.
But not yet.
I take his wrists. Bring both hands to my chest. Lean down to whisper in his ear. "Watch." I motion to the mirror as I turn.