Because I’ll never stop wanting you.
“No talking,” I say, blocking out the internal dialogue that’s making me want him even more. “Just make me come.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” he says. “Tell me why you’re wet, Myla.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because it’s proving to me that you’re a goddamn liar. That everything you’re saying, you don’t mean.”
I lift, letting go of my grip, and rest on my elbows, staring down at him. “Excuse me? Are you really calling me a liar?”
“You say you don’t love me, but it’s clear that you do.”
“You’re assuming that because I’m turned on? Being wet has nothing to do with love and everything to do with wanting release. So don’t try to pull this stunt about love because love isn’t enough in this situation.” I cover myself with my robe, pulling the sides closed, my irritation outweighing my lust. “Just take your shorts and leave. I don’t need to deal with this inane questioning after tonight. After dealing with your constant touching, your attempt to turn me on.”
“It worked,” he says in such a cocky voice that it makes me want to scream.
Instead, I attempt to move off the bed, but he’s quicker than I am, grips my hips, and pins them back against the bed, causing me to gasp.
In a tight tone, he says, “I’m not taking the shorts without giving you what you want. A deal is a deal, and I’m not about to back out.”
“I don’t want your mouth anymore,” I say.
“Lies, so many fucking lies coming from that fuckable mouth of yours.” His fingers dig into my skin the way he knows I like it. “Why are you lying so much, Myla? It makes me—fuck!” he shouts. “It makes me so goddamn mad because I see what we have. I know what we have. I saw how you acted tonight. Why are you fucking lying to me?”
“Because I don’t want you to think that there is even a remote chance that we can work through this.”
His eyes turn even darker, his brows more pronounced. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Well, good thing that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Just want to prove to you that I still turn you on, no matter what you say.” His voice is empty, and I’ve known this man long enough to know what he’s saying he doesn’t mean. I can see he’s in defense mode, and he’s attempting to salvage his feelings.
That makes two of us.
I wet my lips and stare down at his hungry eyes. “You will always turn me on, Ryot, despite how much I wish you wouldn’t.”
His expression remains neutral, but I can tell that ounce of truth eases part of the anger he’s feeling. His chest rises and falls as he stares at me, his gaze penetrating past the flimsy wall I’ve erected and right to my heart.
Those eyes have always been a window to his feelings, to his soul, and I can see that they’re ragged, weary, run down. I feel the same way, like I can’t keep up this fight. Like at any minute, we both might raise the white flag and surrender.
And as he lowers his head between my legs, his fingers spreading me, I realize that maybe tonight, he’s the one throwing in the towel.
I should stop him.
I should just give him the shorts.
But after the emotional turmoil we’ve been through, I think this is what I need most.
His mouth.
And I think he needs my taste.
His eyes stay steady on mine as his ragged voice says, “This will be the last time I touch this cunt. Don’t expect it again.” And then his tongue swipes up and over my clit.
Between the feel of his tongue and his declaration of finality, I feel tears pluck at my eyes, even as a pleasurable hiss escapes me while I sink into the mattress.
If this is it, then I’m not going to waste the moment. I’m not going to focus on the desperate grief I feel from Ryot’s words either. They slay me. No, if this is it, I’m going to take as much from it as I can.
My hands immediately go to my breasts, where I tease myself, slowly running circles around my nipples with the tips of my fingers, erecting them until they peak.
His mouth is hot, wild on me as he swipes continuously, pulsing against my clit, knowing exactly what I need when I need it and how I need it. It’s always been like this. From the very start, he could read the needs of my body, the sounds coming out of my mouth, and translate them into his next move.
I shiver under his tongue. “Oh, fuck. Your taste. Missed this, baby,” Ryot moans. I’ve missed this too.
With each swipe, I feel it deeper and deeper until my orgasm starts to build. A floating, rippling, out-of-this-world pleasure moves up my arms, up my legs. While he swipes, I tug at my nipples the way I know he likes. When I glance down, I catch him staring, watching my every move, so I let my teeth pull on my bottom lip as I arch my hips into his mouth.
The control he’s had ever since he’s come in here momentarily slips as he moans against my clit, the vibration setting me up for one of the best feelings of my life.
“Fuck,” I moan as I move my pelvis again, aiding in the chase of release.
His tongue forms into a point, and knowing that I’m close, he performs short, quick flicks against my clit at a pace so rapid that I can’t keep up with my fingers on my breasts, with my shallow breaths, with my ability to repress my orgasm until I can’t take it anymore.
My body is greedy, needy, and ready to take everything he has to offer. My hands fall to either side of me, my chest rises and falls, and my legs spread even wider as I arch against his mouth.
“Oh God,” I groan as I feel it, the beginning. A few more swipes, and I’m going to be gone. I’m so close, right on the edge.
Pulsing.
Wavering.
Hoping and praying he doesn’t pull away.
And when he pauses, I nearly scream, but when I glance down, I watch him place a gentle kiss right on my clit before he pushes me over the edge, making me scream into the silence of our house.
His mouth continues to work against my clit, so fast, exactly where I need it that I feel like I’m coming forever until my body slowly falls from the high of my orgasm.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I cover my face with my hands. When he stands up, I feel him move around the bed until he’s right next to me.
He tugs on my hand, forcing me to look at him and the very large erection in his pants. When our eyes connect, I notice the anger is gone and in its place is a soft, desolate, and controlled voice. “Thank you for tonight, Myla. I love you. I always will.” His appreciation never reaches his eyes or his beautiful smile but rather falls flat off the tip of his tongue before he moves away toward the door.
“Your shorts,” I say to him, feeling desperate for him to stay.
“Drop them off. I need to take care of things.” And then he leaves and heads up the stairs.
He’s going to take care of things . . . I know exactly what that means.
And I don’t know why, maybe because I still love him despite everything going on, maybe because I feel lost without him, but I want to hear. I want to listen to the moment he comes, knowing that this will be the last time we’re semi-together.
I rise from the bed, tie my robe back up, and grab the laundry basket I folded for him before all of this went down, including the lucky shorts.