He exhales in frustration and turns away, his hands going to his hair.
And that’s when I see it, how truly torn up he is about this. And I’m pushing him to step out of who he is and indulge in my fantasies. That’s not fair. Rath Westin is an exceptional man. He’s clinging to and respecting a promise he made to himself. I pause. My breathing is still labored, but I stop.
If we’re going to make this work, maybe it’s best if we don’t cross that final line. Just like he said.
Devastated and amped up simultaneously, I scoot off the bed and head toward the closet where I put my suitcase. Clothes, I need clothes, and I need to sleep on the couch tonight, no matter how stiff it is. I don’t trust myself to be good when we’re in the same bed. Not tonight.
Not bothering with a bra or underwear, I snag one of his T-shirts and throw it over my body. If I can’t have the real thing, might as well take his scent with me in bed.
When I head back out to the bedroom, I notice he hasn’t moved. This is exactly what he needs, more time to himself. Knowing there are throw blankets out on the couch, I grab my pillow and quietly exit his room.
To say I’m disheartened is an understatement, but as I gather a few blankets and lie on the stiff couch, I realize he’s right. I’m making it so much harder on him, and I hate that he may have lost respect for me because of it. Things are already incredibly complicated with my grandma being sick, the “engagement” and wedding plans, the boss-assistant relationship. The last thing we need is to throw sleeping together in the mix. It might be painful but—
“Charlee.” Rath’s voice shakes me to my core as I look up from where I’m lying. Standing in the hallway, hands propping him on both walls, he hangs his head low, but tilts it up just enough to make eye contact with me. The lights shining through the large windows focus on his ripped torso, highlighting every ridge and contour. With nothing on other than boxer briefs, he says, “Come here.”
My throat grows heavy as my heart plummets against my ribs, sending a wave of nausea and excitement at the same time. I sit up, then step away from the couch and walk toward him, my pulse drowning out any noise around me. When I reach him, he takes my hand in his and walks us to the bedroom where he places me in front of his bed. Keeping his eyes trained on me, he reaches down to the hem of my shirt and slowly skims it along my body until it’s up and over my head. Tossing it to the floor, he takes my cheeks with his hands, tilts my mouth and I swear, everything slows down around us. The room starts to swirl in my mind and as his mouth descends on mine, I lose all sense of where I am. I’m caught up in the energy of the man who’s holding me.
Right before his lips make contact, I suck in a breath of air and then in an instant, he steals it with his mouth pressing against mine. My hands move to his hair where they tangle in the short silky strands, while my body presses against his.
My nipples rub against his barrel of a chest, his trimmed chest hair adding much-desired friction.
His covered erection presses against my stomach, firm and high, sensually ready for me.
But what is inciting my obvious arousal is the strong hold he has on my face and the way his mouth doesn’t seem like it can get enough.
In a frantic move, our tongues clash together, our mouths moving back and forth, stealing breath from one another. He pulls away and looks me in the eyes, crazed and hungry. He looks ready to snap . . . and I’m ready for it.
“I can’t hold back,” he says. “I tried, but I can’t. I need you, Charlee. Tell me you still want me.”
“More than anything,” I say, getting emotional from the push and pull of this man.
“Good.” He lowers me to the bed, spreads my legs, and hovers above me.
He starts with my mouth, paying close attention while his hands float to my breasts, squeezing each one deliberately before moving to my nipples, where he plays with them until they’re so hard that they almost become painful.
Deliciously painful.
He rolls them between his fingers and then moves his mouth south, trailing his tongue along my skin until he reaches my breasts. Taking his time, he brings one into his mouth, causing me to squirm beneath him, looking for more, needing more.
But he takes his time and moves over to the next breast, paying it the same attention. Kneading, sucking, kneading, sucking . . . pinching.
“Aah,” I moan and thrust my hips for some relief, which they find. I rub my body against his hard one, making waves with my hips until he realizes what I’m doing and stills my hips with one press of his hand, his fingers curling to my backside where they imprint themselves.
Not saying a word, he moves south again, dragging his tongue over my stomach, swirling around my belly button, and then down to my center. Not even skipping a beat, he moves his tongue along my slit, spreading me wide with two of his fingers. I glance down and see his head move with each stroke, his handsome face buried between my legs. It’s so erotic that it spurs me on even more and before I can count to ten, my orgasm starts to build.
“God, yes, Rath.” My hand falls to his head where I play with his hair, encouraging him. I spread my legs even wider, wanting nothing to be in his way as he flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue, then swirls, then flicks, then swirls . . .
Oh God.
He flattens his tongue and I nearly fly off the mattress.
“I’m going to come. Rath, oh God, I’m going to come.” I grip the pillow on both sides and prepare myself as he lifts his tongue and then lightly glides it over my clit with the very tip barely applying any pressure, just enough to build and build me up until—
“Ohhh . . . fuuuck,” I scream as he applies more pressure. My orgasm tears through my body, scorching through my limbs, shooting up my stomach, and then back down, pooling and gathering, and taking over every last inch of feeling inside of me.
I call out his name.
I grip his hair.
I flail my arms over my face, covering my eyes as I can’t take it anymore.
“Please,” I call out on a sob. “Oh God, please stop. It’s too much.”
But he doesn’t stop as the pleasure continues to roar through me, jolting me until he finally lets up, giving me a second to breathe, but not much time because before I know it, I hear the wrapper tear open. I peek up to see his cock jutting out before he sheathes it with a condom.
Returning to me, he kneels in front of me, spreads his legs so he lowers himself, and then poises his tip at my entrance.
Catching my eyes, his brow pinched together, his muscles straining, he’s looking for permission. As if I could deny him at this point. I reach down, grab his cock, and put it inside me. He growls out in pleasure as he rocks himself inside, his girth stretching me in the most exquisite way.
He rocks and rocks until he bottoms out, both of us gasping at the same time. He shudders forward, and I grip the back of his neck, pulling him down until our mouths meet. Unlike other men I’ve been with, he doesn’t shy away from kissing me while deep inside of me. He takes his time. This isn’t a sprint to him . . . this is a marathon, and even though I can sense his urgency to come, he takes his time.
Hovering above me, his hands on either side of my head, his cock deep inside me, he makes out with me. It’s glorious. Starting slow, his mouth moves across mine, nipping and sucking, and then he presses his tongue inside, finding mine. And that’s where he stays, letting me feel every inch of him, every ounce of passion pouring out of him, every emotion.