Page 282 of Wicked Brutal

“Ryan—oh—please—“

“You’re doing so good. So pretty like this.”

I keep my hand over her stomach while I work her, thumb stroking the small swell. My fingers stay slow. In. Curl. Out. I want tonight to be the version she remembers when the rest of the week tries to eat her alive.

“Come when you’re ready. I’ll catch you.”

Her hands fist in my hair. Her hips roll into my mouth. The moans go higher, thinner. “Ryan—I’m—“

“Come for me, Ally.” She breaks on a cry that turns into a sob. It moves through her in long, shaking waves. I stay right there, licking her through it, fingers stroking her down. “That’s it. Breathe.”

I don’t pull away until she twitches too hard and tugs at my hair. Then I press one last kiss to her, gentle, and kiss my way back up her body — stomach, sternum, throat — until I can see her face. She’s flushed. Eyes wet. Breathing like she ran here. I kiss her mouth, soft, and let her taste herself.

I stand. Ally watches me from the bed, still flushed, still breathing like the last thing I did to her hasn’t left her body yet. I pull my shirt over my head and drop it. Her eyes track the movement. I don’t rush that either. I want her looking. I want to be looked at by her and nobody else.

“Come here,” she says.

I step between her knees. She sits up enough to reach for the waistband of my sweatpants, hooks her fingers in, and drags them down with my boxers, and I have to brace a hand on the mattress when she wraps her hand around me.

“Ally—“

“I want to.”

She strokes me slow. Tight. Watching my face while she does it. I kick the rest of the clothes off without looking away from her, lean down, and kiss her again. And again. Soft because of her lip. Deeper because I can’t help it. Her hand keeps moving and I groan into her mouth.

“That’s it,” I murmur. “Just like that. Your hand. Fuck. You feel so good.”

I kiss her cheek. The unhurt corner of her mouth. Her jaw. Every kiss is another second I’m stealing from Saturday.

When I can’t take any more without losing the plot, I catch her wrist and kiss her palm. “Lie back for me.”

I settle over her, weight on my forearms, careful of her arms, careful of everything he put on her. I kiss her while I line myself up. The head of me presses against her and we both go still.

“Look at me.” Her eyes find mine. “Just us,” I say. “Right now it’s just us.”

I slide into her slow. Inch by inch. No snap. No rush. I feel every bit of her taking me, warm and tight and shaking a little still from her mouth, and I have to drop my forehead to hers to stay gentle.

“Jesus, Ally.” It comes out wrecked. “You feel—fuck. You feel like home.”

I bottom out and stay there. Kiss her. Kiss her again. Don’t move yet. Her legs come around me. Her hands find my back.

“Ryan.”

“I’m here.” I kiss her mouth. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I start to move. Not much at first. Small rolls of my hips, pulling back just enough to feel her drag along me, then filling her again. She sighs into my mouth. Her nails prick my shoulders.

“Like that,” she whispers. “Don’t disappear into your head. Stay with me.”

“I am.” I kiss the words into her. “You’re all I can feel.”

Her hand slides up my neck, into my hair. “Then show me. I don’t want careful because you’re scared. I want you.”

That undoes something. I give her more. Deeper. Still measured, but there’s weight in it now — the kind that says mine without turning ugly. The bed whispers under us. Her breath breaks on every other stroke.

“Ryan—“

“Tell me.”