Page 383 of Wicked Brutal

“I love you.” It comes out wrecked. “I love you. You’re killing me. Come here—come here—”

She doesn’t, not yet. She sinks back down and I groan at the ceiling, fingers tightening in her hair.

“Mine,” I manage. “That’s my girl. Look at you. Taking me like that. In here. Like this is just what we do now.”

She works me until my thighs start shaking and I’m not cute anymore, just desperate.

“Ally. Up. Please. I need— I need to be in you. I can’t—please.”

I pull her up by the arms, careful of her balance, and kiss her the second I can reach her mouth. Deep. Messy. I can taste myself on her and it makes me a little insane.

“Please,” I say against her lips. “Let me inside you. I want you. I want to feel you”

She’s already nodding, already shifting over me. “Yes. Please. Ryan—yes.”

She swings a leg over me and lines me up herself. Then she sinks down.

Slow. All the way. Until she’s seated in my lap and both of us just… stop. Her hands on my chest. Mine on her hips. Her bump between us, warm and real, and her mouth open on a quiet sound.

“Hi,” she whispers.

I laugh, wrecked. “Hi.”

She starts to move.

Not a show. Not a race. Just up, down, that easy slide that makes my fingers dig into her hips so I don’t take over. When she drops she grinds forward, looking for the angle she wants, and I watch her find it. Watch her face change. Watch her use me.

“There you go,” I murmur. “Take it. However you want.”

She does. A slow rise, a slower fall, then that little grind that punches a moan out of both of us. I keep my hands where they are—holding, not steering. Thumbs stroking the soft skin at her hips like I can’t believe I’m allowed to.

“You’re staring,” she says, breathless.

“Yeah.” I don’t look away. “You look like you belong here. On me. In this room. Hair a mess. Taking what you want.”

She flushes and rolls her hips again, deeper. “You like watching.”

“I love watching.” My grip tightens when she sinks down hard. “Fuck. You feel—Ally. You feel like mine.”

“I am yours.” She smiles, shaky, and does it again. Up. Down. Grind. “You’re allowed to look. That’s the whole point now.”

“I know.” It comes out soft and a little wrecked. “I’m looking. I’m not missing it.”

She braces on my chest and finds a rhythm that isn’t hurried and isn’t teasing—just living in it. Every time she bottoms out I groan. Every time she grinds I see her lashes flutter. I squeeze her hips and help her stay balanced, that’s all. Let her have the floor. Let her have me.

“Ryan—”

“I’m here.” I lift my head enough to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Keep going. You’re so pretty like this. Happy. Home. Riding me like we’ve got the rest of the afternoon.”

She laughs on a moan and keeps moving, slow and sure, while I just watch her do it.

She stops lifting. Just stays on me and grinds.

Back. Forth. Small, desperate rolls of her hips while she chases it, mouth open, those little sounds starting in her throat—mewls, broken moans, my name with no consonants left in it.

“That’s it.” I take her hips and help. Move her on me the way her body already wants. “There. Right there. Don’t think. Just take it.”

“Ryan—”