My head falls back.
“Ryder—”
He hums against me, the
vibration shooting straight between my legs. I grind down harder, chasing
friction, already soaked through my leggings. He switches to the other breast,
giving it the same slow, filthy attention while his hand slides down to grip my
ass, guiding my hips in a rhythm that has us both panting.
I need more.
I tug at his shirt, careful
of the healing shoulder and he helps me pull it over his head one-armed. The
sight of him shirtless, all lean muscle and fading bruises. I’m on my knees
between his legs.
His eyes darken as I hook
my fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Maya?—”
“Shh.” I tug them down
just enough. He lifts his hips to help, he’s bare thick, hard, flushed dark at
the tip, already leaking. I wrap my hand around him, stroking once, slow,
watching his abs tighten and his head tip back against the couch.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
I lean forward and take
him into my mouth.
He swears again, louder
this time, fingers threading into my hair not pushing, just holding on like he
needs an anchor. I swirl my tongue around the head, then slide down as far as I
can, hollowing my cheeks. His hips jerk once, involuntary, before he stills
them with visible effort.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he
rasps.
I pull off just long
enough to murmur, “Good way to go,” then take him again, deeper, faster, until
