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“That upset you?” He sounds truly surprised and a little distressed.
I want to push him away. And I want to arch my back so the tips of my breasts are that much closer to the hard expanse of his chest. Shit. I’m so messed up. I hold perfectly still. “Was that really necessary?” I hiss. “Arguing with me about something utterly ridiculous yet again?”
“Of course it was necessary,” he hisses back, clearly wanting to raise his voice but trying not to. “I have to act the way I always do with you. Because otherwise they’ll see.” He flings his arm in the direction of the dining room, color rising over his cheeks. “They’ll all know how much I want you. That I’m fucking aching to touch you.”
My breath leaves in a whoosh, and his comes out in a pant.
“They’ll see right through me,” he whispers hotly. “I couldn’t let them know that, Bren. Not if we want to keep us a secret.”
“There is no us.”
His eyes flash. “Bullshit.”
We’re both breathing too hard, sparks snapping and flying between us. It heats my blood. My nipples draw tight and tender. Rye’s attention flicks to them. He lets out a harsh breath, and I draw one in.
I don’t know who moves first. I don’t care. He’s stepping up to me, and I’m rising to my toes, my hands clutching his big shoulders to hold on. His mouth is hot, desperate, and oh, so good. Rye cups my cheeks as he angles my head to kiss me deeper. The soft stubble of his beard tickles the sensitive edges of my lips and sends licks of pleasure up the backs of my knees, between my shaking thighs.
I slide my tongue over his, and he whimpers. The helpless, needy sound goes straight to my core. It lights me up, and I arch my back, pressing into the warm wall of his firm chest.
With a grunt, he grabs my ass and hauls me onto the countertop. His mouth never leaves mine as he shoves my thighs apart and steps in between them. Instantly, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing his warmth, his strength.
“Fuck,” he rasps against my mouth. “You taste so good.”
I’m not ashamed to admit I mewl in agreement. My hands are in his hair, gripping the short strands. We’re eating at each other’s mouths. It’s messy, frantic. I don’t want it to end.
Hot palms slip under my skirt and slide up my thighs. I shiver, and his mouth descends to a sweet spot on my neck. “Need to feel you, Bren. Just once.”
The tips of his fingers dance along the edge of my panties. I spread my legs wider, tilt my hips up to give him more room. A tremor goes through Rye at my compliance. It turns into a moan when he slides a finger under the silk and touches my swollen sex.
I jolt against that questing finger. My head is floating away, my belly clenching with delicious heat. I’m on the edge of coming and he’s barely touched me. His breath is hot and fast against my neck as he explores me with steady strokes. Weakly, I rest my cheek on his wide shoulder, unable to do anything other than feel.
Dimly, I hear our friends laughing in the other room, the rise and fall of conversation. That I’m hidden away with Rye, his hand in my panties, his mouth sucking my neck, heightens everything. This lust has sharp edges, a painful bite that makes me quake.
He pushes his thick, long finger into me. Deep. Demanding. Perfect. I stifle my scream against the damp hollow of his neck as the orgasm rolls and shudders through me, not ending but building, rising all over again.
“Fuck, yes,” he whispers, fucking me with his finger. He knows exactly how to do it, how I like it—a little rough, a little hard, but oh, so thorough. The muscles in his forearm shift and flex with every thrust and pull. “Give it to me, Bren.”
Panting, I fist his shirt and strain against him. It’s too good. I’m liquid lust now, melting for him.
“You’re beautiful.” His voice has gone rough yet soft. “So fucking beautiful.”
I break with a jolt and a whimper. He stays with me, holding me close as I let out a sigh. Weak and spent, I lean against him in a boneless heap. Sweat slicks my skin. My heart thuds hard against my ribs. A fine shaking takes hold of my limbs, and I can only cling to Rye and wait for the world to stop spinning.
He places a tender kiss on the crook of my neck—the final note of his perfect solo. My eyes flutter closed.
“Oy!” Jax shouts from somewhere in the apartment. “Did you get lost in that kitchen, Bren?”
The sound of his voice zaps through Rye and me like an electric shock.
