Easy Charm
Page 20
“Mm,” I moan, unable to form words.
Who in the name of all that’s holy can form words when Rhys O’Shaughnessy’s hands are all over them?
Not this girl.
I reach behind me and drag my fingernails up his thigh, over the fabric of his boxer-briefs, his thigh, to his belly, and he bites my earlobe.
“Careful, baby. I’ve been feeling your sexier-than-fuck body against me all night.”
I grin and don’t stop touching him. My panties are soaked. My nipples are hard nubs, rubbing roughly against the bra he didn’t take off of me last night.
I turn onto my back. Rhys’s face is still buried in my neck, kissing, licking, turning me the hell on.
Damn, this man is a master with his lips.
I love the way he feels. He’s not super hairy, with smooth arms and abs, and just a light dusting of hair on his chest that feels amazing under my fingertips.
“You feel good yourself,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder as my hand drifts farther south. I gently wrap my fingers around the length of his dick, over his underwear, then push my hand under the elastic waistband, cup him in my hand and brush my thumb over the tip, wiping away the moisture that’s already gathered there.
“Oh God,” he breathes against my shoulder, then kisses my jaw, my cheek, and finally my lips, cupping my face in his hand. I stroke him more firmly, but still slowly, watching his face as his breathing increases. Sweat forms on his brow. His eyes are closed.
“Look at me,” I whisper against his lips, turning his words back on him. He pins me in his bright green gaze, and I have to clench my own thighs together, shocked at how much making him crazy makes me crazy.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says and kisses me, always watching me as he shifts his hips back and forth, working them down his hips and legs. “God, your hands are—”
He swallows hard, unable to continue. We’re both breathing hard, him naked, me half-dressed and enjoying the way he feels, sounds, smells.
God, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.
Suddenly, he grits his teeth, panting, and utters, “Fuck,” as he comes into my hand. He closes his eyes and tips his forehead against my shoulder, his breath shuddering in and out.
Wow.
“Jesus, Gabrielle,” he whispers. “I’ve haven’t come in a woman’s hand since I was a teenager.” He plants wet, firm kisses on my shoulder, my neck. “What are you doing to me?”
I grin, very pleased with myself, thank you very much, and kiss his scruff-covered chin, then his lips. “Turning you on.”
“You’ve been doing that for almost two weeks, sweetheart.” He pushes me onto my back, covering me with his impressive body, and kisses me long and deep. One hand is braced above my head, and the other takes a journey down my torso, over my breasts, to my belly, and he starts to pull my tank up. And I freeze.
“I’m not sure you want to do that.”
He frowns down into my face. “I’m sure I do.”
I bite my lip. “Maybe we can just leave my shirt on.”
He frowns again, not in a mad way, but rather more confused, and then his face clears and he kisses me again. He braces himself on his elbows at either side of my head, his fingers plunge into my hair, and he rubs my scalp as he slowly, and thoroughly, kisses the ever-loving hell out of me.
“Gabby,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’ve had a baby.”
His green eyes don’t leave mine as he pulls one hand down my side to my belly and simply rests it there. I’m a petite woman. Most of my body is slender, but my belly is full of stretch marks and flab that will never go away, no matter what I do.
Unless I get a tummy-tuck. Which I’m not above, by the way.
“You’re a mom. You’re a real woman. Your body is perfect, just the way it is.”
I cringe.
“Stop it.” He kisses me again and pushes his hand under my shirt. “Jesus, Gabby, you couldn’t turn me on more than you do. I’d die.”
The sincerity is in his eyes. He’s not bullshitting me just so he can get in my pants. No one has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me right now.
“Trust me?” His face is sober as he asks, and when I nod, that slow, crooked smile tickles his lips. “Good girl.”
I shiver.
“Are you cold?”
I shake my head no and he smiles wider.
“You just like it when I say good girl.”
I nod reluctantly and he kisses my lips, my chin, and down my torso, following the path his hand took moments ago, as he pulls my shirt up and over my head. He reaches behind me and deftly unhooks my bra with one hand, then flings it to the floor with my shirt and continues to plant his lips down to my belly.
He nuzzles me there, his hands on my sides, just above my pelvis. He’s spread my legs wide, and is on his belly between them, his chest pressed to my core as he kisses my belly. “So beautiful,” he says, then kisses even lower. He shimmies further down the bed, glances up at me with a mischievous grin, then plants that mouth right over my panties, against the spot that turns my world upside down.
Sweet baby Jesus.
“God, you’re wet,” he says. “Your panties are soaked clean through.”
His satisfied eyes find mine as he slips a finger in the elastic, pulls it aside, and returns his attention there, surging me up onto my elbows so I can watch. “Oh, my God.”
Who in the name of all that’s holy can form words when Rhys O’Shaughnessy’s hands are all over them?
Not this girl.
I reach behind me and drag my fingernails up his thigh, over the fabric of his boxer-briefs, his thigh, to his belly, and he bites my earlobe.
“Careful, baby. I’ve been feeling your sexier-than-fuck body against me all night.”
I grin and don’t stop touching him. My panties are soaked. My nipples are hard nubs, rubbing roughly against the bra he didn’t take off of me last night.
I turn onto my back. Rhys’s face is still buried in my neck, kissing, licking, turning me the hell on.
Damn, this man is a master with his lips.
I love the way he feels. He’s not super hairy, with smooth arms and abs, and just a light dusting of hair on his chest that feels amazing under my fingertips.
“You feel good yourself,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder as my hand drifts farther south. I gently wrap my fingers around the length of his dick, over his underwear, then push my hand under the elastic waistband, cup him in my hand and brush my thumb over the tip, wiping away the moisture that’s already gathered there.
“Oh God,” he breathes against my shoulder, then kisses my jaw, my cheek, and finally my lips, cupping my face in his hand. I stroke him more firmly, but still slowly, watching his face as his breathing increases. Sweat forms on his brow. His eyes are closed.
“Look at me,” I whisper against his lips, turning his words back on him. He pins me in his bright green gaze, and I have to clench my own thighs together, shocked at how much making him crazy makes me crazy.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says and kisses me, always watching me as he shifts his hips back and forth, working them down his hips and legs. “God, your hands are—”
He swallows hard, unable to continue. We’re both breathing hard, him naked, me half-dressed and enjoying the way he feels, sounds, smells.
God, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.
Suddenly, he grits his teeth, panting, and utters, “Fuck,” as he comes into my hand. He closes his eyes and tips his forehead against my shoulder, his breath shuddering in and out.
Wow.
“Jesus, Gabrielle,” he whispers. “I’ve haven’t come in a woman’s hand since I was a teenager.” He plants wet, firm kisses on my shoulder, my neck. “What are you doing to me?”
I grin, very pleased with myself, thank you very much, and kiss his scruff-covered chin, then his lips. “Turning you on.”
“You’ve been doing that for almost two weeks, sweetheart.” He pushes me onto my back, covering me with his impressive body, and kisses me long and deep. One hand is braced above my head, and the other takes a journey down my torso, over my breasts, to my belly, and he starts to pull my tank up. And I freeze.
“I’m not sure you want to do that.”
He frowns down into my face. “I’m sure I do.”
I bite my lip. “Maybe we can just leave my shirt on.”
He frowns again, not in a mad way, but rather more confused, and then his face clears and he kisses me again. He braces himself on his elbows at either side of my head, his fingers plunge into my hair, and he rubs my scalp as he slowly, and thoroughly, kisses the ever-loving hell out of me.
“Gabby,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’ve had a baby.”
His green eyes don’t leave mine as he pulls one hand down my side to my belly and simply rests it there. I’m a petite woman. Most of my body is slender, but my belly is full of stretch marks and flab that will never go away, no matter what I do.
Unless I get a tummy-tuck. Which I’m not above, by the way.
“You’re a mom. You’re a real woman. Your body is perfect, just the way it is.”
I cringe.
“Stop it.” He kisses me again and pushes his hand under my shirt. “Jesus, Gabby, you couldn’t turn me on more than you do. I’d die.”
The sincerity is in his eyes. He’s not bullshitting me just so he can get in my pants. No one has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me right now.
“Trust me?” His face is sober as he asks, and when I nod, that slow, crooked smile tickles his lips. “Good girl.”
I shiver.
“Are you cold?”
I shake my head no and he smiles wider.
“You just like it when I say good girl.”
I nod reluctantly and he kisses my lips, my chin, and down my torso, following the path his hand took moments ago, as he pulls my shirt up and over my head. He reaches behind me and deftly unhooks my bra with one hand, then flings it to the floor with my shirt and continues to plant his lips down to my belly.
He nuzzles me there, his hands on my sides, just above my pelvis. He’s spread my legs wide, and is on his belly between them, his chest pressed to my core as he kisses my belly. “So beautiful,” he says, then kisses even lower. He shimmies further down the bed, glances up at me with a mischievous grin, then plants that mouth right over my panties, against the spot that turns my world upside down.
Sweet baby Jesus.
“God, you’re wet,” he says. “Your panties are soaked clean through.”
His satisfied eyes find mine as he slips a finger in the elastic, pulls it aside, and returns his attention there, surging me up onto my elbows so I can watch. “Oh, my God.”
