Until You're Mine: Requested Trilogy - Part Two Page 3

  My heart soars when our lips touch and reckless abandon floods my veins. When I cup his cheeks with my hands, he doesn’t stop me. His eyes dart over my face, resting on every freckle, every line of my skin, and then I kiss him again. Hungrily. Passionately. As though I’ve been trapped underwater and he is air itself. His fingers graze my scalp, threading into my hair, cupping the back of my head and pulling me closer. My heart is pounding now, crashing waves of rapture against my chest.

  Then he pulls away, hands still threaded in my hair, eyes darting between mine, lips bruised red. His hands drop to his sides. He takes a step back and then he sinks to his knees, lifting those storm-filled eyes, dragging them so slowly up my body it turns what’s left of my resolve to a quivering mess.

  He’s offering himself to me.

  Kneeling.

  Submissive.

  Willing.

  Taking his face between my hands, I bend down to kiss him, catching his bottom lip between my teeth roughly and leaving it bruised. I run my hands through his hair, my thumbs over the deep lines of his brow until the temptation of his lips are too much and I lower my mouth, taking his kisses, his desperation and his submission, and losing myself to desire.

  As I lower myself to his lap, I tear the shirt from his body, tossing it to the side and running my fingers over his skin. The raised lines of ink swell under my touch. I taste him, running my tongue over his shoulder. Salt and mint and pine. His shoulders are perfectly formed, smooth and sculptured, decorated in ink. I drag my nails down his back, leaving white lines that turn red. He breathes deeply, his chest expanding before he lets out a low moan that reverberates in my core. His skin skitters as I explore, following the dips and curves of his body. Pressing myself closer to him, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist, his hardness surges against me. I push him to the ground, powerful with need. Sitting on top, I press my hands to his chest, grinding myself against his hardness.

  The world disappears. There are no walls. No cell. No chains. No prison. There is nothing but Ryker and me and this heated electricity that pulses between us. I fumble with his belt, jerking it off and tossing it aside like I did his shirt. His jeans are next, tugging them down his legs, along with his underwear, leaving him naked and exposed, spread on the floor beneath me as I stand over him.

  He is glorious.

  Even though his eyes are scorched with lust, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t reach for me, instead, he watches as my eyes devour him, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. His cock twitches in response when I fix my gaze on it and he groans again, unashamedly letting me know the surge of desire crashing through him.

  Pulling my dress over my head, I lower myself to the ground, wrapping my hands around his ankles and moving so slowly up his body it makes him tense and squirm, his hands forming clenched fists at his sides. I run my fingers over the inside of his thighs, applying more pressure when I reach the grooves of his pelvis, touching everywhere and everything but the place he desires most.

  My hands keep traveling up his body, over the hardness of his stomach, the rise of his chest, the dips of his shoulders, my body stretched over his but not touching. The torment in his eyes is clear. He’s resisting the urge to grab, to take. Resisting the urge to be in control.

  I don’t need to guide him into me. He’s hard and ready, so I hover over him, allowing just the tip of him to brush against me. I’m trembling, quivering in anticipation as I sink further. He’s hard and thick and I suck in my lower lip, biting it to stop from crying out. His eyes roll back and he bites his bottom lip too, almost as though he’s mimicking me. His hands clench and unclench at his sides as I lower myself onto him an inch at a time, allowing the sensation of him filling me to spread slowly through my body.

  Once I’m impaled, relishing the feel of him, I take a deep breath, adjusting to his fullness and his hardness. Even though his body is tight and taunt, held still by sheer willpower alone, he moves within me, growing even harder as his eyes focus on mine.

  As I begin to rock back and forth, I lift his hands to rest on my hips. His fingers dig into me painfully. But it’s a pain I desire. A pain I want. His muscles flex as he attempts to pull himself from the ground, but I shove him back, an exhaled huff of air escaping him from the force. Holding my hands against his chest, I lift myself, instantly feeling the loss of him, then lower back down slowly.

  He’s caught between rapture and torture.

  Again and again I do this, rising and falling, locking my eyes on his as the threads of his neck strain with the effort of denied control. His fingers twist and pull at my skin, needing something to release the pressure building.

  When I dig my nails into his chest, he lets out a hissed whistle of air. Running one hand over the skin of his collarbone, I come to rest on the base of his neck, rubbing the flesh and feeling the bounce of his throat as he swallows. I increase the pressure, gripping my fingers, tightening his allowance of air, craving control. He moans again but doesn’t stop me, choosing to keep his hands on the flesh of my hips.

  I squeeze tighter, daring him to stop me, daring him to dominate, but all he does is watch me with those possessive eyes, his skin flushing the tighter I squeeze. His cock surges inside me, begging for friction and I rock my hips, watching him curiously as he struggles for breath.

  When I finally let go, his hand whips out and grabs my left wrist, twisting it away, causing a sharp pain to knife through my shoulder.

  I slap him.

  He grunts, jerking his hips upward, pushing further into me. His eyes close and his face pulls into an expression of exquisite agony. Bending myself down to brush my lips over his neck still red from the grip of my fingers, I whisper in his ear.

  “Take me.”

  Instantly, his hand wraps around the back of my head, cupping it as he rolls over, pressing my back to the ground and rising on top as though my command has been what he’s been waiting for, the only thing stopping him for devouring me. He plunges back in without hesitation and I whimper as he buries his head between my breasts, inhaling the scent of me.

  At no time do I think about where we are. Who he is. What is to become of me. I am lost in the sensation of being filled by him, desired by him, taken by him. He moves me easily, and just as quickly as I was on my back, I find myself lifted to be cradled, my legs wrapped around his waist, our bodies slick with sweat, his cock hard within me.

  We writhe together and I thread my hands through his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine in feverish passion. He kisses every part of me he can reach, running his lips over my mouth, cheeks, neck. His hands dig into the flesh of my back, ignoring the wounds which are still healing. But I don’t care. There is no pain. Only pleasure.

  Gripping the sides of my face, he holds my head still, pressing his forehead against mine and looking deep into my eyes. Our breaths mingle. Our bodies rock in unison. Pressure builds within.

  Threading his hands around the back of my head, he tugs my hair, yanking my head backward and exposing my neck. He jerks and thrusts, and an explosion ignites, bursting through the cells of my body as fireworks. He’s made me come before, but never like this. Never with him deep inside me. Never with our bodies in a tangled mess of sweat and limbs and passion.

  Never as equals.

  He stills as he watches the waves of ecstasy roll over me. I move my head back to look at him, an uncontrollable smile creeping over my face. He returns it, his hand pushing the back of my head forward in order to kiss me lazily. He starts to pull out.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, pushing back into him, holding him within me, not wanting this connection between us to be over. “What about you?”

  “I don’t want it to be about me,” he says as I start to kiss his neck, gently biting the soft flesh just under his ear.

  “But what if I want it to be?” I’m rocking my hips, forcing the friction between us. He’s caught in the moment, unable to answer as he fights the urge to come.

  “It’s too soon. No p
rotection,” he grunts or hisses or moans.

  I hadn’t even thought about it. It seems so inconsequential here, now, but I know he is right. It brings the world back into the focus. The walls of my cell come crashing back into place. The monotone colors blur my vision. But I don’t want to be here. I want to be lost in him. A place where I am free to act as I please. A place I can demand his attention. A place I can take control.

  He’s watching me, lust and desire etched on his face. Before, his emotions were hard to read, just a storm in his eyes, but now it is like the sun has come out, the waves have calmed, and the water is clear.

  He’s looking at me unabashedly. Unashamedly. Openly.

  Untangling myself from him, I pull him to his feet, lowering myself so I can take him in my mouth, wanting to see that loss of control ripple through him. But he stops me, shaking his head and pulling me back to my feet.

  “Not on your knees,” he says.

  For some reason tears spring to my eyes. My heart swells and I launch myself at him. He catches me as I wrap my legs around his hips, kissing him as though my life depends on it. Maybe it does.

  “Mia,” he groans.

  Pulling away, I lift my hands to cup his face. “You’ve never said my name before.”

  He grins and kisses me again, before pulling away and repeating my name. “Mia.”

  It sounds so beautiful on his lips.

  Adjusting himself, he lifts me enough to enter me again.

  I smile, running my thumbs over the lines of his brow. “Ryker.”

  He grunts, thrusting into me, but there’s a smirk on his face. “Mia,” he says again, but this time it’s more of a moan.

  It’s such a strange thing, but there’s something powerful about saying our names, claiming who we are in this prison. Walking us backward, he slumps against the wall. His hands move to cup the cheeks of my backside and he moves me, bouncing me on his cock as our mouths fight for dominance. Then, pulling himself from the wall, he walks over to the bed and tosses me down. I laugh as I bounce and he grabs my ankles, pulling my legs over the side.

  “But me kneeling,” he says as he lowers himself to the ground, “I’m good with that.”

  His hands work their way up the insides of my thighs, pulling and massaging the flesh. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he lowers his mouth and runs his tongue along my clit. Pulses of pleasure rip through me and he moves closer, pulling me toward him, gripping onto my flesh with desperation as his tongue works magic.

  Moving so my back is supported by the wall, I run my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. He moans and I am undone again, gasping and panting and squirming as the pressure releases.

  “Ryker!” His name explodes from my lips as I arch in the air, my body tight as an orgasm tears through me.

  He lifts his head and crawls over me, hovering above my spent body. “I dreamed about hearing my name on your lips like that, shouted in a moment of ecstasy.”

  Lazily, I reach between us and take his steel-hard cock in my hands, stroking up and down and watching as he fights the need to come.

  “Fuck, Mia. Be careful.”

  I stroke harder and faster, intently watching his face and his body’s reactions as the sensation begins to overwhelm him. His face twists into exquisite agony. The threads of his neck strain. The lines of his forehead deepen as he bites his lip. He jerks, convulsing as his warm seed spurts onto my stomach. And then he slumps over me.

  Spent. Undone.

  Our hearts beat in unison, mine just the slightest echo of his.

  I breathe deeply, relishing the feeling of completion and satisfaction as I run my fingers over his back. I cross the patch of stars on his shoulder, tracing the diamond shaped pattern. I run them over the dragon that graces his shoulder blade and down to the unmarked skin of his lower back. There is a scar there. Puckered and circular.

  “How did you get this?”

  He lifts himself and rolls from me, but his head rests in the crook of my arm. He takes my hand and brings it to his mouth as he speaks.

  “It’s nothing,” he says with his lips brushing over my skin. There’s something in his tone that warns me to not ask any more. So I don’t. I don’t because I don’t want to leave this moment, this foggy haze of chosen ignorance. Sitting up, Ryker runs his hands through his hair before turning to look back at me. The mess of him is smeared across our stomachs.

  “Shower?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MIA

  I wake stretched across Ryker, my head pressed to his chest, my arm trailing across his torso. My leg is bent over his, and the steady beat of his heart echoes in my ear. We are crammed together in the small bed but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  For the first time since I got here, I don’t wake with dread pulsing through me. I don’t have that moment of confusion, thinking I’m home and safe in my own bed before reality crashes.

  Ryker sleeps soundly and I nuzzle into his chest, inhaling the scent of him. He smells of cherry blossom today. Just like I do.

  Closing my eyes, I think back to the night before and the way Ryker washed himself from me, running the cloth over my body almost reverently and the way he got distracted, his mouth crashing into mine with feverish passion and pushing me against the shower wall to plunge inside me again.

  The memory wakens something deep inside, arousing my desire for him again, so I trace a circle around his nipple, hoping to wake him. His hand rests protectively on my back and his fingers stir a little, pressing into my flesh, but he doesn’t wake.

  Tilting my head to rest my chin against him, I stare up at him sleeping peacefully. The lines across his brow are faint in sleep, more suggestions of lines than the deep grooves I’m used to. His beard is closely shaved now and not the unkempt mess of before. But his hair is in disarray. His lips are the same deep pink as always, the fullness of them drooping slightly. They look so kissable. Walking my fingers up his chest, I run my thumb over his bottom lip. It turns into a smile as his body tightens and stretches.

  “Morning,” he says, his hand gripping me tightly and pulling me closer.

  “Morning,” I whisper back, afraid if I talk too loud I will somehow undo this bubble of bliss. The normality of it, of waking up in bed tangled in Ryker’s embrace as though reality does not exist, brings a knot to my throat and I bury my head into his chest, breathing deeply, willing myself back to that place where the walls around me don’t exist.

  Reaching for me, he tilts my chin back up so I’m looking at him. And then he kisses me, pressing his lips against mine with a rough softness that tingles deep inside. He’s lazy with the kiss. Lazy and demanding at the same time. The arm wrapped around me tugs, pulling me on top of him, pressing his hardness into the base of my stomach.

  And then he just holds me.

  I allow myself to wonder what it would have been like if we had met at a different time. Would he have noticed me? Would I have noticed him? Would we still be tangled in each other’s embrace?

  He’s older than me, at least I think he is. It’s hard to tell. There’s a hardness to his features, but it fades when he smiles. He might have looked at me and seen just a girl. I might have looked at him and seen just a man with a messy beard and without the storm of conflict in his eyes.

  I know my attraction to him is fueled by the intensity of my situation, I try to keep reminding myself of that, but it doesn’t change the way I feel right now, here in his arms. It doesn’t change the fact that my heart pounds or that desire twists when I think of him. Or the fact that he is my savior and my tormentor all rolled into one.

  Or the fact that I want him.

  I wonder what he does when he’s not with me. What he did before me. But I don’t want to ask, because to ask would be to bring that world into our own, and right now I don’t want that.

  I am content in my naivety. Content in my chosen ignorance. There’s a part of me, the trusting part, the doe-eyed part, that wonders how I didn’t notic
e it before. How I didn’t see his perfection.

  His hands begin to massage the flesh of my back, moving across me like he knows every inch of my body. And I suppose he does. Never before has a man known the contours of my physique like Ryker does. Never before has a man made me feel the way he does. I am inexperienced in the ways of men. Thomas, my only boyfriend, thought that saying, ‘hop on’ was foreplay.

  Threading my arms beneath him, I hook them up and over his shoulders, holding onto him tightly, scared he might suddenly vanish, scared to wake up and find this is all a dream.

  Scared that it’s not.

  His hands move down my back, gripping the flesh of my backside and pulling me further up his body, enough so I have to let go and rise to meet his gaze. He kisses me once. Twice. Then tilts his head, taking my breast in his mouth and caressing the soft flesh with his tongue. Waves of desire twist within and a moan escapes.

  His attention turns to my other breast, his tongue coiling around the nipple time and time again until the sensation causes my toes to curl and I press myself into him, almost suffocating him with my flesh.

  With his hands gripping my sides, he pushes me up and back so his hardness presses into the base of me. I’m already wet and his eyes roll back in his head as I slide over him. His cock stands proud and tall, glistening with my moisture. He strokes himself once, twice, before moving and guiding himself into me.

  The fullness of him is rapture. I take a deep breath as I sink onto him, bending myself over and clinging onto him as he begins to move. We stay like that, rocking back and forth, our bodies pressed so close together that I don’t know where he stops and I start, until the ecstasy is too much and I cry out, sinking my teeth into his shoulder, knowing the flash of pain will cause him to become undone.

  “Oh, fuck,” he hisses, holding me tight, not moving a muscle as he pulses within.

  I can feel the surges of him, the convulsing as he comes. And it’s only when he stills again that I move, pressing my lips to his before slumping back on top of him.