Page 73 of Filthy Secret
Slowly, she peels off her shirt, unhooking her bra to expose her perfect fucking tits for me. Then she shimmies down her shorts and, with them, her panties before she climbs onto the chair, straddling my lap as she sinks her knees into the leather at each of my thighs.
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I grip her tightly there, my fingertips sinking into her flesh. I tip my head back slightly and watch as she dips her chin at the same time. Our gazes connect, and she gives me a sad smile.
A sad smile that I do not return. Clenching my jaw, I gnash my teeth together as I look into her face. I don’t know what the fuck to say, to think. I don’t know a fucking thing. All I do know is that I’m angry and hurt, and this is beyond reparable at this point to me.
I don’t speak.
I said all I needed to say.
She cups my cheeks with her palms. I don’t react, my face stony as I wait for her to say her fucking piece, so she can get the fuck out and go back to her room. Then tomorrow, she can be locked the fuck away in that house, and I won’t have to see her anymore.
Although, my cock doesn’t get the message that I’m pissed because it’s twitching at the thought of being inside her wet heat. My balls ache at the idea of emptying inside her body, of claiming her in that way and keeping her always.
“I messed up, Grover,” she whispers. “I know I did. Please, don’t end us like this. Not when we’re just getting started again.”
I don’t respond to her.
I can’t.
I would sound like a little bitch if I did, telling her just how badly her lies hurt me, so I don’t say a goddamn word. Not just because I don’t want to sound like a little bitch, but also because it’s not her fucking business, and it doesn’t matter.
Ryan lowers her head, her lips gently brushing mine. She smells like liquid courage and sex. I fucking love the way she smells, the way she tastes, everything about her, even when I never want to see her again. Even when I’m pissed the fuck off at her.
Ryan Turner is my everything.
Always has been.
But she can’t stay mine if I can’t trust her. And I can’t.
“You did,” I agree with her.
I feel her hands slide down my chest, then my belly. She reaches my belt with her fingers, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, her gaze holding mine for a long, still moment. Then she reaches into my pants, her fingers curling around my cock as she strokes me. I’m already half hard, so it doesn’t take much to get me there.
Lifting my hips, I let her other hand tug my jeans down, and then, wordlessly, she aligns herself with the head of my dick and slowly sinks down along my length. Sliding my hands down to her hips, I grip her there, holding her down.
“This doesn’t mean we’re together,” I point out.
She slides her thumb across my bottom lip, her palms still against my cheeks. She leans forward and lets out a heavy sigh.
“Grover,” she breathes, “I love you.”
I don’t respond to her.
I fucking can’t.
Hearing those words causes my entire body to jerk.
Fuck this shit, just fuck it.
Instead of letting her control this, to move on top of me, to make this sweet in any way whatsoever, I stand up with her still on my dick and turn us around slightly so I can lay her down on the desk.
She lets out a gasp as I wrap my fingers around the front of her throat and gently guide her back down against the warm wood of my desk. Her head hangs over the edge, which is fucking perfect for me. I grip her throat, and I fuck her—hard, keeping my eyes closed the entire time because if I look at her, at us, our connection, then I’m going to say those words back to her.
Because they’re true.
I fucking love her.
RYAN