Page 6 of You Were Warned: Part One

“I’m not thinking.”

He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me, which is fair because he’s right. Crossing over to me, he reaches to remove my shirt. I’m in my workout clothes—still all black—but I made the mistake of once wearing my corset, and it really ruins the mood having to take it off.

Once he has stripped all of my clothes, he steps closer, his mouth going straight to my collarbone. His hands roam everywhere, and I stop keeping track after a while, which is the main reason I do this. It’s the only time in the week where my brain goes quiet, and I feel safe enough to let my guard down, even just a little.

“Vesper,” he murmurs.

“Don’t make this weird.”

He laughs and ignores me, going back to kissing along my neck and down to my shoulder, his teeth grazing across to the hollow of my throat. His hands move over my ribs, one by one, almost like he is counting them. My skin tightens everywhere he touches. His palms reach my waist, then he pulls back a little.

“Still thinking.”

“You’re not helping.”

His laugh buzzes against my skin, and he steps back, hooking his thumbs into his boxers. As he shoves them down, I take in every inch of him—the sheer thickness of the bottom half of him is mouth-watering. He catches me looking, and he smirks.

Rue approaches again and uses his bulk to push me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed and I fall back onto it. His eyes rake over my body, from my face down to my thighs.

“Come here,” I say, and he does, his body covering mine as he wraps an arm around me, shifting us up the bed.

Then he settles his body between my legs, his hand cupping my breast, his thumb dragging over my nipple until it peaks and I arch into his palm. Rue kisses down my jaw, and the scrape of his stubble sends a wave of pleasure between my thighs.

He’s taking his time, knowing I need more. Teasing kisses down my body, by the time he reaches my hipbone, my hands are on his shaved head, my nails digging into his scalp. Yet he simply spreads my thighs wider with his shoulders and looks down to where I’m so damn wet and ready for him. His exhale brushes against my skin as he lowers his head and puts his mouth on me. Fire burns through my veins.

He draws a low, slow stroke over my pussy, flicking my clit. A strangled sound rattles from my lips, so he does it again, then his tongue circles as he pushes a finger into me, then two, crooking them against the spot that makes my vision blur. The sensation of his mouth and fingers has me rolling my hips in a sensual rhythm, until his free hand pins them to the mattress.

I’m so close when he lifts his head. “Patience.”

“You’re an asshole,” I mutter.

He smiles and lowers his mouth again, flattening out his tongue and dragging it up until he reaches my clit, then he closes his lips around it and sucks as his two fingers curl inside me.

I come apart, my nails digging into his back.

He keeps his rhythm until my orgasm reaches its peak, then I go limp and push against his shoulders.

With that, he crawls up my body, and his mouth on mine tastes like me.

“Your turn,” I say, shoving at his chest until he rolls onto his back.

He watches me with his dark eyes, while I work my way down his body, over his ribs, my tongue tracing the lines of ink on his stomach. When I wrap my hand around his cock, a breath escapes through his teeth, and I repay the favor by taking my time.

I lick the length of him, then take him into my mouth as far as I can go, which is barely halfway; Rue is a massive man, and that is not limited to the parts of his body you can normally see. His hands tangle in my hair, resting there as I work him up and down, hollowing out my cheeks and flattening my tongue to slide along his length.

“Christ,” he says after a couple minutes. “That’s enough.”

Pulling me up by my shoulders, he turns us so I am now beneath him, his hard cock pressing against my thigh. Then he reaches over me and opens the drawer of the nightstand, ripping open the condom and rolling it on with one hand, while the other braces beside my head.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I can’t say I obey many men given my past, but over the last six months, Rue has gained my trust. So I meet his eyes as he pushes inside me an inch at a time, so slowly I feel every part of him stretching me wider.

He waits until I have taken all of him, and when he is fully inside me, he holds still, his forehead pressed against mine. His heartbeat thumps against my chest, as though it could just be mine.

“You okay?” he asks.

It’s something Rue has asked me every time since the first time we fucked. It was a shit show to say the least—I freaked out, and to my surprise, when I ran away, he followed. I explained it wasn’t him; it was me. Then for the first time in my life, I had a conversation with a man I was sexually attracted to about consent, and he promised if we were ever in that situation again, he would always ask and that me saying no, stop, or even my silence would mean he would stop. On the inside, I cried that someone cared about how I was feeling, as it was a completely new experience for me.