Page 151 of Face Off

I freed him, and the sight of him sent a familiar ache through me. Fifteen months had done nothing to erase my body’s memory of his. Wanting Ryan had always been the most honest thing about me.

I wrapped my hand around his cock, thick and long and hard as concrete, the red blunt tip telling me how bad he wanted me.

His jaw tightened.

“Still think I’m losing?” I asked.

“You’re on your knees in my room about to suck me off, you tell me.”

“I chose to be here.”

“So did I.”

That mattered more than I allowed my face to show.

I lowered my head and took him in my mouth.

Ryan released a curse through his teeth, his fingers tightening in my hair without controlling my movement. I remembered what he liked. The exact pressure that made his thighs tense. The place beneath the head that drew a rough sound from his chest whenever my tongue found it.

His head fell back.

I watched him from beneath my lashes as I took him deeper, refusing to rush even when his grip told me he wanted more. I had spent fifteen months remembering the way Ryan lost control with me. Now I wanted him to remember that no other woman could know him through memory and instinct the way I did.

“Fuck, Charm.”

I hollowed my cheeks and dragged my mouth slowly back.

His hips shifted beneath me. “Stop fucking teasing.”

I released him long enough to answer. “You told me to use every advantage.”

“I also told you this campaign wouldn’t work.”

I stroked him once, holding his gaze. “It’s working right now.”

“You’re confusing my dick with my heart again.”

The words found their mark, but I didn’t fold beneath them.

“No.” I lowered my mouth until my lips barely touched him. “I finally understand they aren’t the same thing.”

Then I took him deep enough to end the conversation.

Ryan’s control fractured by degrees. His breathing roughened when he started thrusting his hips in time with my mouth. His hand moved with me now, gathering my hair and holding it away from my face while I worked him with my mouth and hand. Every restrained sound felt like another piece of the man he had spent fifteen months rebuilding beyond my reach.

I didn’t imagine those pieces belonged to me. I only let myself hope he remembered how easily they once had.

“Fuck… mi hada.”

The name slipped from him broken and instinctive.

My heart stopped.

Mi hada.

He hadn’t called me his fairy since before Thanksgiving. The name belonged to books scattered across his bed, whispered Spanish in the dark confirming I was his, and the private world where Ryan once believed I was something magical instead of the woman most capable of destroying him.

Emotion rose so quickly it nearly closed my throat.