Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I taunt in a slight moan. “I want it . . . rough.” With my cheek on the wall, I meet the longing in his eyes. “Do I have to . . . spell it out for you?”
He thrusts deeper.
Ohhh fuck.
“Please do,” he whispers and bites my lip before kissing me with loving aggression.
When he lets up, I start, “R.”
His hand curves around my sweaty hip. I jerk as he touches my sensitive clit. Fuck.
“O,” I cry out.
He’s fucking me senseless. I’m unable to finish spelling; the friction of him lights up my core. I’ve never felt anyone go this deep in this position, and pleasure shoots through each nerve ending.
“C,” he tells me in a ragged breath. His muscled arms flex as he braces one near my face. He’s taking me harder. “K.” He lets out a grunt. “Y.”
That fucker spelled his own name.
The name I gave him.
Arousal swims through me like a riptide. And when I come again, he hasn’t met his finish line. Before I descend off a peak, he spins me around and cups my thighs, hoisting me up against his chest. I barely have the strength left to hook my legs around him.
We kiss like we’re fighting for oxygen, and Rocky brings me to the ottoman. Lying my back across the long, tufted bench, he fits right between my legs.
Once he pushes back into me, I clutch the back of his neck, and he slows his thrusts to a sensual, hypnotic pace. So deep.
Our eyes are latched, and he whispers against my lips, “I’m inside you.” It wells up in me. “I’m making love to you.” Tears leak, and he brushes the corners of my eyes. “I’m never letting go of you, Phoebe. Never.”
I hang on to him.
He holds on to me.
We’re both overwhelmed. Overcome, and with three more deep flexes inside me, Rocky grunts out a curse, his muscles contracting, and my legs shake and toes curl again, just seeing him come. He rakes a cool hand through his sweaty hair.
He doesn’t pull out yet. I love him right there. I always want him this tormentingly close, and I clutch on to his biceps to keep him still.
Rocky places a sweet kiss on my lips, and as he inches back, his smile rises. “Believe me now?”
“Yes.” I really, really do.
Thirty-Eight
Rocky
“First time you had sex during a horror movie?” Phoebe asks while we rewind A Nightmare on Elm Street again and watch on her bed. Sweaty sheets are tangled around our equally sweaty, naked bodies, and her bare legs are intertwined with mine. Her question is more curious than taunting.
“Yes, actually.” I unwrap an Almond Joy, a giant-sized bag of assorted Halloween candy between us.
“Hmm,” she muses.
I look over at her, wondering what the hell that hmm means. She smooths her lips to hide a burgeoning smile. She likes that I’m doing new things with her.
I begin to smile into a bite of coconut and chocolate. Finally having sex with Phoebe blew every image I’d constructed into a thousand smithereens. It was inconceivably better. Greater. A) Because it was real, and B) because the depth of how compatible we are stunned me. We just fit. I could’ve predicted how much I’d completely, undeniably love being that close to Phoebe, but the raw, overwhelming emotion and power that came with detonating years of volatile, built-up tension—that was unpredictable.
Phoebe munches on an M&M, her smile fading as I reach over and brush candy wrappers off the bed. She asks, “When did I do that?”
“Do what?”
“That.” She points at my forearms.
I barely glance down, knowing the sore reddened fingerprints exist, and they’ll likely turn black-and-blue tomorrow. Her nails also cut into my skin, and I wish she didn’t ask about it because I’m afraid to darken her happiness.
“Earlier,” I say vaguely.
Her frown bunches her thick brows. “I don’t remember . . .”
Fuck. I just look right at her, the answer in my serious expression.
“Oh.” She goes still. “When I was telling you about . . . right.” Carlsbad. She shakes her head, wincing. “So I emotionally and physically hurt you. Great. Awesome.”
“I wanted it.” I slide my arm across her bare shoulder and place a kiss on her temple. “I’m glad you did.” I press another kiss.
Phoebe looks up at me, seeing how gravely serious I am, and she eases with a big exhale, then burrows more against my chest.
We relax into the normalcy of this time together. Naked after the best sex of my life. Watching one of her favorite movies.
I like horror okay, but definitely not as much as Phoebe.
“Freddy, no!” Phoebe chastises Freddy Krueger a half hour through. She tears open her fourth bag of mini M&M’s. “Just one more,” she tells me, or maybe she’s convincing herself. “We’ll still have enough for the little kids next week.”