by Andrews, Amy
She smiled triumphantly as her hand moved up and down his shaft, but Ryder wasn’t going to let her have it all her own way. She may have been setting the rules, but he was about to show her who was on top. Snagging a condom from under the pillow he rolled up and over, pinning her to the bed, his dick sliding through her slick, wet folds, her hair spread out around her head like a halo.
Her hands grabbed hold of his back. “You’ve got some moves.”
Ryder grinned as he tore the condom foil with his teeth, fumbling between their bodies as he put it on. “I play rugby.”
Then, flattening his forearms on either side of her head, he flexed his hips and entered her in one smooth, decisive stroke.
Her nails, which weren’t long, sunk into his back as she cried out. She gasped and squirmed a little beneath him as if adjusting to his presence. “You’re so freaking big.”
And she was so fucking tight. “More where that came from.” His temple was planted against hers, his lips brushing her ear. “Hold on.”
And she did hold on, her legs circling his waist, her ankles locking tight, her nails digging deeper into his back with every thrust, the pain urging him on.
There was nothing slow or intense or precise this time. Nothing tantric. He didn’t even kiss her. It was a good, old fashioned banging. Ryder fucked Juliet with single-minded determination. To make her scream his name and claw up his back, to fuck her so deep and so hard and so damn good that no bloody poncy Italian stallion that came after him would ever, ever measure up.
His hips pistoned as he hunched his shoulders into every thrust, grinding his pelvic bone against her clit with every punch of his hips. The tremble of her body and her little breathy moans told him it was just the right spot and he hit it over and over and over as he drove relentlessly on.
His orgasm was just there. Ryder could feel it building in his balls as they slapped against her, churning and threatening, his come nothing more than a mental gate away from spilling into her. But he gritted his teeth against the pull of his own release.
Not before hers. When she looked back on this time with him, he wanted her to remember that he gave. Gave and gave and gave. Not took. Not like her ex.
And she was close. Her nails had eased from his back, her hands clutching and unclutching his shoulder blades now like she was losing her mind and didn’t know whether to let go of the crazy or grab it tight.
“God…fuck…Ryder.”
Her strangled pant was like music to his ears, a symphony spurring him on. He doubled down, his hips working harder, his heart racing like a train, his breath rushing like a hurricane.
She gasped. “Ryder. Ryder. Ryder.” His name a chant on her lips now. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” A benediction. “I’m coming.”
She was. She didn’t need to announce it. He could feel it. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to get any tighter, but he was wrong. Her walls clamped hard around his shaft, gripping it in a hot velvet glove then releasing it again before gripping tight once more.
Grip and release, grip and release.
She cried out and he winced as her nails raked from his shoulder blades down to his ribs. More marks to add to the collection. Who needed to play rugby when Juliet was hell-bent on maiming him?
But the pain was like an electric shock to his testicles, the mental gate opening with a giant clang, his climax rushing up from his balls and out of him, spewing hard and fast, almost violently, wrenching a cry from his own throat as he hammered harder and harder, his lungs desperately grabbing air as he drove them both through the fireworks popping and whirling and sizzling around him, pleasure and light falling on him like rain, drenching his body and pulling him under.
How was seven weeks ever going to be enough?
Chapter Nine
Juliet wouldn’t have thought a week of mind-blowing sex could make a woman hornier, but she was wrong. She tried to remember if her first week with Owen had been the same, but it seemed like such a long time ago now and her more recent memories of him coloured any walk down memory lane.
She was pretty damn sure they hadn’t had this much sex in the first week, and they’d spent the first three days of their relationship in bed.
What the fuck had they been doing?
She had no such luxuries with Ryder. They only had the nights, but they made the most of them. They were averaging about three hours sleep, which Juliet knew wasn’t good for her work ethic let alone the stamina of a professional athlete, but she’d been insatiable. She hadn’t been able to get enough of him. Nor him her, if the number of times he reached for her was any indication.
After all, the clock was ticking. They had to cram as much sex as possible into the time they had left.
Which was why Ryder was impatiently hinting at Bodie, who’d been shooting the breeze with them on the deck, it was time to leave. They’d returned from puppy preschool earlier to find him waiting outside the apartment block with a six-pack of beer and four pizza boxes.
Ryder, who’d been telling her in explicit smutty detail just what he was going to do to her when they got to the apartment, had suggested that Bodie call back in six weeks. Juliet had laughed and invited him up and had spent a fun couple of hours getting to know Ryder’s closest friend, observing their rapport and enjoying their easy banter.
It was hard to believe that these guys were celebrities. There were no airs and graces. They ate pizza out of the box, drank beer from the bottle, were happy with paper towels to wipe their faces, and made disgusting boy jokes about Tiny farting.
Sure, Bodie regaled her with some of their exploits—both on and off the field, particularly at a club called The Cock and Bull—but to amuse only, not to come across as some kind of star.
“Ryder tells us you’re heading for Italy soon?”
“Yes. In six weeks.”
“And you speak fluent Italian?”
“Si.”
“Ah. Dov’è l’ospedale? Mi sento molto male.”
Juliet suppressed a smile at the obvious school boy Italian asking the directions to the hospital because he felt sick. “Niente di grave spero?”
He waved his hand dismissively at her enquiry that she hoped it was nothing serious. “Il mio pollice è dolorante.”
Juliet laughed this time at the plight of Bodie’s sore thumb, impressed by his accent. Ryder, though, was clearly not. “Oh fuck off, Spidey. Since when do you speak Italian?”
Bodie grinned. “I learned it at school.”
“Of course you did. Poncy private school prick,” Ryder muttered into his beer.
The insult slid off Bodie’s impressive shoulders like Teflon. She had to hand it to these rugby guys. They knew how to do shoulders.
Bodie continued unabashed. “Mezzo chilo di pesche, per piacere.”
Juliet cracked up. “Okay.” Ryder stood, his chair scraping back, Tiny rousing from his slumber, ears pricked. “Time to leave now.”
Bodie, clearly revelling in the role of cock blocker, laughed and glanced at Juliet. “Is he always this rude?”
“Now, Spidey.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m going.”
He picked up Juliet’s hand and kissed it in a very European manner. “Ci fa il conto, per favore?”
Juliet stifled her laugh as Ryder said, “All right, Casanova, on your way.”
Bodie winked at her before departing. Ryder followed him out, as did Tiny, lumbering off after them. She quickly cleared the table, a smile on her face. Bodie had been entertaining and Ryder endearingly grouchy. Knowing the grouchiness stemmed from his impatience to have her alone was a massive turn on, a delicious ache between her legs flickering to life at the thought of him being inside her.
She switched the lights off in the kitchen and living area and deck, but the swish of waves called to her and she stepped out into the darkness, leaning her elbows onto the railing. Through the dark shadows of the Norfolk Island pines, she could just make out the white froth of the wat
er as the waves foamed onto the beach.
She loved it out here, with the Pacific stretched out endlessly in front of her, the rhythmic noise of sea on sand tugging at her body in a very primal, elemental way. The beat echoed in the wash of blood through her breasts and thighs and the lips of her sex, heavy with arousal and anticipation.
She sensed Ryder approaching behind her before she heard him. Then his mouth was at her neck, hot and wet, his hands pushing under her Lycra shirt to cup her naked breasts. Juliet moaned and shivered, her left hand creeping up behind her, sliding around his neck and anchoring at his nape as she’d done that night in front of the mirror, the right clutching the railing.
“I thought he’d never bloody leave.”
His low growl turned her legs to jelly and she thanked god for the solid presence of his thighs at the backs of hers.
“What did Spidey say to you?”
He pulled her shirt up then, exposing her to the cool night air and anyone who had reasonably good night vision in the vicinity. “Ryder.” It was a protest but a weak one, segueing into a moan as he squeezed her breasts and rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “People will see.”
His breath was hot at her neck. “We’re in the dark and no one’s around.” Which was true. Faint murmurings floated on the air from the beer garden a few doors down, but the front was deserted. His teeth bit gently on her neck. “What did he say?”
Hot little daggers of pleasure zipped from her nipples to her belly button. “Just schoolboy stuff.”
“Schoolboys are filthy little bastards. He wasn’t trying to flirt with my woman, was he?” Another growl, another bite, and the daggers burrowed deep under her skin to muscles already quivering for his possession.
His woman. Part of her knew she should object to the wording. She wasn’t his woman. They weren’t together like that. But the heaviness between her legs was blooming into something much fuller and fuck it, she liked the way it sounded on his lips while he pinned her to the railing and publically groped her.
It wasn’t very PC of her, but there was something about Ryder going full cave man that made her want to spread her legs and submit. His cock was hard in the small of her back and she pushed her ass into it. He groaned, his hands squeezing her breasts harder.
“He asked me where the hospital was because he was sick with a sore thumb. Then he wanted a kilo of peaches and then the bill.”
His low chuckle, warm on her throat, set off a chain reaction of goose bumps sweeping from her scalp to her toes. Her nipples, already impossibly stiff, turned to diamond, her clit, throbbing with anticipation, contracted to a rock-hard bead.
“Say something in Italian,” he demanded, his fingers relentlessly tweaking her nipples.
She moaned. “Like what?”
“Something dirty.”
Juliet gave a half laugh but didn’t hesitate. “Hai un cazzo grosso.” Ryder’s dick was big and it should be celebrated in all languages. She ground back into it, hoping that would be adequate translation.
“I think I got that one.” His laugh went straight to her clit, contracting it further.
“Andiamo al letto per scopare.”
His lips buzzed her throat. “I don’t know what that means, but I like it.”
“It means,” she said, rubbing her ass against his erection, “let’s go to bed and fuck.”
He grunted, his hands squeezing her breasts. “I’ve got a better idea.” His left hand slid to her hip, breaching the band of her Lyrca leggings.
“Ryder.” It was supposed to be a warning, but it was more moan as her pulse tripped.
He pushed his hand beneath the fabric, peeling it and her underwear down, exposing the top half of her left buttock. Her pulse spiked in alarm, her left hand dropped quickly from his neck grabbing for his wrist, stopping him from exposing any more of her to the cooling air.
The cement wall below the railing—not to mention the anonymity of night—hid their activities from the waist down but Juliet hadn’t done anything so public before.
He grabbed her hand and gently slid it on the railing close to the other one, caging her bared breasts between her arms, framing them, pushing them together. The metal was cold beneath her palm and her nipples responded accordingly.
“Trust me,” he whispered. “Don’t let go. Don’t turn around.”
Juliet swallowed, unbelievably turned on. A hot wave of want swept over her, strumming through her pelvis and rendering her legs as useless as two strands of dental floss.
She gripped the railing hard as both Ryder’s hands pawed at her pants, yanking them down to expose her buttocks and upper thighs to his view despite still being anchored at her waist in the front.
“Oh si.” His soft breath rushed out into the air, caressing her ear as his hands groped her ass, her breasts swaying slightly at the movement. He rubbed and squeezed and kneaded, separating her buttocks with a firm grip as his fingers trailed up and down the cleft of her ass fluttering close to the wet heat at her centre before fluttering away.
Juliet sucked in a breath, shutting her eyes at the stimulus and biting her lip to stop from crying out every time his fingers skimmed away, denying her the kind of possession she craved.
Suddenly his hands were gone. There was the sound of a zip, the rustle of fabric, the rip of a foil packet, and then his hands were on her hips again, dragging them back and up, forcing her onto her tippy toes as his cock slid through the wet folds between her legs.
Juliet tightened her hold on the railing, crying out at the feel of him, hard and thick, notching at her entrance. Her heart battered like a ram at her ribs. She was so aroused she could smell herself over the aroma of sand and sea.
Voices from below jolted her right out of her bliss, her heart rate spiking as she raised her hands to yank her shirt down. But he was quicker, abandoning her hips to press her hands to the railing.
“Shhh,” he whispered, his breath hot at her ear. His cock was hot, too, poised at her entrance. “Like this. I want to fuck you just like this. From behind. With your clothes on and your tits out and people on the street below completely oblivious. Stay really quiet.” He flexed then and pushed himself inside her but not all the way. “Oh god yes, fuuuuck.”
He groaned it straight into her ear and Juliet’s belly clenched, her throat almost bursting from biting back a moan desperate for release.
“Be really, really—” He pushed the rest of the way in. “Still.” He panted heavily. “They’ll never know.”
Juliet thought her lungs were going to explode from the breath she was holding. She breathed it out on a long, slow whimper.
“That’s it,” he murmured, seated high inside her. “Let it go.”
She tensed as two men ran across the road, laughing madly, obviously a little lit from the pub, stopping beneath the spill of a streetlight opposite the building. From only four stories up she could make out their features with relative ease.
Ryder slowly pulled out all the way, his cock notched just inside her entrance. “Even if they did look up, they couldn’t see us, Juliet.” Another seductive whisper as he pushed into her again, so, so slowly. “You might be able to see them, but they can’t see you. Or hear you. They can’t touch you. Only I can.”
His hands slid from the rails to her breasts and Juliet whimpered again, her eyes shutting as he rolled her nipples between his fingers.
Strictly speaking, Juliet knew that if the guys looked up, they would be able to see her and Ryder. Sure, they’d be a silhouette, a dark outline, his shadow wrapped around hers as he screwed her long and slow from behind, his actions hidden by the night. But they’d know people were there. And maybe they’d wonder what those people were doing.
She’d never thought of herself as an exhibitionist, but the thought was strangely titillating.
“They think they’re having such a good time,” he continued, whispering in her ear as he pulled out again.
The two men didn’t seem to be in
any hurry to move on, that was for sure, standing on the wide path fronting the beach, having a loud, seemingly amusing conversation.
“They’re wrong.” His hands squeezed her breasts as he slid home again, inch by slippery inch. “Nothing is as good as being inside you.”
Juliet moaned. It did feel pretty goddamn good to be her right now, being consumed by him. His body filling hers, his voice filling her head, forced into stillness and silence when all she wanted to do was arch and bellow.
He withdrew slow and lazy, his lips pressed to her ear, low and seductive. “Speak Italian to me.”
She didn’t have to ask what he wanted her to say this time. He was groping her naked breasts as he fucked her from behind, while two strangers—two men—stood not that far away completely oblivious.
The words spilled from her mouth. Not words she learned at university, but the dirty words that inevitably get discovered along the way from risqué literature and questionable art house cinema.
“Scopami lentamente,” she whispered. Fuck me slowly. He pushed in slow and deep, and she lost her breath.
“Keep going,” he urged as he slid out.
She stifled a moan, her voice a barely audible vibrato. “Dio, dio. Come quello, come quello.”
God. God. Like that. Like that.
It became a blur then. Of filthy whispered Italian and slow, furtive fucking, Ryder filling and emptying, stretching and withdrawing, whispering, “Yes, yes yes,” between her hushed murmurings, his fingers teasing her nipples, the long, slow glide of his cock pressing high, pulling down hard on the hood of her clit, massaging it into a frenzy of stimulation, concentrating everything down to a singular focus of pleasure as her body pulsed around him, throbbing to the beat of her heart, the beat of the waves.
The men walked away still laughing and a dam broke loose inside her, her climax rising up and out like Aphrodite from the surf. She moaned, not loud but louder than before, unable to beat back the swell of her release.
“Shhh,” he whispered, his forehead pressed into the back of her head as he pushed in to the hilt and held tight like he had during their first time.