"I'm half-expecting model cars lining the walls," I joked as he unlocked the door.
What I found, instead, was a neutral gray color scheme, lighter on the walls, darker on the sectional. The cabinets and tables were all black. The walls didn't host pictures of his family, but rather, large canvases.
"These are lovely," I told him, walking over toward a wall of canvases, finding muted colors—black, gray, deep blue, hints of green—showing various different landscapes. Some looked to be from the States, others were decidedly not.
"Atlas," Rush explained.
"The brother who never stays in town for long?"
"That's the one. He comes home and makes us some drawings of the places he's seen."
"He should sell these."
"He's been told," Rush agreed. "Repeatedly. He's a stubborn-ass. No ambition either. He just wants to explore and then show us what he saw. Then disappear again. Before you ask," Rush went on, shooting me a smirk, "No. Art is not a family trait. The rest of us can't draw for shit. No one ever wants to be on my team for Pictionary," he added, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked boyish and bashful. As if I needed more reasons to like the man.
"I'll be on your team on Pictionary. I mean, we will lose. I can't draw a straight line. But we will lose splendidly," I told him, shooting him a hopeful smile.
"And we'd kick everyone else's asses in Scattergories," he agreed, making my heart dance around happily at the idea of him seeing us doing that. Playing board games. With his family.
"Oh, they'd go down," I agreed, bumping my hip into his playfully.
"This is the part where I am supposed to give you a tour," he said a second later, turning away from the canvases. "This seems pretty self-explanatory," he went on, waving out toward the open space that served as the living and kitchen area. He didn't have a traditional dining room table, but he did have a black console table pushed up against a wall across from the main part of the kitchen with two chairs butted up against it. I imagined, like my dining set, it only got used when he had company.
"Then through here," he went on, leading me over toward the small hall, "we have a something they have the audacity to call a spare bedroom," he told me, opening the door to reveal a room that was, admittedly, more of a large closet than a bedroom. He had various things stored there in the somewhat laissez-faire, haphazard way men tended to store things. Half-collapsed boxes overflowing with old clothes butted up against a set of matching luggage. There were skis, a surfboard, and various sports equipment—balls, kettle bells, even a yoga mat.
"Yeah," he said when he saw me eye the yoga mat. "Not my purchase or my idea. I fucked up my back a few years back while attempting surfing for the first —and last—time. One of the girls suggested yoga. I figured I would give it a try."
"Not a fan?" I asked, interested only because it involved him. As for me, the concept of exercising was as foreign as giving up carbs.
"I might have fixed my back, but I threw out my shoulder trying to get out of one of the positions."
"So this is the place where your grand ideas for starting new workout regimens goes to die?" I asked.
"Something like that," he agreed, chuckling. "Though, I haven't tried the skies. Those were a Christmas gift from Atlas who spent a whole winter on the slopes once. I had every intention of going, but..."
"Life," I supplied.
"Exactly. Some day."
"Maybe you will take that road trip to somewhere snowy and try them out."
"Maybe," he agreed, looking over at me, eyes going soft. "And maybe you'd come with me."
"I mean, I would go. But, yeah, you don't want to see me on skies. Like... you saw how much I struggled with heels. And you think I could strap a plank of wood to my feet, and still be able to walk?" I asked, wincing. "But I would enjoy the heck out of the lodge, drinking hot chocolate by the fire. That sounds amazing. Speaking of books," I said, looking around the room, then back at the living room, "where are all of yours?"
"Oh, Peyton takes them. Peyton is," he started, letting out a chuckle, "this is where shit gets a little confusing. Peyton is the sister to Autumn who..."
"Is the wife of Eli. I have a pretty good memory," I told him. "Autumn owns the sex store. Peyton is a source of endless amusement."
"That's putting it lightly. But yeah. She's a librarian. So she takes them off my hands. I'm not someone who re-reads, so there never seemed to be a reason to keep old books around. Alright. This is the bathroom," he said, closing the storage room, waving across the hall.
It was nicer than mine. Modern like the rest of the building, the bathroom had a walk-in glass shower stall with a black window grid pattern on it. He even had one of those neat faucets where the water came down off the handle like a waterfall.
"This is fancy," I declared. "But not having a bathtub is a sacrilege."
"I don't think I've had a bath since I was a kid. But You in a tub? I can get behind that," he said, the charm something that seemed to come so easily to him. And me, so unaccustomed to it, lapped it right up. "And, finally," he said, moving the few feet to the end of the hall, opening the door, "my bedroom," he said.
Much like the rest of the apartment, there were the same gray walls, the same black side tables, a matching dresser.
But what stood out was his king-sized bed with its black velvet tufted headboard. It, paired with the comfortable-looking black comforter looked decadent and sexy.
"Got the design idea from a book," he admitted as I stood there admiring it. "She was a designer, he was the owner of the hotel. They fucked in damn near every room she worked on."
"Oh, I think I read that one!" I said, slapping him in the chest. "The one where the concierge is the one stalking her. And the hero catches him trying to force himself on her and beats him so badly there is blood all over the elevator?"
"That's the one," he agreed, smiling. "That one was pretty fucking hot, I'm not going to lie."
"And inspiring," I agreed, waving a hand to the bed."
"In many ways," Rush agreed, reaching out, snagging my hip, pulling me close until my front was flush with his.
His other hand rose, sliding down my jaw as his head lowered, his lips claiming mine.
It was tentative at first, giving me an out. An out was the last thing I wanted, though.
My hands lifted, tracing up his sides, over his shoulders, wrapping around the back of his neck, crushing my front to his as my lips got more eager, demanding more from him.
With a low rumbling sound in his chest, he gave me it.
Hard.
Hungry.
His lips brushed into mine before his teeth nipped my lower lip hard enough for a whimper to escape me, giving him the chance to slip inside, his tongue toying with mine.
His hands slid down to cup my ass, pulling me up to my tiptoes, then pushing my pelvis against him, his hardness pressing into my stomach.
A thrill moved through my system as his lips ripped from mine, his head moving downward, lips pressing into my neck as his hands slipped down, moving up under my skirt, then cupping my ass over the barely-there baby pink panties Fiona had picked out for me.
That rumbling noise moved through his chest again, vibrating into mine as his tongue traced over the sensitive skin of my neck.
Impatient, one of his hands slipped from my ass, slid between my thighs, pressing against my cleft.
"Already wet for me," he rumbled before sealing his lips over mine again. His fingers pressed into my clit, his lips swallowing the sound of my moan as the tremble racked my body.
It didn't matter that he had touched me just a few nights before, it felt like the first time; I was aching for it, dying for more of it, for more of him.
His fingers slipped under the thin material, sliding up my slick cleft, moving over my clit without the barrier, a sensation that made my inner thighs tremble.
"Fuck," he hissed, pulling away from me.
And, suddenly, his hand was grabbing my panties, yanki
ng them down as his other pulled up the skirt of my dress. Then he was lowering down in front of me, grabbing my leg, carefully pushing it over his shoulder before his mouth was on me.
The shock of it almost made me orgasm right then and there, the foreignness of a tongue gliding over me after so long.
My hand slapped down on the back of his head, holding him to me as though he had any intention of pulling away as his tongue traced slow, patient circles around my clit, driving me up slowly, making my breathing get deep and slow, every inch of my body feeling tight, tense, as I got closer and closer.
Two of his fingers moved between my thighs, pressing inside of me, thrusting lazily as his tongue got faster, more insistent.
"Come, baby," he demanded, looking up at me with hooded eyes as my walls started to tighten, then ducking his head, sucking my clit into his mouth, making the orgasm crash through my system, stealing my breath, my voice, and any and all strength I might have had in my body, leaving me folded forward, hands slammed down on his back for balance as the waves crashed, as the pleasure flowed.
"Good girl," Rush murmured, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh before slowly folding upward, pulling my leg off his shoulder, but hooking it around his hip as he got to his feet.
His hands sank back into my ass, yanking upward, forcing my other leg to fold around his lower back, carrying me as he made his way toward the bed, turning, and dropping down off the edge with me on his lap, feeling the proof of his desire pressing against me through his slacks.
My eyes fluttered open, feeling heavy even after a release of some of the pressure that had been building inside, even if I knew that it wouldn't dissipate completely until I had him inside me, until I could feel his weight pressing me into a mattress, hear his voice whispering dirty things in my ear, demanding I come with him.
My lips found his as my hungry hands pushed his jacket off his shoulders, tossed it to the side, then set to work on his buttons.
I'd worried, in quiet moments before sleep when my anxieties always had a chance to slip in, that I might be unsure and awkward with Rush in bed, that I would mumble and fumble and feel too nervous to truly enjoy the experience.
No one was more surprised as I was that my fingers didn't shake, that they boldly pushed each button through the eyelets, exposing slivers of skin as I went, his body heat warming my cool hands.
Finished, my hands moved back up, pushing the material off his shoulders, all but forgotten when my gaze slipped down, taking in his bare chest and stomach. Even seated, I could make out the indents of his abdominal muscles.
Curious, my hand moved out, fingers gliding over the taught outlines of his muscles, feeling them contract under the inspection, something that made my stomach flip-flop.
Embolden by his reaction to my touch, I leaned forward, pressing my lips into his throat, feeling his pulse, the hard swallow as my tongue moved out, tracing downward.
Shifting back on his lap, my mouth continued its exploration downward, between his pecs, down the center line of his stomach as I pushed off his lap entirely, sliding down on the floor between his legs as my hands snagged his pants button, undoing it, then the zipper.
His breath sucked inward as my fingertips grazed over the head of his cock through his tight boxer briefs, making a shiver move down my spine.
I'd never felt confident with sex before, no matter how many humiliating books I'd read on the topic, teaching women how to give a blowjob like a gay man, other books about how to please men, about how to make sex mutually satisfying with certain positions and breathing patterns.
I'd put in the work, but always felt uncertain in the moment, not confident enough to really use what I'd learned, or to enjoy the experience the way I knew I was supposed to.
There seemed to be none of that shyness as my hands pulled down the waistband of his boxer briefs, freeing his throbbing cock. My hand closed around it, a thrill moving through me at the velvety smooth hardness, the promise of fulfillment.
But not yet.
First, I wanted to give him some of what he'd given to me.
My head ducked, my tongue tentatively sliding over the head. The shudder that moved through him, the way this hand slammed down on the back of my neck, it spurred me on, making my lips open, taking him in, sucking him deep.
"Do you have any idea how many times I sat on that phone, thinking about your lips around my cock?" he asked, voice tense as his fingertips crushed into my skull.
I worked him tentatively at first, realizing that he knew a lot more about my preferences sexually than I knew about his.
But that was okay.
Because I was enjoying figuring it out firsthand.
His hissing breath let me know he liked it when I moved faster, when I ran my tongue over the head every couple of strokes.
It wasn't long before his fingers were curling in my hair, holding on at first, but then yanking back, pulling until I released him, his thumb moving out to stroke over my lower lip.
"Come here," he demanded softly, pulling slightly until I moved onto his lap again, his hands sliding down my sides, gathering my skirt, scrunching it up in his hands, then slowly drawing it up over my body, exposing me inch by inch until, finally, he was pulling it off my head, exposing me to him completely.
I'd never had much of a reason to wear a real bra, and Fee had insisted there was no need with this particular dress.
I was glad for that advice when a tortured-sounding "Fuck" escaped Rush as his eyes roamed over me, his hands moving from my hips up over my ribs, then, finally, cupped over my breasts, making my nipples harden immediately, pressing against this palms, the friction making a shiver of need course through me.
His fingers moved out, rolling the tightened buds much the way he'd told me he would.
I'd imagined his touch a thousand times before, but not even my best fantasy could come close to this reality that had me arching back, pressing my breasts against his palms, silently begging for more. Which he gave. Happily. Circling. Pinching. Then, finally, leaning forward, running his tongue over me, sucking one of them into his mouth with an intensity that was almost painful, a white-hot heat that moved from that contact and out, blooming across my chest, then moving down, pooling in my core.
"Rush," I whimpered, leaning forward, sealing my lips over his again, feeling my breasts brush across his strong chest as my hips wiggled upward a bit, repositioning until I felt his hardness press against me.
A moan ripped from somewhere deep as my hips shifted, feeling him slide against my cleft, over my aching clit. "Please," I whimpered against his mouth, too desperate to worry about sounding too needy.
I was.
This was what the books I read talked about.
This heat.
This fire that seemed to burn unbearably hot, refusing to calm until you got what you needed most.
For me, Rush.
Inside me.
Like I had been imagining for months on the phone, for years since he first walked through the doors of the office.
On a growling noise, his arm went around my hip, holding me to him as he lifted, flipped, dropped me back against the mattress, shifting me up toward the pillows, then coming over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress as my arms went around him, as my legs shifted so that his hardness could press against me again.
My hips ground upward as his slipped up, his cock sliding up my slick cleft, dragging a pained sound from both of us before his lips claimed mine again.
Harder.
Hungrier.
Losing control.
His weight shifted, one arm balancing some of it, the rest crushing into me as his other hand moved out, opened the nightstand drawer, shifted around inside, then came back, bracing again for a moment as his teeth bit into my lower lip, drawing a half-pained, half-pleased sound from me that had him pulling back, pressing back, reaching to protect us, then looking down at me, eyes molten. His breath was ragged, expanding his chest wider, making his abs cont
ract.
"Rush," I said after a moment, my hand moving out, tentatively touching his hip, seeming to pull him out of the trance he seemed to be stuck in.
His body came back over mine, his hand reaching down, grabbing my thigh, wrapping my leg around his hip as he braced on one arm.
His hips shifted as his gaze found mine.
I felt him press against me for the barest of seconds before he plunged deep, dragging a surprised moan out of me as my walls stretched around him, feeling him fill me completely.
Rush's forehead pressed to mine as he took a breath so deep his body shook.
"Fuck," he hissed, taking another couple of breaths before pressing back to look down at me, eyes heavily hooded.
"Rush, please," I begged, my hips writhing, needing a release of the painful pressure building inside.
"Love it when you beg, baby," he declared, sliding out then thrusting back in.
Slow, tentative for a couple moments, but losing any semblance of control as quickly as I was losing it.
My fingers scraped down his back.
My hips rose to meet his thrusts as they got harder, faster, driving us both upward fast.
His low sounds mixed with my rising moans.
The bed joined in, creaking as Rush fucked me harder, faster, slamming my head back into the soft, tufted headboard.
His arm moved under my shoulders, holding his weight as his hand slid between our bodies, working my clit as his thrusts got faster still, even more desperate, struggling to hold onto the last few threads of control.
"Come, baby," he demanded, forehead pressing to mine, his thrusts getting shorter, staying planted deep.
His cock surged forward, my hips rolled, and his finger slipped over my clit at the exact right time, making the orgasm slam through my system, crying out his name before it stole my voice once again, yanked me under its depths as the waves kept crashing through my body.
"Fuck, yes," Rush growled, hand moving out from between my legs, arm bracing, as he thrust hard through it before slamming deep, body jolting hard as he came, growling out my name.
His weight came fully down on me for a long couple of moments as Rush struggled to bring some order back into his body.
Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3) Page 16