Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,55

side of my bottom, covering the cheek and guiding me over the other.

His fingers felt big and massive inside me but barely enough.

The greed inside my belly urged me to drag his underwear free and take all of him inside.

I thought maybe he knew.

That he could taste it, the way his tongue darted out to lick across his lips, the way he started to drive faster and his thumb was suddenly rubbing at that swollen, achy spot and his ragged words were promising, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Trust me, baby. I’ve got you.”

I was gasping, pressing myself harder, deeper, faster on his hand.

Everything glowed and gathered and threatened to burst. He swirled his thumb.

“You feel it, Goddess Girl?”

I nodded frantically.

Racing, racing.

“It’s yours. Take it.”

A second later, I split.

Felt myself splinter in his hands.

Pleasure tore through me like a bomb.

A detonation.

An explosion.

Rupturing.

Rendering.

Bliss sped through my veins and took over every cell.

Ecstasy.

I shook in it.

An earthquake.

I pressed my mouth to his neck to keep from pressing it to his mouth, burying the cries there. “Rhys. Oh. It’s so good. It feels so good.”

He grunted, and he was making these little movements that was drawing it out.

Paradise.

I wanted to stay there forever.

Tiny shocks kept firing, prickles and zings, shivers following in their wake until it finally faded.

I slumped against him, and he slipped his fingers out and curled me tight in both of his arms, the same way I did with mine around his neck.

Our hearts were a thunder in the middle of us.

Stampeding and raging and somehow quieted to a satisfied thrum.

“You good?”

Blinking through the thick cloud of emotion, I fought the urge to cry. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

He edged back so he could look at me, ran his fingers through the disaster that was my hair. So tenderly. Almost as tender as when he murmured, “Goddess Girl.”

Affection pulsed.

A ripple in the air.

It tweaked the edge of my mouth into a soft smile. I reached out and touched his cheek, scratched my fingers through his beard. “I thought I told you that you needed to stop calling me that or I might get the idea that I have a chance with you?”

The roughest chuckle rolled up his throat. “And I thought I said we can’t do this?”

I kept scratching my fingers through his beard the way I’d been dying to do. “Maybe we should do this.”

He forced a grin. “And maybe I should know my place.”

“And maybe your place is right here.” I pressed myself against his cock that was still painfully erect and trapped between us.

Maybe I wasn’t fighting fair.

I couldn’t help it.

Rhys growled a rumbly sound, though he was grinning wide, struggling for a way to turn the mood to light.

I guessed he faltered, couldn’t find it, because he was back to twisting a lock of my hair around his finger and looking at me like I was the sun breaking after the darkest, longest night. “Don’t ever wanna hurt you. Can’t believe I let myself get carried away like that.”

My fingertips brushed across his plush lips. “You just made me feel the best I’ve ever felt. The most beautiful I’ve ever felt. Please don’t take that from me.”

His thick throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Okay. Okay.” Then his smile turned grim. “But this can’t happen again, Maggie. I—”

Guilt covered his face.

Gushed from his being.

This time I swallowed, biting back the disappointment. The urge to argue that he was all wrong about us.

That he didn’t need to protect me from what he had to give.

At the same time, I understood.

I nodded, suddenly feeling awkward.

What was the protocol after a man just gave you your first orgasm and then told you it couldn’t happen again?

I was thinking begging him to change his mind was probably the correct answer.

But there was a part of me that warned me to be cautious.

That he needed to be handled with care, too.

Rhys was at his limit.

His body still stretched taut. Rigid with need but his joy held by unseen chains.

I slipped off his lap and looked to where the man still sat up on his bed, the bulk of him taking up almost the whole thing.

Hair a mess, longer pieces sticking up, chest bare and heaving with jagged breaths.

The man so gorgeous and rugged and somehow so incredibly sweet.

His head tipped my way, and a ray of light spiked in through the drapes and lit his face.

Beautiful.

Raw, wild beauty.

He cracked a grin and gestured at himself where he was still