Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,203

while undoing my belt and sliding my jeans and briefs over my hips.

She peels off her leather jacket and tugs the tank top over her head, sharing herself with me in erotic inches. Her breasts, tipped with plump nipples, come into view.

I ghost my palms over her nipples until they tauten into ripe berries. I squeeze them between my fingers and massage the fullness of her breasts until her breath labors and her head tips back, exposing the column of her throat. I trace the fragile framework of her ribs, gliding my hands down to her hips. I tug the panties down, and palm her center. My fingers tuck into the hot, silky slit, running up and down until she’s dripping wet.

“Oh, she missed me.” I grin and invade her with two fingers.

Bristol's breath catches in her throat, and she squeezes her top lip between her teeth.

“Did you just personify my pussy?” She laughs in between hitched breaths.

“I am a writer." I dot kisses under her chin and any reachable skin. "Take it as a sign of respect.”

“I’ll take this.” She grabs my bone-hard, stretched-out dick. “As a sign of respect.”

Her hand clamps and slides over me, thumbing the wet tip. Our eyes connect, and humor falls away, leaving the intensity that always rears between us. I’m working between her legs, and she’s working between mine. She drags air in, gasping, churning her hips, fucking my fingers. I suck one berry-tipped breast, watching color blossom over her neck and cheeks.

“Oh, God.” Her back arches off the bed, sheets knotted in one fist. “Yes, Grip.”

Her hold tightens on me, her fingers dropping to roll my balls in her palms.

“This pretty pussy.” I gather her wrists in my hand over her head and ease her knee back to her chest, opening her up. “It’s mine, right?”

“Yes. God, yes.” With dry sobs, she strains up to my lips, leaving kisses wherever she can. “You know it’s yours. Please take it. Just take it.”

Her submission, her admission unleashes an unquenchable thirst, an inexhaustible hunger. I need some part of her in my mouth. I bite down on her shoulder and push inside, my breath hissing between my lips at the wet, tight fit. She meets every thrust, and we are fervent, fevered. Pleasure excruciating. Twined together, her heel digging into my ass, my arm hooked under her knee, urging her open to the compulsion of my body pistoning into hers. I cannot possibly in this life be deep enough inside her. I want so much more than her body. She has thieved my soul, and I need to feel the reciprocity, the exchange. To know I’ve pilfered her and taken everything that she would offer and anything she meant to hold. Because that’s what she’s done to me.

I loosen her wrists to grab her ass, angling her. Both legs wrap around my back, and she works her hips up, eager to meet every hard thrust. I sit up, bringing her with me, and she hooks her ankles behind me.

“Ride, Bris.”

Her eyes, possessive, there’s no doubt I’m hers. Her hands, urgent and everywhere at once. Our breaths heave raggedly between our lips. Our bodies are lock and key, and we’re transfixed on each other. Inseparable. Insoluble. I seize her tongue, pulling her in, sucking her, wringing every drop of sweetness from the kiss. She whimpers, her hands clawing at my shoulders, my neck, scraping over my scalp.

“I love you." Her words drop hot in my ear with her breasts flattened to my chest and her thighs clenching at my hips. She tightens her pussy around my cock, a deliberate, hungry grasp and release.

"Bris.” My eyes roll back. I'm at the mercy of those muscles. "I love you, too."

She tucks her head into the curve of my neck, her breaths short and sharp as she recites from “Sonnet LXXXI”, telling me I’m already hers, to rest with my dream inside her dream, that we are joined by forever itself, and that we’ll travel the shadows together. She pants, sitting up straighter, leveraging herself with one arm behind her on the bed, changing the angle, deepening the penetration. In the lamp's light, I see her head flung back in abandon, her muscles straining with the unrelenting ferocity, the rigor of our bodies.

“You alone are my dream,” she says, adapting the quote, tears in the eyes she refuses to pull away from me. “And I alone am yours.”

It is a pledge of persistence, hidden in the poems I