Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,319

grasping at his neck and head, desperately reaching for something to anchor me. I don’t care which hole he’s about to fuck, I just need him inside. The space between us throbs with need. My nerves are stretched to gossamer, the anticipation blazing through my patience, and I’m pressing my ass into him. I thrust back in a rolling rhythm meant to tempt him, meant to hurry him, but when he finally slides inside, it’s slow and measured. He’s feeding himself to my body in stiff inches, in short pumps, agitating me.

“Faster.” I twine my fingers with his between my breasts. “Please go fast. I need it fast.”

He doesn’t answer, just maintains the steady pace, and my body clamps around him with each withdrawal, afraid he won’t come back. I’m a seaside fire he’s methodically building, taking his time with. Soon I’m a roaring bonfire, flames tossed by the wind and licking high into the air. My moans and whimpers dance with his grunts and groans in the early morning quiet.

His lips coast over my nape as his other hand cups my small belly.

“Bris, you have no idea,” he whispers into my hair. “The thought of you, the sight of you pregnant . . . I’m hard all the time. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t want to be rough, but—”

“You can be,” I insist, pressing back into him, luring him deeper into my body. I contract my inner muscles around him, a deliberate provocation.

“Shit, Bris.” His forehead pushes into the base of my skull.

I’ve pulled a lever within him and he turns fast, his tempo feverish. Every time I think he must be almost done, he changes the angle, setting off another constellation of stars behind my eyelids. He’s in full heat, full rut, the instincts of his body dictating every thrust and moan. Light creeps through the drapes, and the vibrant colors of sunrise quietly invade our room while sweat runs freely over our skin, adorning his chest and my back, a wet, sensuous slide that our bodies lap up. I’ve lost count of my orgasms. I’m limp, my muscles and bones loose and liquid even as he still hammers into me.

“Are you okay?” His words are staccato, punctuating between heavy breaths.

“Yes. Baby, don’t stop.” My words are sloppy in my mouth. I’m pillaged.

“I’m close . . . I’m gonna . . . dammit, Bris.”

His growl quakes through my back as he releases. I work my hips, struggling to keep up with the heavy, frenetic piston of his body until he stiffens behind me, rigid as pleasure conquers him. Our breaths fill the air in symphony, his and mine. We come down slowly, his possessive grip on my hip easing, our heartbeats pounding in unison, neither of us wanting to stop. Our bodies still rock as the tumult of the waves gradually gentle. By the time our breathing regulates, light fully intrudes, introducing another morning.

“I really did want to talk,” he says with a husky laugh, walking his fingers down my arm to caress my fingers.

“Hmmmm?” The day is fully lit, but my alarm must have another hour left. Our lovemaking has left me speechless and exhausted before the day has begun.

“I had something to ask you.”

“Ask,” I mutter, eyes half-closed.

“Are you nervous?” he asks. “About today, I mean? Finding out.”

“Are we finding out?” Even half-dead and listless, I manage a

wicked smile. Grip wouldn’t be able to hold out. He told me from the beginning, even if I didn’t want to know if we’re having a boy or girl, he would have to.

“Bris, we already talked about—”

“Just kidding,” I cut in with a wisp of a laugh. “No, I’m not nervous. Excited, but not nervous.”

He rests his hand on my hip, fingers twined with mine, and presses kisses between my shoulder blades.

“Dwell in possibility,” he says between kisses.

“Hmmmm?” I turn my head the slightest bit, not enough to see him, just enough to hear him better.

“That’s what I whisper to our baby, to your belly. It’s from a poem.”

“Neruda?”

“Dickinson. It’s a poem called ‘I Dwell in Possibility.’” He pauses, giving me space to ask questions that I don’t pose because I know he’ll keep going. “I want our kids to grow up believing in possibilities, not because we have money or the advantages that come with it, but because of themselves. They can chase possibilities with nothing stopping them. If my mom hadn’t made me feel that way, like if I could dream it and