Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,20
jeans and panties down my thighs. “I want you just like this.”
Once I’m completely naked, Wes takes a step back and admires me. Stretched out on the ladder. Arms up. Back arched. Breasts wet from his mouth and heaving with my every breath.
Even in the dark of the bookstore and behind that curtain of brown hair, I see the moment his eyes darken. A shiver cascades down my spine as Wes licks his full bottom lip and unfastens his jeans. I swallow as his thumbs hook into his waistband, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself, and I feel my heart sink as his hand wraps around his hard cock.
I wanted to make love to Wes.
But it looks like the Ice King just took his place.
Wes’s eyes don’t meet mine as he stalks toward me. They linger on my body as he strokes his length. Even though my heart is breaking, slick heat trickles between my thighs as my back arches toward his ghost. I’ll take this man any way I can get him even if the version I’m getting isn’t him at all.
“Fuck,” Wes hisses, snaking his hands down my sides, over my hips, and around to squeeze my full ass.
Wes spreads me apart as he pulls my body toward him, guiding his thickness into the slippery mess between my thighs. He groans, pushing my hips away from him and pulling them right back. I hold on to the ladder with both hands as he drags his smooth flesh between my folds. His head is bowed as he watches himself disappear between my thighs.
He won’t look at me.
He won’t even look at me.
“Wes,” I cry, my voice breaking with need.
His eyes snap up, softened by surprise, and I catch a glimmer of the man inside. Reaching out with one hand, I cup his hard jaw, holding it in place so that he can’t look away.
“Stay with me,” I beg, my eyes darting back and forth between his. I hope he hears me. I hope he feels all the ways that I mean those words.
Hooking my thigh over his hip, Wes presses the tip of himself against the core of me. He blinks, but he doesn’t look away as he fills me slowly. His pale green eyes are a tortured mix of agony and ecstasy as they bore into mine, but they’re honest, and they’re open, and for once, they do as I say.
They stay.
Wes’s jaw muscles flex beneath my fingertips as we click into place, and for a moment, we’re as close as two people can be. The intensity of that stare is paralyzing. The feeling of his bare skin against mine, intoxicating. The heat of his breath and the thump of his heart and the pulsing need where we’re joined are overwhelming.
Then, he closes his eyes.
He withdraws.
And when he thrusts forward again, it’s not sweet and slow.
It’s hard and cold.
Wes’s fingertips bite into my thigh, holding me in place as his hips surge forward in deep, punctuated, violent motions. He’s fucking me like he’s stabbing me. Like he’s trying to rid himself of his pain by burying it in my flesh.
So, I cling to the wooden rung above my head and take it. All of it.
Because Wes’s pain still feels better than mine.
His eyebrows crease, and his lips part. And all I want to do is make whatever he’s feeling go away. So, I lean forward and do the only thing there is left to do. I press a kiss to his perfect lips.
Wes stills for a moment. Then, he wraps his arms around my body so tight that I can hardly breathe. He devours my mouth, taking everything I have to give as he fills me to my limit.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I coil my right leg around his waist for support as he grinds against my over-sensitized flesh. I was wrong before. This is as close as two people can get.
Wes isn’t showing me his brave face or his guarded face. He isn’t showing me his face at all.
He’s showing me his fear.
The moment I feel him swell and jerk inside of me, my body detonates, contracting around him suddenly and violently. I whimper into his mouth with every surge of pleasure and swallow his quiet moans of pain.
He doesn’t pull out, doesn’t break our connection. He holds me and kisses me until he’s making love to me again, and I’m hit with a sickening sense of déjà vu.
This is