The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,317

perfect, his broad sculpted chest glistens, and his washboard abs flex and ripple with each thrust of his hips.

His eyes are closed, his plump lower lip caught between his teeth. His unbelievably handsome face is flushed with exertion.

He’s a walking wet dream.

His eyes fly open, spearing me. My whole heart flies into my throat at the unmistakable, and intense flash of Deja vu returns. But before I can process it, he leans over and takes my mouth in a ravenous kiss that sends my pulse into riots.

He breaks our kiss and presses his lips to my ear, his hot breath tickling my neck.

“Am I hurting you, Goddess?”

In answer, I reach around to grab his thigh and growl, “More.”

His nostrils flair and he grinds his hips against my ass, pressing deeper than I knew was possible.

He drapes his big body over mine, presses one hand to the mattress, and wraps his other arm around my waist and drives into me, fast and hard.

Each thrust makes my toes curl. His hand glides down my stomach and slides between my thighs,

His fingers find my clit at just the right place. “Right there, oh my god,” I cry out and he heeds it.

In just a few strokes of his magical fingers, I’m there.

This time, he comes with me.

He groans out his release and fucks me relentlessly until he’s spent. And then he falls on top of me and I savor his heavy, sweaty, hot body for the few seconds he stays like that.

He flops onto his back and I muster the strength to roll to my side so I can take him in.

He’s glorious in his male perfection – The corded muscles that cover every inch of his body glisten with a light sheen of sweat. His penis is still partially erect and bobs between his thick, hairy thighs.

Without opening his eyes, he reaches over and slaps my ass. My surprised cry turns into a moan at the possessive caress that follows it. “I hope you’re going to let me fuck this ass next,” he drawls lazily.

“Next? You want more?” I ask in delight and surprise.

“Uh, yeah, Captain Obvious.”

I freeze and draw back to look at him.

Only one person has ever called me that and he was small and scrawny and wore glasses. Or at least he used to be. I turn over and peer at the man in my bed. I didn’t ask his name because I didn’t want to know. And he hasn’t asked mine…because…maybe he already knows it?

“St—Stone?” I whisper and watch in horror as his eyes open, all hazel and beautiful, and so very familiar. My heart skips several beats as I see what I should have the instant I looked at him.

This cannot be happening.

I draw a pillow over my head to muffle the groan I can’t choke back.

“Regan, are you okay?” He lifts the pillow off my face and peers down at me, his eyebrows raised in amused curiosity. When he sees the expression on my face, his amusement turns to concern.

“You’re Stone. Stone Rivers?” I ask slowly. Each word weighed down with incredulity and disbelief.

“Uh… yeah.” His eyes narrow in confusion, like we’ve talked about this a thousand times already.

Panic grips me and I scramble off the bed and grab the robe I so recklessly discarded earlier. I grab the phone from the bedside and hold it in front of me like it’s a weapon.

“If Marcel set this shit up, I swear to God, I’ll see him in hell before I let him use it against me.”

“Wait…what?” He lurches back like I’ve slapped him. His eyes widen with shock.

I glare at him. “Last time I saw you, you said you hated me. Now, the first time I travel anywhere by myself in ten years, you’re here?” I snarl.

He sits up slowly, his expression completely blank, and his guarded eyes not leaving me for a second. He opens his mouth and then closes it. His throat convulses.

“Who sent you here?” I shout in a voice strangled by dizzying panic. How could I have been so colossally stupid?

“This isn’t what you think. Just let me get dressed, okay?” He eyes me like he might a dangerous animal as he stands and reaches for the jeans on the floor.

I turn away from him and pace in an agitated circle and try to find something sensible to cling to inside my racing mind.

“Regan?”

I whirl to face him. The hesitancy in his voice is reflected by the dubious cast of his gaze.

“Well?”