Well, Actually

by Mazey Eddings

Rylie props himself up on one palm, grabbing both my wrists in his other hand and pinning them above my head. He wraps my fingers around the cool metal bar of my end table. “Hold on to this for me, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, voice like velvet. I grip the bar with everything I have. Rylie tries to hide his chuckle, and I glare at him but his smile doesn’t flicker. He reaches behind himself, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. My arms flinch with the need to touch him, but he shoots me a warning glance, eyes dragging from my flushed face to the grip of my hands. “Good girl.” With a lazy assuredness, he repositions himself on his knees between my legs, my body prone beneath him, and he flicks the buttons of his jeans free. He pushes them down his thighs, his cock springing out, and he grips the shaft, giving himself a few slow strokes as his gaze drags over me. Rylie’s never been a person I would describe as self-possessed, but right now, he’s a man undone, hair a mess, glasses crooked, my bites marks on his neck, his expression delightfully ruined. Seeing him like this sends a surge of need through me, and I clench against the painful emptiness between my legs, hips jerking up toward his. Rylie catches my thigh, then grips the silk of my shorts, pulling them tightly between the lips of my pussy. It creates just a hint of friction, and I groan, pelvis working even harder to find relief. He lets out a low growl, fist moving faster as he str...