Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
It was a bad night.
“And how’d that go for you?” Rocky asks with more snark.
“Well, I won the fight, so it went fantastic.”
He gives me a look. “Needing your ‘older’ brother to defend you isn’t winning.”
“Wrestling has tag-team championships, so I beg to differ.” I hold on to my bent knees. “But I would kick Trent’s ass solo. All on me.” I flex my bicep, which produces a tiny bump of muscle. “Be fucking scared.”
“I am scared,” he says, “that you might pull a fucking tendon.”
I flip him off with both hands.
Rocky abandons his wallet, keys, Rolex, and phone on the dresser—just to get on the bed and seize my ankle. He yanks, and I splat flat on my back. My heart pitches so fast, I go dizzy.
When I try to sit up, he pushes me down. His harsh gaze caresses me like molten sandpaper, and I can’t deny—I never want him to look away. He dips closer. “You call this a fight?”
I shove him harder, and he snatches my arms like I’m a paper doll. We’re bare. Just hot skin and heavy breaths. The latter are mostly from me.
“Fuck you,” I curse out.
“Tell me to go fuck myself,” he whispers against my ear. “Tell me to fuck off. Use your dirty fucking mouth because you know you’ll never be physically stronger than me.”
I breathe like I’m running up a ninety-degree incline. I feel myself get wetter, and I can barely figure out why this is turning me on right now. It’s not because we’re naked wrestling. Or because I’m losing.
I wriggle my legs under him, kicking frantically, but he roots me to the bed with such lazy effort, whereas I’m exerting every ounce of force in me. Growling out, I try to reclaim my arms, but he has sufficiently pinned me.
I squirm.
He grips and imprisons.
Our eyes are impaling each other.
I writhe beneath him. “I won’t stop,” I rasp.
“I know,” he breathes. “Because I know who you fucking are.”
Then, with his knees, he spreads me wide open. Yes, yes. Rocky is so hard, and in these next seconds, which become blissful minutes, he fucks me with absolute aggression. Possession. As if he needs to reach the deepest parts of me, and that’s it—that’s why I’m overcome so fully, so suddenly.
The connection.
The feeling that he’s pulling me into him, and I’m pulling him down into me. That we could be chained and padlocked together and it still wouldn’t be close enough.
His eyes excavate mine, and my struggle is weak under an onslaught of raw pleasure and emotion. I want deeper, too.
I want to dig my claws in him. I want to etch my chosen name on his back. I want him to carve his chosen name on mine. Blood dripping down our bodies. Kissing through the crimson mess of each other.
Never letting go.
“Deeper,” I grit, and it becomes a tiny cry.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Phoebe.”
“Rocky. Rocky.” I’m going to come.
And when I do, hot tears spill out of the corners of my eyes. He holds me tightly, securely, firmly against his body while he thrusts. He’s warm inside me without a condom. When he pulls out, he’s knelt over me, and he pumps himself a few times.
He comes on my abdomen with a coarse, guttural noise.
That visual. A strange whimpering noise escapes me. Fuuuck. I roll my face into the pillow. “You didn’t hear that.”
“You mean the sound of you loving a cumshot?” He’s off the bed. Already making another sexy naked trek. Déjà vu. How many times can we do this?
My face is on fire. “I’ve never loved being comed on.”
“Because I haven’t come on you until today.” He grabs a hand towel out of his closet. “And whoever came on you before me is a fucking loser and has to die now.” He flashes a cold smile.
It makes me actually smile.
He returns to the bed, and while I’m leaning back on my elbows, I let him wipe my abdomen. He asks if it was too rough for me, and I say, “No, I liked it.” Tension ramps up between us, a sexual and emotional desire all wrapped in one deadly bow.
His narrowed eyes flit up to mine. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to fuck again.”
“I know you have to go meet Trent.” I cringe even surfacing Jake’s brother again. “And anyway, I need to leave for work soon. It’s a mutual smash-and-dash.”
He grimaces. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Fine,” I say. “Hit-it-and-quit-it.”
He rolls his eyes and stands up, throwing the dirty towel into the wicker basket.
“What? Rocky.” I frown and slide off the bed. “I’m joking. Probably not my best one, but a joke nonetheless.”
He chucks his charcoal sweatpants to me with no animosity on his face. I catch and step into them as he says, “Being around Jake’s brother is stirring things in me that I can’t fucking explain, Phebs. He’s not a special breed of evil. I’ve been around so many Trents before. I’ve pretended to be them all my life. But I’ve never really been with you. Not in this way. Not while doing a job like this.”