Stranger love part 2

I woke to the feel of Rhys’s mouth on my neck.

It was still dark. Rain tapped steadily against the window. His body was warm and solid behind me, one heavy arm locked around my waist, the other hand already sliding under the hem of the oversized T-shirt I’d fallen asleep in. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on the bare skin of my stomach, then lower.

“You’re awake,” he murmured against my ear, voice rough with sleep.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He rolled me onto my back and kissed me, deep, hungry, no hesitation. I opened for him immediately. The kiss turned filthy fast. His tongue swept into my mouth while his hand shoved the T-shirt up and off me in one motion. Cool air hit my skin. He pulled back just long enough to look at me, bare breasts, tight nipples, the way my chest rose and fell too fast, then closed his mouth over one peak and sucked hard.

A broken sound left my throat.

“That’s it,” he muttered against my skin. “Let me hear you.”

He switched to the other breast, teeth grazing, tongue flicking, while his hand dragged down my stomach and pushed between my thighs. I was already wet. He groaned low when his fingers slid through the slickness.

“Fuck, Sienna. Soaked already.”

Two thick fingers pushed inside me without warning. I arched off the bed, moaning. He fucked me with them hard and precise, curling, stretching, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet room. His thumb found my clit and circled with ruthless pressure. Every thrust of his fingers pulled another helpless sound from me.

“Rhys…”

“I know.” He kissed me again, swallowing the next moan. “You’re going to come on my fingers first. Then you’re going to ride me until you can’t take it anymore.”

The words sent a fresh pulse of heat straight through me. He added a third finger and fucked me deeper. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. My hips moved against his hand without permission. Pressure built fast and sharp.

I came hard, sudden, crying out against his mouth while my body clenched around his fingers. He worked me through it until I was trembling, then pulled his hand free and brought the shiny fingers to my lips.

“Clean them.”

I did. I sucked my own taste off his skin while he watched, eyes dark, breathing heavier than before. When he pulled his hand away he shoved his own sleep pants down and freed himself, thick, hard, the head already slick with precum.

He lay back against the pillows and looked at me.

“Get on.”

I climbed over him, straddling his hips. He gripped the base of his cock and held it steady while I sank down slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt. The stretch pulled a long, broken moan from my throat. He was bigger than I’d expected, filling me so completely I had to stay still for a second just to breathe.

Rhys’s hands locked on my hips. “Fuck. Look at you taking every inch.”

I started to move.

At first it was slow, rolling my hips, rising and falling in a steady rhythm while I braced my hands on his chest. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of me filled the room. Every time I sank down he exhaled like it cost him something. His fingers dug into my skin hard enough to bruise.

“Faster,” he ordered, voice rough.

I picked up the pace.

Harder. Deeper. My breasts bounced with every downward stroke. Rhys thrust up to meet me, the slap of skin on skin growing louder, wetter. I moaned openly now, couldn’t stop the sounds pouring out of me. He groaned in answer, low and filthy, watching where our bodies joined.

“That’s it. Ride me. Use my cock.”

I did. I fucked myself on him harder, chasing the building pressure. Sweat slicked my skin. The wet, obscene sounds of sex filled every corner of the hotel room, skin slapping, my moans, his deep groans, the creak of the bed. He sat up suddenly, one arm banding around my waist, the other fisting in my hair, and kissed me like he was starving while he thrust up into me with short, powerful strokes.

“Rhys…I’m close…”

“Come. Now.”

I shattered.

The orgasm crashed through me hard enough that I cried out against his mouth, body clenching and pulsing around him. He groaned and kept thrusting through it, holding me tight, fucking me through every wave until I was shaking and oversensitive.

He wasn’t finished.

Rhys flipped us in one smooth motion, pinned me on my back, shoved my thighs wide, and drove back into me with a single hard thrust. The new angle punched a broken moan from my throat. He fucked me rough and deep, the wet slap of his hips against mine loud and relentless. One hand pinned both my wrists above my head. The other gripped my thigh and held me open.

“Still so fucking wet,” he rasped against my mouth. “Taking me so well.”

I moaned louder. Couldn’t help it. Every thrust dragged against every sensitive place inside me. The bed frame knocked softly against the wall. Wet sounds filled the room…filthy, continuous, the unmistakable noise of how soaked I was for him.

He increased the pace.

Harder. Faster. The headboard slammed. My moans turned into broken, high sounds. His groans grew rougher, more unrestrained. He dropped his head and sucked hard on my nipple while he fucked me, teeth scraping, and the dual sensation shoved me over the edge again.

I came a second time, harder, crying out his name while my cunt clenched around him in waves. Rhys cursed and followed a moment later, burying himself as deep as he could go and pulsing inside me with a low, broken groan that sounded like it had been ripped out of him.

We stayed locked together, both breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.

Eventually he eased out. I felt the warm slide of him leaving, the thick mess he’d left behind already starting to leak out of me. He looked down at it and made a dark, satisfied sound. Then he leaned in and kissed me…slower this time, deeper, almost tender after how rough he’d just been.

“Still want me to leave?” he murmured against my mouth.

I was still trembling. My body felt used and claimed and completely unwilling to pretend this had been a mistake.

“No,” I whispered. “Stay.”

Rhys pulled me against his chest, one heavy arm locking around my waist like he had no intention of letting go.

Outside the rain kept falling.

Inside the room, the only sounds left were our slowing breaths and the quiet, filthy knowledge that I had brought a stranger upstairs to prove a point, and ended up getting thoroughly, roughly, completely fucked instead.

And I already wanted him to do it again.