Rolling in the Deep by Rebecca Rogers Maher Page A

finish. I take him in my hand, taste him with my tongue. He hisses out a breath and tries to steady himself. There’s nothing to hold, though. He sways, and slides his hands into my hair. I have to brace his legs with my hands, to fix him in place. While his cock slides hotly into my mouth.
    God.
    He’s so thick, and hard—the muscles in his thighs contracting, tensing, his fingers knotting into my hair. The heat of him, the salt, the silk…I’m dizzy with it. Sick with it. I want more.
    It shouldn’t turn me on so much to feel him in my throat like this, to feel him pulling my hair tight.
    But it’s Ray. Who I know would stop if I said it was hurting me. Who is breathing right now like I’m breaking him in pieces, and I understand that’s what I want. To break him apart, to be broken. To let that happen. To not have to hold it all together.
    He shudders, and pulls back, and then he’s half lifting, half dragging me over to the bed. He rips the blanket aside, pushes me down onto my back, and spreads my legs.
    I make a sound then. I say his name. He spreads my legs and breathes against my labia, and all I can do is brace my feet against the bed frame. My back arches—I can’t help it, and he exhales sharply.
    “God, Holly.” He presses his face briefly against the inside of my thigh. “You’re so beautiful.”
    I don’t have any time to react before he licks me. Just bends his head and licks my clit. His tongue is hot, burning hot, and I want to scream. I want to tear the sheets beneath me apart.
    “Fuck,” he says against me. His hands reach up and trail over my breasts, over my swollen nipples, and his tongue moves in tiny, controlled licks. Small, precise movements that make me feel like I’m being strung up with wire, tighter and tighter. He’s barely touching me, and it’s torture.
    “Ray.”
    He smothers a moan and pushes his mouth against me harder. Squeezes and pinches my nipples until they hurt, and it’s exactly right. Exactly what I need.
    I’m so close to coming, so soon. I feel like I should hold off, like I should wait for him, or slow down. But there is no slowing down. His mouth is relentless. I wrap my calf around his naked back and the muscles there completely undo me. His mouth moves fast, my nipples strain against his fingers, and I’m coming hard against his tongue, crying.
    He lets out a shuddering breath and presses his face again against my thigh. I don’t have time to think, to come down, before he goes to take a condom from the pocket of his jeans.
    “Got these at the front desk,” he says, returning. He wipes a strand of hair out of my eyes. “You okay?”
    I nod, breathing hard, and he edges up between my legs. I want to be on him.
    I turn him over and take the condom from his hands. Roll it on. His face is flushed a deep crimson. There’s sweat on his neck. I lean down and lick it off him, and he makes a strangled sound.
    “Holly.”
    I guide him between my legs. And then lower myself onto him, inch by inch. My body clenches around him, trying to adjust to his thickness, his heat. It’s overwhelming in a way I didn’t prepare myself for, the way he fills me. How deep he goes. I feel his hips between my thighs, the strength of his chest against the palm of my hand. And I begin to move, rising up and then slowly, slowly sliding down.
    I want to look into his eyes, but it’s too much, the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s afraid almost. As afraid as I am.
    He closes his eyes, and grips my hips, and I realize that until now he’s been still. Letting me take control. Letting me lead. But he wants to move now, I can feel it. I feel his control slipping, and scared as I am, I want it to fall away entirely. I want to feel what he’s like when he’s not holding anything back. My body takes over; it takes what it wants. I pull him out slowly, holding his cock in my hand with just the tip of him still inside me, and wait.
    He opens his eyes and looks at me. Into me. I