Bad Boy Rich

“I’m right here,” he whispers, closing the gap between us.

“I know you are.”

The tip of his finger runs down my cheekbone and across my bottom lip. My eyes close—focusing on my internal sensations—controlling my breathing while his gentle touch consumes me. With a slight tilt, his mouth has found mine, the warm sensation and taste of desire finds me again.

This slow, sensual pace heightens all my senses until he pushes me against the wall, slamming our bodies together, his tongue feverishly battling with mine.

I pull away to catch a quick breath, gulping for air as if my life depended on it.

“You’re bad for me.” His face is buried in my chest, kissing my ski

n eagerly. “Too innocent.”

“A little innocence never hurt anyone.” I latch onto his shirt, pulling him up so I could taste his lips again. “Good girls can turn bad too.”

“No,” he breathes; a silent plea in his tone. “Your innocence is sexy. In fact, a fucking turn-on.”

I grin, touching his cheek softly. “Oh really?”

“Shhh, stop talking. I need to fuck you now.”

I’m falling for him; into this blissful moment as his hands wander across my body, each part he hasn’t touched—begging to be noticed.

The wall is sticky, and my dress gets caught against the rough edge. I didn’t care. I wanted him—here and now. His palms slide under my dress, against my thighs with a slow, burning ache. My body reacts to him; grinding against his hardness and dry-humping him between our clothes which suddenly becomes a nuisance.

I fumble with his buttons, wanting to expose his chest and run my hands against his skin. Though the lighting is poor, the desire in his eyes burns through me as I spread apart his shirt and admire the view. He is just like I imagined; ripped, muscles in all the right places and so very manly.

There’s several tattoos on his chest, but I can barely make out the images.

My hands move on their own accord, against his chest, circling his nipple as he moans softly into the air. I had never experienced this type of lust; the need to have my way with him like a fantasy come alive.

The grip of his hands is tight against my ass; small, yet forceful squeezes until he lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist for support.

“You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re begging for it.”

I grab his belt buckle that begins to dig into me, unbuckling it quickly and unzipping his pants. Balancing against the wall, fumbling for his pants and losing myself in his ravenous kisses—becomes exhausting.

“I’m not the one begging for it,” I pant, so out of breath, my throat dry. “You are.”

Wesley laughs into my mouth; a grin forming on my tired face from this game we play.

“Is that so?”

I pull his hair, detaching his mouth from mine in order to give him a nod. The more we played this game, the more turned on I got. I felt him everywhere. I wanted him everywhere on me.

He rests his forehead against mine, breathing into my face as we both take a moment to catch ourselves.

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a taste of something as Rich. Don’t think for a second that bad boy means you’ll be left unsatisfied. Quite the contrary. I can guarantee you, that afterwards, baby—you’ll continue begging for more.”

My eyes lock into his, wild and desperate for him to enter me. As we take this moment to stare at each other, his reflection is exactly how I imagined he would be—wild, uncensored and uncaring of what else is happening outside the world of us.

Keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he runs his hand along my chest, sliding into my dress and cupping my breast. I’m holding in a breath; stopping myself from finishing, all because of his touch. When I think I have controlled myself, he narrows his grip into a pinch and squeezes on my nipple.

The agony, and yet pleasure, spreads through me—my back arching from this delightful pain.

“Are you ready?” he whispers into my ear as his tongue runs along my lobe.

“For you, yes. I’ve been waiting.”