Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

Cause of death: Will’s lines. I stretch my neck for a clear shot of his features. He’s tense, anxiously awaiting my answer.

“Okay, boyfriend.”

He smiles, angles my chin forward, and kisses me hard. Deep. Senseless. I reciprocate the kiss without thinking, an all-too-familiar rush bursting through my veins as I wind my arms around his neck and mash my chest against his.

I can’t imagine how hard this confession must’ve been for him. That’s Will. The guy who makes everybody laugh but never truly laughs himself. He can barely get through one sentence without slipping a hundred jokes inside.

So, a whole-ass declaration?

Give this man a prize.

I’ll give him a prize all right. Cupping my ass through my leggings, he grunts, gives my cheeks a squeeze, and hoists me up into his arms. My legs clamp around his waist as he carries me to the bed.

Except he doesn’t carry me to the bed.

He nails my body to the wall.

Holy f… Against the wall?

Yes, please.

His fingers clutch at the hem of my shirt, jerking the fabric over my head in haste. If he spent half as much time obsessing over our almost-sex as I did, we’re not going to wait long. God, we were so stupid. He wasn’t even wearing protection.

This would’ve been a terrible idea.

But that’s what we are. What we’ve always been. We’re a terrible, stupid-as-fuck, earth-shattering idea. And here. Now. We’re going to do way more than break the rules.

We’re going to completely forget them.

Planting my feet to the ground, Will tugs my leggings down my legs, stretching hot, greedy kisses all over my stomach in passing. He’s stripped me down to my underwear before I can blink. It’s only fair that I return the favor. Hooking a hand at the back of his neck, I urge him upward, allowing our lips to reconnect as I fumble with his belt. Try as I may, I can’t seem to get his damn pants off. It’s like we can’t bear to let go of each other long enough for me to see what I’m doing.

“Hold on.” He laughs against my mouth, shooing my hands away and unbuckling his belt himself.

The second his jeans trickle to the floor, he snakes a hand around me to unclasp my silk bralette. I kept it on last time, but I’m fully exposed to him now. I can’t help feeling self-conscious. I don’t exactly have the biggest rack, and the first guy to ever see that rack ended up screwing everything with a heartbeat behind my back. Maybe it’s me.

Maybe they’re… too small?

As though he can see the self-doubt plaguing me, Will grips my face with both hands, his eyes boring into mine as he rasps, “Do you have any fucking idea how perfect you are?”

Just like that, my insecurities go up in flames. He doesn’t miss a beat, cupping a handful of my breast as his mouth latches onto my painfully tight nipples one by one. Licking, biting, nibbling—he knows exactly what he’s doing. I feel electrified with each stroke of his tongue, slumping against the wall as he gives each tip his undivided attention.

Then he drops to his knees.

Right there.

On my bedroom floor.

All I have to do is take one look at him to know… He’s going to make me forget my own name, isn’t he?

Spreading kisses all over the inside of my thighs, he lifts a hand to my underwear, moving his thumb up and down the fabric. He’s not gentle either. He wants me to feel it all.

And I do.

I squirm as he flicks my clit in slow circles through my panties, but nothing—absolutely nothing—compares to the desire I feel when he practically rips that last barrier off me, hitches my leg up, and starts tongue-fucking me.

His available hand presses down onto my stomach, drilling my body against the wall as his mouth locks onto every sweet spot. I can’t defuse my moans, my head drawing back on its own. But it’s when he squeezes a finger inside me, curling in and out of my body restlessly, that I lose my mind.

I want him.