Safe Bet (The Rules 4)

“Stop, Syd.” I grab her wrist, halting her from further exploration. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

She lifts that big blue-eyed gaze back up to mine once more, her parted lips damp and plump and so fucking sexy all I can think about is devouring her. “You really want me to stop?” The doubt in her voice is strong. She has no idea the effect she has on me.

“If you want me to come all over your fingers, then yeah. I suggest you stop,” I say gruffly, removing her hand from my pants. “We need to take this slow or it’ll be over before it’s even started.”

“Oh.” Her eyes are sparkling and she’s smiling so big I swear I can see every one of her teeth. I think she’s pleased by what I just said. “I don’t mind if that happens.”

“Yeah, well, I mind. It’s way too soon.” Chuckling, I shake my head. I need to regain control of this situation. I didn’t want to push for fear she’d ask me to stop, but hell. She took over, and she wasn’t shy about it either.

And I have to admit I like it. I didn’t think she’d be so pushy, but she’s a constant surprise.

Taking control, I grab hold of her and roll over so I’m hovering above her on my knees, her back flat on the mattress, her hips in between my legs. She’s just wearing that T-shirt of mine, an old one from college that’s thin and soft, and I’m dying to lift the hem. Check out what she’s got on under there.

“Am I squashing you?” I ask. I’ve had women complain I’m too heavy in the past. I’m a big guy, tall and heavy. It wasn’t so bad when I was in high school. Hell, when I first started college I wasn’t this big either. But the constant weight training has upped my size and now every time I’m with a girl, I’m afraid I’m going to crush her to death.

Sydney slowly shakes her head, her golden blonde hair spread out all over my pillow. I let my gaze roam over her, taking in her every delicate feature. Damn, she’s pretty. And she’s going to be mine—at least for tonight.

“You feel good,” she whispers, her eyes glowing as she smiles up at me.

I kiss her soft and slow, taking my time. Again and again, soft, sweet kisses that linger more with every pass. Until she winds her arms around my neck to keep me close, her fingers diving into my hair and I groan into her mouth. I’m a sucker for someone running their fingers through my hair. I’ve always loved it. I think that’s why I grow it long, which is vain and ridiculous, but there’s a bit of truth there. Plus, when it comes to getting haircuts, I’m lazy.

These kisses I’m experiencing with Sydney are lazy too. They’re long, tongue-filled, languid kisses where we’re exploring each other’s mouths like we have all the time in the world, which we do. I don’t want to push. We don’t need to rush.

And I can’t stop kissing her. Tasting her. Enjoying the sensation of her mouth on mine. I suck on her bottom lip, making her squeal softly. I nibble on that same bottom lip, making her whimper. I lick that lip, catch it between my teeth, suck it, do it all again and again until she’s writhing beneath me, restless.

Wanting more.

It’s my turn to let my hands wander. I keep my mouth on hers while I touch her. Run my hands down the length of her body until I reach the hem of the T-shirt, then I work my way beneath the fabric, encountering warm, soft skin. I touch the outside of her thighs, her hips, my fingers catching on her thin panties. She sucks in a breath and I move up, my hands still beneath the shirt as they skim along her waist, her ribcage, fingers tracing her delicate, lacy bra.

I glance up to find her head thrown back, eyes closed, her lips parted as she struggles to breathe evenly. She’s beautiful like this, lost in my touch, and I grab the hem of the shirt, lifting it up, slowly revealing her.

“Let’s take this off,” I whisper.

She opens her eyes and sits up, shucking the shirt off in quick, efficient movements, tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. I eat her up with my gaze as she sits before me clad only in the bra and panties. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can see that they’re black lace, stark against her skin. Reaching out, I trace one bra strap, then the other, my fingers lingering on her petal-soft skin.

A shuddery breath leaves her and I lean in, dropping a line of kisses along her collarbone. She tilts her head back on a sigh, her hands coming up to clutch at the back of my head, almost as if she wants to guide me to where she wants me next.

It hits me then. What we’re doing. How we’re about to take a major step. This is serious.

I pull away from her grip, needing the distance for what I’m about to say. Her eyes flash open, full of confusion and she parts her lips, ready to say something. Before she can speak, I rest my index finger over her mouth, silencing her.

“What we’re about to do…changes everything.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “This was supposed to be fake. What we’re doing. But it doesn’t feel fake right now.”

Fuck. I can’t believe I just said that.

She says nothing.

Her silence is deafening.

The silence might be my answer.

I don’t know what to say. Wade’s right—what we’re about to do will change everything between us. Sex will take this so-called fake relationship straight into the next level. From fake to real after the first orgasm, right? And I want that.

I do.

But I’m also scared. Terrified of what could happen next. What if I end up really liking him? At one point I thought I could keep this strictly physical. After that first kiss in his truck for the cameras, I liked the idea of hooking up with him. He could scratch my itch, fulfill my needs, help ease the loneliness I’d been dealing with since my parents cut me off.