Pretend You're Mine (Inked Hearts 3)

The light gets harsher.

It bounces off the glass with a glare.

It casts highlights over Ryan’s hair, shoulders, stomach.

Casts shadows behind him.

It means something, shadows being behind him, but I can’t connect the dots. Not with my brain screaming need Ryan now.

“Come here,” he demands.

It’s three steps to him.

His fingertips skim my hips. He traces a line over my hips, up my side and chest, along my shoulder, up my neck, along my chin.

He catches my lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

Slowly, he slides the digit into my mouth.

My eyelids press together as my lips close around him. I suck the taste of chlorine off his finger. Until it’s just Ryan’s skin.

But it’s not enough.

A thumb isn’t enough.

I need him in my mouth.

My eyelids blink open. Find his. He’s in that same trance of lust, but there’s something else in his expression. This sense of control. Like he knows exactly how to work me.

He’s like this with everything he does—an in-control perfectionist.

And, fuck, he really is good at this.

He drags the fleshy pad of his thumb across my lip. Over my chin. Down my neck and chest.

He takes his time tracing the outline of my triangle top.

His touch is light. His fingers slide along my slick skin with barely any friction.

I’m ready to beg him to touch me properly when he drags his fingertips down my stomach.

He traces the waist of my bikini bottom.

His fingers curl into the straps. They toy with the bow holding the right side together.

Then the left.

Then he’s brushing his fingers against my sex, pressing the wet Lycra against me.

I need it gone.

I need his hands on my skin.

I need him as desperate as I am.

Slowly, he drags his fingertips up my stomach. He traces a triangle to its tip, follows the halter strap.

He tugs the bow undone.