Bending the Rules (The Rules, #1)

Bonus Chapter #5: Mess Me Up

"I'll fuck you on every fuckable surface, Brenna." His mouth latches onto my neck, and he sucks, flicking his tongue against the sensitive spot below my ear. "The island. The dryer. The wall. I'll fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

Shea pulls my leggings down. They pool at my ankles and I kick them away. Shea doesn't hesitate. He slides his hands up my bare thighs until he's clutching my butt. Feeling his calloused hands against my skin is electrifying.

He captures my bottom lip between his teeth, tugging it, as his hand slides to the front of my thigh. Then diagonally to the apex.

He strokes me, a soft groan escaping his lips. "You're soaked."

I rest my forehead against his shoulder, closing my eyes.

And when he slips two fingers inside, my nails dig into his shoulders.

"Shea," I rasp.

He continues to work his fingers while his thumb caresses my clit. With his other hand, he lifts one of my legs, wrapping is around his hips. My lower back is pressed against the table and my hands are gripping it. I toss my head back in abandon, welcoming the feel of his fingers and the knot building in my stomach. My knuckles are white as I grip the table. 

Shea continues to touch me until I'm writhing beneath the power of his hand, begging him for release. I'm so close. I'm dangling over the edge, willing to fall. My cheeks are flushed. Sweat is accumulating along my hairline. Every muscle in my body tense, preparing for a mind-blowing orgasm. Because every orgasm he gives me is mind-blowing. He never disappoints.

Until now.

Shea removes his hand.

I throw my head back again, whimpering in protest. My face expresses nothing but anguish. "Fuck you, Smith."

He grips my hips and sets me on the table again. There's a glint of mischief in his eyes as he nudges my legs apart and... and drops to his knees.

A fresh wave of anticipation flows through me, making me hyperaware of his every move. His hands grip my thighs. His lips trace the inside of my knee and thigh as he leaves a trail of fervent kisses.

Pausing, he stares up at me and raises his left hand. His ring glints in the dim light. "Saying 'Fuck you, Smith' doesn't work anymore, Bren. I'm not sure who you're talking to. Me, for teasing you. Or yourself for needing me. Fuck, Bren, you're desperate." To prove his point, he runs his finger along my wet slit. "You're soaked." 

Sometimes, I hate this man.

Just as I'm about to respond with a snappy comment (we're not married yet; it's just our engagement rings), his mouth and tongue replace his fingers.

"Fuck," I gasp, gripping his hair.

Our gazes stay connected, and I watch as the muscles in his jaw work. As much as I want to close my eyes and give in, I continue to stare at him. He does the same, cocking at eyebrow as if to say, "So, you want to play this game?"

Without hesitation, Shea wraps his arms around my waist and I settle my legs over his shoulders. Then he buries his face between my legs. His tongue is slick against my folds, and when he finds my clit, the sensations are amplified. He sucks, strokes, and grazes his teeth against the sensitive area.

"Oh god," I chant. "Oh god, oh god. Fuck."

He works harder as he goes down on me, savouring every moment.

Closing my eyes, I throw my head back, knocking it against the wall. Pictures down the hallway shake, and I hear glass shatter again. My grip tightens in his hair.