Take Me Under by Rhyannon Byrd Page A

instantly twisted with regret. “If I tried, I don’t think I’d even know what to do with you.”
    “It’s easy. Just throw me down and fuck me till my eyes roll back in my head and I’ll be putty in your hands.”
    “Is that right?” she asked, muffling an embarrassing giggle.
    There was something spellbinding about the way he was smiling down at her, his lustful look edged with some intriguing emotion she couldn’t put a name to. “Well, you know what I’m like. As much as I’d enjoy it, I’d rather be the one doing the throwing,” he admitted with another husky laugh. “And the fucking.”
    She swallowed, and tried to remember why this was such a bad idea. “You make it so hard to do the right thing, Ben.”
    “Then just do me instead.” Curving his hand around the nape of her neck, he held her hard and tight as he took her mouth in another one of those
Is the world spinning out of control?
kisses. From the far corners of her pleasure-hazed mind, Reese was aware of him curling his other arm under her bottom and carrying her through the narrow archway that led into her dining room. She felt the cold surface of her small table hit the backs of her legs, and then he was laying her down . . . coming down over her, his hard chest crushing her breasts while his mouth ate at hers in a way that was wild and raw and outrageously sinful.
    She didn’t remember doing it, but she had both hands fisted in his hair now, her tongue rubbing hungrily against his as he shoved his hand back into the front of her panties, then quickly shoved two of those long fingers back inside her. She was so wet she could hear the sound of his fingers thrusting, and she arched her back, pushing her breasts harder against him as he brought his thumb into the action, working her clit. Her heart pounded, thoughts as tangled and fractured as her breaths. She was already tightening, trembling, ready to come out of her freaking skin. Then he hooked his fingers and rubbed that sweet spot deep inside her—and that was it. With a breathless cry on her lips, she started coming, hard, her sex convulsing around his pumping fingers, gripping him tighter . . . and tighter.
    “That’s it,” he groaned, lowering his head and biting her nipple through the thin shirt, then sucking it hard. “Let me hear it, Reese.”
    She gasped, keening, unable to hold in the raw sobs as he suddenly pushed a third finger into her. He was stretching her to a point just shy of pain, but she didn’t care, the thick penetration hurtling her into a deeper level of orgasm that made her close her eyes, throw her head back . . . and scream so loud it probably shook the rafters.
    Holy. Freaking. God.
    It could have lasted an hour, or a mere handful of seconds. Reese had no idea, all sense of her surroundings and time completely annihilated beneath the bursts of mind-shattering ecstasy. When she finally blinked her eyes back open, she had no idea how long she’d been caught in that . . . whatever the hell
that
had been. An orgasm-induced meltdown? A head-spinning trip to another dimension? Whatever it was, the sensations had been so intense she felt as if she’d been permanently . . . changed. As if he’d left some kind of indelible mark on the very center of her universe. On her entire concept of her body and her self and what she was capable of feeling and experiencing.
    Damn it, she’d known getting a taste of Ben Hudson would be dangerous. The guy was too freaking addictive for his own good!
    “You have freckles on your thighs.” He was bracing himself on his left arm, his dark gaze burning with heat as it swept over her pale skin, before focusing in hard and tight on her sex. He pushed his fingers in a little deeper, making a low sound in his throat. “Christ, you even have a few little freckles on your cunt. That’s so fucking sexy, Reese.”
    She wet her lips, searching for her voice. “You like freckles?”
    “On you? I fucking love them,”