Chapter 3—Hot Aches

There have been numerous stereotypes associated with redheads, and while I have a lot of checks on that list, there is one thing I have never really gotten around ticking off. They say redheads are aggressive and this makes for good sex. I always thought it was a stupid stereotype, always got offended when men would look at me like I was nothing more than a doll made for bedroom play. Until now, that is, because I don’t know what the hell is happening to me. I can’t explain how we got into this hotel room, or how he can afford to pay for a room this exquisite. I’ve been kissing and grinding on his erection since we left the club like some crazed animal, completely oblivious to my surroundings. And now? I’m ripping his shirt open because I can’t seem to get around the buttons fast enough. He chuckles, even as his fingers dive into my hair and pull at the frizzy strands. He is magnificent, I think to myself, as my fingers splay across his chest, moving down his perfectly sculpted body. I want to trace my tongue down every inch of him and I do not hesitate to do so. He groans when my teeth graze his nipple, and his hand bunches up my skirt, riding it up my waist. I want to do more, please him more, but he seems impatient. It makes me dizzy with excitement and anticipation, that I can make a man impatient with need, that I can coarse these sounds from him, that I can make him jerk and growl and moan my name. I do not recall ever being this alive, and hot. It was never this way with Grant/Steve. This is magical. This is sin. Nothing should taste and feel this good. I ache all over and my body sings from every stroke of his tongue in my mouth. He pushes me back gently, so that I fall back on the king-sized bed, and he follows, cupping the curve of my neck lightly and pressing reverent kisses to the side of my lips, my jaw, my neck. Intoxicating as it is, I don’t want him to be gentle with me. Grant/Steve was a gentle lover, and he still cheated on me. He still rammed into another woman hard enough that I thought he might break the bed. I have never experienced rough or hard sex before. I want this to be different. I catch his earlobe between my teeth and he groans, muttering unintelligible words. He sucks and nibbles on my neck like his life depends on it and I moan his name, suddenly remembering it from when he whispered it to me in his car. “Ryan.” He finds the tied knot of my wrap top and pulls away for long enough to pull at the ties. My top comes away from my chest and his eyes are hazy with lust as he stares at my bra and slightly freckled chest. He lifts a hand slowly to my breast and cups the right one. A soft sound escapes me, a plea. I’m not sure what I’m pleading for. He pulls down and groans when my breast pops out of my bra. He cusses before capturing a puckered crest in his mouth. I moan, gripping the sheets and rocking my hips against his in a strange addictive movement I have never done before. I could swear he moaned before shifting out of my reach. My lips part to protest but a stroke of his hot tongue against my nipple sets me on fire, and I scream in pleasure as I start to burn. Every stroke has me rising higher and her and as I reach the peak of my flight, my eyes roll to the back of my head, and I let out a shuddering cry. He swallows my cry with a hungry kiss and even if I just climaxed, I am yet to be satisfied, and just as hungry as he is. I have no idea who this woman who has taken control of my mind and body is, but I don’t mind it. I just crave him. This. I don’t want it to stop or end. He nudges my legs apart and begins to go down on me, but I refuse to let him do that. I have no doubt that he will drive me insane with the movement of his tongue, but that is too much intimacy to have with a stranger. All of this is too much to have with a stranger, actually, but. . .that feels extra. Ryan seems to understand what I am thinking without having to tell him because he stretches over me again and lets me unbuckle his belt. Usually, I’m clumsy with this part and red creeps up my cheeks when I fumble with the buckle, all to no avail. How the hell does he pee with so many locks on his belt? It is when he laughs that I realize I said that aloud. He places slim, elegant fingers on mine to stop my fussing and I raise my gaze to his as he lifts my fingers to his lips, kissing them. “I’ll do it, red. Do yours.” I just died and went to heaven. He called me "red" and his eyes twinkled and my insides have melted again. He rolls off me, but his eyes remain on me as he takes of his pants. Then his briefs. I can’t help my curiosity, peering down as I pull down the last of my clothes. Oh wow. He is massive and. . .how is he going to fit? I have little time to worry about that because he starts to climb over me again. “I knew, the moment I saw you, that I couldn’t leave without at least having your name. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes on.” My breath hitches. I know he’s only saying that because he’s horny, but his eyes are fire and it is doing the strangest things to me. I kiss him long and hard, and if I was having any doubts about going any further with this madness, it all disappears when his tip touches my entrance. When we come together, we aren’t fucking. He is making love to me like I am a goddess. He moans my name like it is a prayer and a blessing. He groans and he roars as he thrusts deeply into me. I moan and I cry because I’ve never felt anything like this before, and I have no idea what to think, seeing as a stranger is able to touch me and make me feel things no one else has. I climax again to the sound of my name on his lips, and again to his urgent moans as he spills inside me. And when I fall asleep that night, I dream of Ryan making love to me again. Yup. A goner.