Free Against The Wall by Rhyannon Byrd Page B

careful to keep the slipping towel in place. “What are you still doing here?”
    He flashed a hungry smile, holding up the book she’d last laid on her bedside table.
    Oh crap.
    Not that one.
    It wasn’t that she was embarrassed by her reading choices. No, she was woman enough to know that there was nothing wrong with indulging her sexual fantasies with the help of some well-written erotica. Nonetheless, there was something decidedly awkward about being caught in nothing but a towel, while her dream man—who had just given her head—lay there on her bed as if he were a pasha waiting for her to come and grant his sexual wishes. Desire and lust hit her hard and high, and her pussy flooded while her face and breasts flushed a deep, aroused shade of red.
    Ryan’s smile widened. “Interesting reading, honey. I never would’ve pegged you as a ‘cock’ and ‘cunt’ kind of girl, but I gotta admit I like it. I guess there are all kinds of fun things we get to learn about each other, huh?”
    She stared at him in utter frustration, torn between making a cutting comment about his snooping habits and shamelessly throwing herself at him, begging him to take her every which way he could, twenty times this side of Sunday. No—damn it, she had more pride than that! But it wasn’t easy to hold back, especially with him propped up on her pillows, his muscles bulging beneath his T-shirt and jeans in all the right places. And she really, really wanted to get her hands on that beautiful cock of his again.
    Oh, man…the things she would do with it if given half a chance. The thought was almost too tempting for her self-control, so she padded on bare feet to her dresser, determined to ignore the long, sexy body draped across her bed, apparently once again listening to someone on his cell phone. She grabbed her favorite pair of jammies and went back into the bathroom to change, thankful that he’d at least put his shirt back on and refastened his fly. The less of that magnificent, muscle-honed flesh she saw, the better—that is, if she was expected not to jump and drool all over it.
    And despite the fact that he’d been a total jerk, a part of her couldn’t help but love the sight of him in her bed. It was strange how he looked like he belonged there. While she’d brushed her teeth, she’d wondered how many times she’d lain in that bed and listened to him screwing some other woman through the connecting bedroom wall of their apartments. Since she’d moved in, how many nights had she gone to switch off her CD player with one hand while crossing the fingers of her other, praying that she wasn’t going to be treated to yet another resounding performance of ooh-ahh-mmm, bang-bang-bang?
    It’d been over a week since the last time she’d been awakened by his wall-thumping entertainment, and she was still hearing the disturbing noises in her sleep. Disturbing because of the way they affected her. Disturbing because she’d never in her life really believed a man could make a woman utter the kind of carnal sounds that no amount of drywall could contain. Disturbing because she wanted, more than anything in the world, to be the woman making those oohs and ahhs and mmms—all of which led up to the most erotic, raw sounding cries she had ever imagined.
    Of course, she’d done a fair bit of screaming tonight herself, she mused, applying a thin layer of lightly scented moisturizer to her freshly scrubbed face. She almost smiled at the thought of how she’d wailed like a banshee when he’d finally pushed her over the edge with that wicked tongue of his and she’d come all over him. Knowing her cheeks were probably crimson at the delicious memory, she carefully avoided looking in the mirror while she went about the rest of her nightly routine, rubbing moisturizer into her skin and attempting to detangle the riot of black curls she called hair.
    She didn’t want to face her ridiculous embarrassment, and she really didn’t want to