His mouth is everywhere and so are his hands, possessive but feather-soft. I’m nowhere near as graceful, clawing at his back and shifting all over like I’m delirious, which I am. My bra is gone and he’s there instead, kissing and licking. I grip the back of his hair with no intention of letting go. Ever.
He asks if I have protection and I remember the box I keep in my bedside table drawer. I reach for the handle but end up pointing, and Ryan opens it himself. He sits back on his heels and pulls out a foil packet, almost ripping the box in two. He’s red-faced with wild eyes. I made him like that. It’s a heady feeling.
He’s soon pulling down my plain white panties and throwing them across the room with my other clothes. He kisses me hard and he pushes me down farther into the mattress. His pants and boxers join the pile on the floor. The feel of his weight, the heat of his skin—I’m never leaving this bed.
He eases in, inch by blissful inch, until there’s nowhere else to go. My eyes close and my head tilts back. I’m savoring every second. He rocks into me with an unhurried rhythm, his body reminding mine that he was there first, that no one else fits me like he does. I urge him on and he gives me what I want, moving faster and telling me to look at him, to keep looking at him or he’ll stop. A slow-burning tension flares and stretches inside me, building and surging until I break and a sharp groan that sounds nothing like me tears from my throat. Ryan follows, pitching his hips forward and calling my name as his back arches and his muscles shake.
He goes slack a few seconds later and his cheek rubs mine. Our eyes find each other’s and we both see the same thing even if we don’t say it.
Everything has changed.
13
The room is quiet and calm as my eyes flutter open. I watch the steady rise and fall of Ryan’s chest beside me, feeling the soft trail of his fingertips as he skates his hand across my arm. A maelstrom of questions scratches at the walls of my content state but I push them back. Nothing can touch me in this moment except for Ryan.
Despite feeling cozy and sated, I decide to go to the bathroom to freshen up. I shift and squeeze the hand that he’s now resting on my waist before I slip out from under the sheet to sit up. My feet touch the ground and as they do, something occurs to me.
I’m naked!
I’m perched on the edge of my bed, stark naked, two feet away from Ryan, who now has a clear-as-day view of my bottom.
I immediately stand up and walk calmly but briskly into the bathroom, even though I really want to hurtle myself across the room while covering my butt with a pillow.
Safely out of view, I close the door and turn the faucet on full blast. I rinse my face with cool water and remind myself that the heroines in my novels never feel uncomfortable after they’ve given in to their lustful desires. They revel in their newly discovered glory—their feminine power. They celebrate their freedom with complete abandon.
Me, not so much.
I exit the bathroom five minutes later with a towel wrapped around me, doing my best to avoid Ryan’s gaze as I sneak back into bed.
I lie down and pull the sheet up, almost tucking it under my chin. Now fully covered, I unwrap the towel from around my body and toss it to the floor.
Ryan rolls over onto his side, pushing himself up on his elbow to look down at me. “Are you cold?”
“No,” I answer.
“Sullivan?”
“Yes?”
“You do know that I have seen you naked many times before, right?”
I close my eyes and scrunch my face. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Unfortunately?” Ryan moves again so he’s now lying on top of me. “Trust me, it’s anything but unfortunate.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “I can’t have this conversation with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too embarrassing.”
Ryan forces my hands away from my face, rubbing my wrists with his thumbs as he keeps them locked against the mattress. “You must have a real warped view of yourself.”
I pull one of my hands free from Ryan’s grip and run my index finger along a scar beside his ear. I never noticed it before. It’s a bit Z-shaped and the skin around it seems pulled tight. “Where did you get this?”
“That,” he says, “I got when I was walking home from the bar a few years ago. Some guy was getting mugged, so I jumped in and helped fight the other guy off. He got away with a cell phone and some cash and I got this.”
“Really?”
“No,” he answers, cracking a smile. “I had basal skin cells removed last year. The scarring was supposed to be minimal but the dermatologist wound up leaving the mark of Zorro on my face. I guess he didn’t like me. And he really liked Zorro.”
“I don’t know why I take anything you say at face value.”
Ryan tilts off to the side, now holding the bulk of his weight on his right shoulder. “I can be serious sometimes. Back home I’m considered a fairly serious guy.”
“I doubt it,” I say with a grin, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead—because I can do that now.
“How about this for being serious—since we broke up, barely a week went by when I didn’t think back to the last time I saw you.”
My stomach sinks. I think about getting up again. “We don’t have to talk about this.”
“I want to,” Ryan says. “I’ve waited a long time.”
I wish I could look away or leave the room, but I stay put and keep my eyes trained on his. “Okay. Go on, then.”
Ryan takes a breath. “One
