“Damn, Sullivan,” he sighs, sounding breathless and drunk as I continue to slide myself steadily up and down. “How is it this good? How can you always feel this good?”
His words stoke a fire in the pit of my stomach, building it up to an almost unbearable level. My hands grip the back of the chair for leverage as I move faster and a little bit harder. Our bodies soon turn slick with sweat and his hand shifts from my chest to my center that’s already starting to flutter. I keep my pace as his fingers go right where I need them, rubbing and pressing, and blood roars in my ears as I cry out. Ryan’s free hand flies to the back of my neck and pulls me down, kissing me deeply and swallowing my every whimper. He thrusts himself up into me once, twice, three more times until he’s the one moaning into my mouth, his eyes clenching shut as his arms tighten around me to keep us pinned in place.
We float along in silence after that as we struggle to recover. He leans back to look at me, his hair tousled and his breathing still heavy. I have the primitive urge to keep him this way for the foreseeable future.
“I’m never going to stop wanting this,” he says. I can feel his heart pounding between us as we stay locked together. “It’s not like this with anyone else.”
I let go of the back of the chair to drape my arms around his neck. “No,” I agree. “Not for me either.”
“What do you think that means?”
We search each other’s eyes for the answer until I lean down, hiding my face in the curve of his shoulder. “I wish I knew,” I answer honestly. “I really wish I knew.”
15
The next morning, we’re in my bedroom after gorging on a breakfast of whole wheat toast, scrambled eggs and non-incinerated bacon. Ryan got me a scone but I’m saving it for later. He’s sitting back against the headboard on the bed now, wearing boxers and nothing else as I sport one of his oversize T-shirts with a sweatshirt on top. I’m staging a novel for Instagram, a contemporary romance with soft but striking cover art. So far, I have the book lying on my windowsill and framed with twinkle lights. My curtains run along the edge of the photo and vintage book pages that I ordered online are scattered underneath. I look through the camera on my phone to check the lighting but there’s still too much empty space.
“Are you excited for the rehearsal dinner tonight?” I ask, shifting around to check the room for something else to add to the picture.
“I guess,” Ryan says, flipping on the TV. “I never understood the purpose of rehearsal dinners. I want to meet the first person who said, ‘You know what, I’m nervous about this whole wedding dinner situation—we better do a walk-through the night before.’”
I grab my open laptop from off the bed and add it to the corner of the shot. “We’re obviously not rehearsing eating. If they were getting married in a church, we would rehearse going down the aisle in order and things like that, but since they’re getting married at the venue, we get to skip the work and just have dinner.”
“Well, I think it’s overkill.”
“What?” I ask dramatically. “You have a strong opinion about something? That’s so out of character for you.”
“And if I didn’t know for a fact that you love arguing with me, I would probably rein myself in until I knew I had you hooked. But, seeing as that isn’t the case, I’m going to let my inner weirdo run free with the wind in his hair.”
“Your weird inner self has long flowing hair?”
“Yours doesn’t?”
I shake my head and turn back around to the novel. I can feel Ryan adjusting his seat on the bed to check my progress.
“I never knew so much work went into these pictures,” he says.
“Most people don’t. Bookstagram is time-consuming but intensely worth it. And the sense of community is magical.”
“It sounds cool. So what do you think, should I moon the camera in the background? That’d be a fun Easter egg for your followers to find.”
“That would be a no,” I answer, looking over my shoulder. “But I will take your watch.”
“Prude.” Ryan slides the watch off his wrist and hands it to me. I check the image through my screen one more time and opt to place the watch just above and to the right of the book. I then stand on my bed to hover over the scene and start clicking away. I take about twenty pictures, altering my position every few shots so I’ll have variety when I choose which ones I want to edit.
Once I’m satisfied, I plop down beside Ryan to start scrolling through my options when my phone starts ringing. Jen’s picture appears and I accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Kara? Why are you wide-awake so early?” I lower my phone and look at the top of the screen to check the time. It’s 8:15 a.m. Sex on the reg is really affecting my morning routine.
“I don’t know,” I say, bringing the phone back to my ear. “I had night terrors.”
Ryan and I look at each other and I quickly remember that Jen knows about him. No made-up excuse was necessary.
“You what? No, whatever, okay, don’t hate me, I had no idea she was doing this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mom!”
“Mom?” I repeat.
“Mom is on her way to your apartment!”
“What?” I immediately leap onto the floor. “Why is she coming here?” Fear echoes in my voice as I run my fingers through my bed-tangled hair.
“Yesterday she told me she’s been calling you and you haven’t answered or called her back. I told her you were busy writing and I thought she was okay with it but when I called her cell a few minutes ago, she was already
