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His hands dance along my ribs, tickling me until I have tears leaking from my eyes and my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.
“You’re more than I expected,” he says, his voice turning solemn. “You make me think about breaking my rules.”
“Rules?”
He leans in kissing me softly before biting the curve of my neck and tackling me back down to the bed. He trails his tongue around the shell of my ear, across my collarbone, the swell of my breasts. Any questions I had turn to dust as my train of thought derails.
“I’d ask your favorite color, but at this point I think it’s safe to assume it’s white.” He chuckles against my skin.
“I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but only if I can watch.”
We spend the rest of the night talking about ridiculous things, being very careful not to venture into a topic that would be considered personal. And in between conversations, he rocks my fucking world. I usually don’t swear, or at least I try not to, but it feels critical here. Not to mention, his athleticism is astounding. We have sex standing up in the middle of the room with him bouncing me up and down on his dick, against the door, sideways, backwards… so many different ways I’m pretty sure I lost track. But that first one. The one with me laying on my side, slightly curled. That one was my favorite. I felt everything and it was glorious.
He’s pretty special too. I’m glad for the momentary distraction from my life and even more grateful that he showed me how I deserve to be treated. That I shouldn’t settle for less.
My very own Prince Charming.
The difference is that there will be no Cinderella ending in this story. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, and the Prince won’t be chasing after his Princess. Not this time. No grand gesture. No happily ever after. Instead, we’ll part ways, and our time together will fade into a hazy memory. It’ll be something to keep me warm on the cold lonely nights while I piece myself back together.
I wish things could be different. That maybe I didn’t just get dumped right before my wedding and Ryan would be someone I got to keep.
But this isn’t a fairytale and it’s about time I wake up.
Eight
Ryan
As I step under the spray of the shower, I can’t help but think of June lying in bed, fresh from her own shower, waiting for me to dirty her up again. Last night was incredible. I was insatiable.
And it was all June.
I wanted this to be a one-night deal. I really did. I tried to keep my heart safely locked up behind all my defenses. But brick by brick she dismantled me. First with her body that was more succulent than a forbidden fruit plucked straight from the Garden of Eden. And then with her mind. She’s funny and witty and engaging. Nothing like I was expecting.
I want to ask her to spend the day with me. Fuck, I want to spend the weekend with her. I want to get to know her, the real her, and more importantly find out if she lives here in Nashville. And if she does… Would she want to see me again? I need more of June. More of her soft sighs, infectious smiles and earth-shattering orgasms.
No woman has ever made me want her that much. Made me crave her. I carefully orchestrated these rules one by one years ago to protect myself from being ripped apart, and she makes me want to throw them all out the window without a single word. She makes me want to share a part of myself I’m not sure I ever shared.
Usually women beg to see me more times than my rules allow, and I don’t even bat an eye. I move on like they mean nothing because they do.
I haven’t broken my rules since… well, in a long time and let’s just say I learned my lesson then. June’s different; she has to be. There’s no way I’d be tempted to even bend one rule if she wasn’t something special.
I finish the shower, towel off, walk back to the room and stop in my tracks. The blood runs cold in my veins and my heart nearly stops. The bed is empty and perfectly made. Any trace of what we did in that bed not thirty minutes ago, gone. The only remnant of June and our time together is one extraordinarily fluffy wedding dress. It’s laying across the middle of the bed with a little note folded over on top that says thank you.
She left a fucking thank you note, and I was ready to give her everything.
I storm around the room; maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe she’s hidden somewhere in the closet. But no. The doors are slightly open and the inside is empty except for a few hangers.
There’s no sign of June. Just the faint smell of the hotel soap, which is probably coming from me.
If there was an award for being an idiot, I would win, hands down. I can’t believe I even thought to let her in. To let anyone in.
I could throw on my jeans and chase her down. She couldn’t have gotten too far. But to what end? This night obviously meant more to me than it did to her, and I could kick myself for even thinking of breaking my coveted rules. This is a sign if there ever was one. I need to focus on me and my career and not sucking every time I get out on that football field. I can’t get distracted. I can’t break the rules.
Never again.
Not for anyone.
Not even Cinderella.
