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“Then hire someone to run it. Some young, hungry kid who will use it as a steppingstone for his next adventure, and then he can hire someone else. Make that your legacy: helping people find their way. But don’t feel like you have to give it up for me.”
He nodded. She understood. Of course she did. “How about if I write this story first and we figure it out as we go along?”
“Sure. Maybe use our trip in September to see if we want to live abroad for a while.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
“Ryker?”
“Yes, Lori?”
“Would you just shut up and kiss me?”
He joined her on the bed, rolling her onto her belly so he could kiss the nape of her neck, nibble on the lobes of her ears and nip and lick his way down her spine. She laughed and sighed and moaned and he drank it all in as the music of the night. Her fingers flexed in the bedclothes, and he could smell her arousal. One thing about his girl, she was responsive as hell.
“Is there anything else you want?” he rumbled seductively.
She rolled to her back. “Yes. I want your cock. I want it so bad I might just die from the wanting.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Authors. It’s all about the drama with you.”
“And with you newspaper men it’s all about the facts and nothing but the facts.”
“Damn straight.”
“Bullshit,” she said with a grin. “I’ve read several of your pieces and the language you use is so evocative and just almost lyrical that I can see and feel places I’ve never been to.”
He loved the way her nipples were puckered into tight peaks and the way her areola was a dusky color compared to her skin. He circled each breast with his finger, running it around the edge, starting at the largest part and making concentric circles down until he strummed her nipple with his thumb. Then he traced the centerline of her body, teasing her belly button before letting his fingers find her pussy, circling the entrance before sliding a single finger inside her while his thumb rode her clit.
“Ryker,” she moaned.
Chuckling, he added a second finger and used both to stroke her gently, curling them up so that they caught her sweet spot and made her gasp. Leaning over, he replaced his thumb with his mouth and sucked her clit, pushing her over the edge into a climax as she cried out.
“That’s my sweet girl,” he said, rolling over to cover her body with his and settling himself into the place reserved only for him.
She reached up and stroked his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She clung to him as he kissed her deeply, spearing her mouth with his tongue as his cock thrust deep. She moaned against his mouth as her pussy quivered all up and down his length. Nothing and no one had ever felt as good, as pure, and as sensual as she did. Again and again, he drove deep and then pulled back only to plunge to her depths again. Each time he did so, her fingers flexed along his back.
Her legs wrapped around him, and she undulated her hips to match his rhythm. Relentlessly he stroked in and out until she was clawing at his back as her orgasm started to take her. He felt the base of his spine tingle as his balls drew up. As she fell over into the abyss of ecstasy, he thrust home, grinding against her as he emptied himself into her.
For the longest, sweetest moment he couldn’t move and rested his body on hers. She nuzzled him as he lay his head on her breast, knowing that it didn’t matter where they decided to live. They would always be each other’s home.
* * *
Over the next few weeks, Ryker and Lori dealt with the fallout from Cobain’s death. There were arraignments, hearings, depositions, and the like. But through it all, they were together. There had also been Ryker’s story, that had been picked up by every wire service in the world and had been optioned by HBO for a limited run series.
Lori and Ryker found they liked working together. They could go for hours working on separate projects and be perfectly happy without saying a word to each other. Ryker had proposed for the time being that they find a partner’s desk and put it in his office in town. He’d even allowed her to redecorate the entire space, admitting when she was finished that she should be the decorator.
They spent their nights in each other’s arms, exploring their deeply sensual natures and glorying in finding their own soulmate. After one spectacular evening that had started in front of the fireplace and ended in their bed, Lori woke to find Ryker was not lying next to her. Lazily, she reached for his pillow and found a note saying he’d gone for breakfast and would be back shortly.
She rolled out of bed and went into his shower, marveling at all the showerheads and body sprays. There was even a steam option; it was a wonderful way to warm up when they came in from outside. When she was clean, she looked through Ryker’s things and found a big, loose knit sweater with a V-neck that came to mid-thigh. She pulled it on and headed out into the main room of the cottage.
It was lovely. One side was dominated by an enormous stone fireplace. Opposite there was an open kitchen with lower cupboards, a huge island, and open shelving along the top. Sitting in the middle of the table there was what appeared to be an 1876 Sholes Glidden typewriter. She had seen one being auctioned off by Christie’s when she’d been researching vintage typewriters. The reserve bidding price was more than thirty thousand dollars. It was a gorgeous thing with green and black enameling and floral and other decals. It had a lid that covered the keyboard, but it could be held up by a kind of hook when the keyboard was in use.
No wonder the ones in Annette’s shop hadn’t held much allure for him.
