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t either. “Number six,” I say. “I tried it once, and honestly I don’t ever want to try it again.” It hurt like hell. I think I cried it was so painful. Like actual tears.
“I wasn’t going to fucking suggest it,” he says. “I’m just irritated that number six would do that before even going down on you.” He slides my panties to my ankles. I don’t know what he plans on doing with me; he won’t say.
He’s in his black boxer-briefs, and I pull my shirt over my head, stripping completely. It’s different being in the daylight doing this with him. It feels real, not heightened by nighttime hormones or our closeness as we sleep. It’s just us. On an adventure. Together. Trying to fully figure each other out, no barriers this time.
He steps out of his underwear, and my gaze drops to his package almost immediately. I can’t believe that was inside of me is my first gut reaction. My second: I hope it happens again. Soon.
I close some of the distance between us and run my hands up his abs, across his tattoo and chest. He looks at me the same way he did when he climbed off the motorcycle. Want glimmering in his eyes. His hands settle on my hips, his touch quickening my heart. And like I weigh nothing, he lifts me up on his shoulders. Not his waist.
I smile wide, my legs dangling against his back, and he skillfully kisses the spot between my legs, his hand on my ass, his tongue doing things to a place that loves this new sensation. My head peeks through the cornstalks, able to see the cars whizz by on the street that we abandoned.
I tense and my mouth falls as he licks a sensitive spot. I grip his hair, my hands on his head for support. “Ryke,” I cry. “What…” I want to say what the hell? Have you done this like this before? I’ve never seen this happen. On his shoulders. Legs open. His mouth right there. Not even in R-rated movies.
That’s because this is reserved for the NC-17 stuff. Duh.
Heat gathers on my neck. “Fuck,” I cry.
I can feel him smiling. Yeah, I guess he is a bad influence on me sometimes. But I know the opposite is true too.
I prefer being on his shoulders to the way he went down on the girl in his bedroom. This is better. Sexier. More fun.
He squeezes my ass, and his tongue—
Ahhhh! I moan, which turns into another cry, gasping repeatedly with that sound. All thoughts are deserted. All that’s left is need for something fuller between my legs. Something hard.
My noises get to Ryke because he ends up sliding me down from his shoulders to his waist. I hold onto the back of his neck with both of my hands, still a mess from that.
“Whoa,” I say with a tight voice, breathing heavy. His eyes consume my whole being, and he uses one hand to brace me to his body, the other to push his erection deep, deep inside of me.
There’s a slight pinch when he fills me entirely, but the pain dissipates when he’s all in. Another high-pitched sound escapes.
“Fuck,” he curses, the word so sexual and heady off his tongue.
He begins to fuck me standing up, his body and strength doing most of the work, thrusting into me while I meet him with my hips a couple times. But really, I can’t keep up with Ryke in this position. He’s stronger and has an easy time forcing me upright and pounding hard against me.
I clutch him so tightly, my body bouncing on his cock, my head dizzy. The pressure so freakin’ wonderful. The sensations too powerful to describe. I am floating. Rising. Towards the bright blue sky.
“Ryke,” I start again, and my sharp gasps return, piercing cries attached that come in succession. “Ahhh…ahhhh…” Oh God. Oh God.
“Dais,” he groans, one of his hands on the back of my head. “Fuck.”
Fuck is right.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuuuuckkk. Oh my God. He jerks forward, coming inside of me, and I tighten around his cock, clenching over and over, riding a wave to the shore. He holds me as I slow down, as I gather my breath, and he rubs the back of my head, gentle with me, even after a pretty rough and deep moment.
I don’t want to disentangle from him. I don’t even want to go back to the motorcycle anytime soon. He appeases my silent command by setting me on his bike jacket, flattening some of the cornstalks. He kisses me from above, though he does pull out. His lips and tongue move with more affection and care, and I rest my hand on his bare bottom, spreading my legs on either side of him.
I’m not sure how long we kiss. All I know is that I could do this forever with Ryke.
He skims his thumb across my bottom lip, and his eyes rake over my features with fondness, a look that I’ve never seen from him before.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper. We’re alone in the middle of a cornfield, but it seems too peaceful to talk loudly.
“I love this,” he breathes, kissing my cheek, the one with the scar, as though it’s perfect just the way it is.
My chest rises. “The sex?”
He shakes his head. “No, this. Right now.” He kisses me again and then says, “But I do fucking love the sex.”
I smile. “You’re not too bad at it.”
His brows pinch together like yeah? “Not too bad? Do we have a recording of your fucking voice?”
“You mean this voice?” I arch my back a little and cry, gasping with the same unraveling pleasure, though there is a slight difference in my fake orgasm and the real one. My voice cuts off shorter every time Ryke takes me hard, and here it’s more drawn out. “Ryke, ahhh…” My chest rises and falls heavily, like I struggle to breathe.
He sits on his knees, watching me, and then he hardens, turned on. The fakeness in my body starts to switch into real, dramatic feelings. Ahhh…I moan a desperate moan.
Thankfully he doesn’t make me beg for it or admit my sarcasm. He just drives his erection between my legs, filling me again. He pumps with a melodic rhythm, his forearm resting a little bit above my head, staring down at me as my noises tickle my throat.
It’s way too much. Every single nerve is lit up. “I can’t…” I moan.
He slows, and his cheek brushes mine as he whispers in my ear, “Yes, you can…you’re going to feel it.”
Not long after his words leave, my eyes roll back, and the most intense, mind-numbing sensation washes over me, heart-stopping feelings that transport me somewhere else. I can’t even scream. It’s so insane that my mouth opens and the sound is stripped from my throat.
When I come down, exhausted, he lifts me in his arms and sets me on his lap. I don’t have the energy to do that again, but I know he does. I glance down. Oh. He climaxed with me, and I hadn’t even noticed. He just holds me in his arms, wiping the sweaty hair off my face.
“I don’t understand how I can go from never having an orgasm to that,” I whisper. He must be a god. A sex god. And he’s been sent to me from the heavens.
He has a more logical answer. “Generally when you’re not attracted to the person you’re with, Dais, you’re not going to get off.”
I turn my head and look up at him. “You know what this means?”
His brows harden, and I can tell he’s expecting a joke and my normal theatrics. “What?”
I smile with sincerity. “I am very, very attracted to you.”
The corner of his lips rise. “Funny, I’m also attracted to you. What are we going to do about that?”
“Make love and make babies.”
His brows shoot up. “You already want to make babies with me, Calloway?”
“I want to do lots of things with you.” I use a very diplomatic response, walking on a thin rope with this subject. I have no idea where his head lies. His thoughts could match his brother’s. Lo doesn’t want children because alcoholism is hereditary. Lily told me his stance on the matter. Well, really she told Rose and I was in the same room, and I kind of, sort of, inserted myself into the conversation. I realize that sounds annoying, but I just want to be close to them before they move away and start families.
He kisses my lips, his tongue easily slipping into my mouth and sliding against mine, and
then he breaks apart and says, “Me too.” He stands, setting me on my feet. And he grabs his underwear and jeans, beginning to dress. I gather my clothes and watch him with curiosity. I didn’t think I would care this much about his feelings on children, but I am dying to find out.
“You know I was joking about the babies,” I say, slipping my panties on. He hands me my shirt, and the tension of this conversation constricts my lungs. He doesn’t let much through his dark gaze, which makes this hard. “But I’m curious…”
“You’re always curious,” he says, messing my hair with a rough hand.
“I’m really, really curious.” I smile. “Are you hoping to get married and have kids one day?”
He pulls his T-shirt over his head and grabs his bike jacket off the ground, shaking the dirt off it. And then he runs a hand through his hair, a giveaway that my question makes him a tad bit anxious. “I’m not like my little brother, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he says, putting his jacket on. “I do think alcohol may be an issue for whatever fucking kid I have, but this disease isn’t going to take anything away from me. I won’t let it.”
The answer almost makes me smile. I wish Lo felt the same way, but I think it’s different for him. He’s been battling his addiction for much longer and he had a much bumpier road than Ryke.
He fixes his hair, trying to comb through the disheveled strands with his fingers. “Look,” he suddenly says, his thoughts collected to form a whole response. “I can’t do to my kids what my parents did to me. The separation, the divorce, the fucking fighting. I want to be in a serious, committed relationship before I have a child.”
“You mean marriage,” I say.
“When you’re married, you can still get divorced. I don’t take that much stock in the word. I just need the emotional fucking commitment.” He motions with his head towards the path we came from. “Let’s start walking.”
I follow him, keeping up with his lengthy stride.
