The buttons of his flannel shirt gave beneath her trembling fingers. She spread his shirt open and pressed her palm to his chest. Solid heat, slabbed muscle and skin, his heart beating strong against her touch—not regular but racing. Like hers.
His hands moved to her shirt, careful even as desire burned in his eyes. The cotton fell from her shoulders. It should’ve felt like exposure, but it didn’t. It felt like recognition.
He lowered his mouth, kissing the swell of each breast above her lace bra. The scrape of stubble made her arch against him, a whimper breaking free. She bucked against him with a gasp, her nails scoring lightly down his shoulders. A helpless sound tore free as his hands moved behind her, careful of her ribs, finding the clasp of her bra.
The straps slipped down her arms, and then his mouth was on her breast, tongue circling her nipple with devastating skill.
“So fucking beautiful.” He found her hand, joining their fingers, anchoring them as his mouth claimed her. The heat of his tongue against her nipple sent her head tipping back, a moan tumbling out unchecked. Her hips shifted restlessly, grinding against the hard plane of his thigh, her body demanding more even as her mind scattered to pieces.
“Did we agree we shouldn’t be doing this?” he rasped against her skin.
“Yeah.” A laugh bubbled up in her, breathless and giddy. “Maybe we’re insane.”
“I like insane.” His hand moved lower, fumbling at her borrowed sweatpants. He hesitated, dark gaze searching hers. “Say stop.”
“God, no.”
Their eyes locked, and she saw herself reflected there—flushed, wanting, alive. A giggle escaped her. He caught it with a kiss to her mouth.
“I know there are things we shouldn’t do in life,” his voice was gruff. “But this? This isn’t one of them.”
He rose from the couch, lowering to his knees in front of her. His hands gripped her hips, thumbs brushing her skin as he dragged the sweatpants down her legs. The scrape of fabric against her inner thighs felt indecent, every inch exposed making her shiver. He stripped her socks off in quick tugs, then pressed his palms to her knees, easing her back against the cushions.
The fire painted her in gold and shadow, light licking across her bare skin. She should’ve felt vulnerable, but a strange power coiled inside her. For once in her life, she wasn’t hidden, wasn’t small. She was laid open before Ryder, and he looked at her as if she was the only thing that had ever mattered.
He stroked his hands up her thighs with exquisite slowness. Hunger burned in his eyes—raw, unguarded—and it stole her breath.
“I’ve imagined this so many times,” his voice was shredded thin, his shoulders rigid. “When I saw your car tonight—” His voice cracked, the mask falling at last. “I’ve never been so fucking scared. Losing you before I even had you?—”
Her hand sank into his hair, anchoring him against her, heart clenching at the tremor in his body. The unshakable man brought to his knees, not by fear of death, but by fear of losing her.
His exhalation was shaky as he hooked his fingers into the lace at her hips. She lifted her hips as he slid her underwear down, baring her completely. His gaze locked on hers as if daring her to flinch, to doubt—and when she didn’t, when she held his stare, something molten darkened in his eyes.
Then his mouth was on her, destroying any thought.
Heat surged as his tongue slid between her folds—slow, deliberate—then harder, deeper, until her back arched. He wasn’t just skilled; he was ruthless in the best way, reading every gasp, every shiver, adjusting like her pleasure was oxygen.
His hands gripped her thighs, urging them wider. Then he hooked one leg over his shoulder, changing the angle completely. The first stroke at this depth ripped a broken moan from her throat. She knotted her fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, urging him harder, her thighs trembling around his shoulders.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growled into her, the rumble of it vibrating through her core.
Everything narrowed to the rhythm of his mouth, his hands locked around her legs. He glanced up at her with raw hunger, and she let herself drown in it.
For years she’d made herself small, dispensable. Here, she was central—his focus, his need, his world. Tears stung, not from fear this time but relief. Permission. The sweetness of finally choosing something for herself.
Tension wound tight—tighter—then broke. She arched off the couch, nails biting his shoulders, a sound tearing free she didn’t know she could make. Ryder never looked away. He held her there with his eyes, watching her break open like he’d been waiting for exactly this.
He saw her.
Her cries bled into tattered breaths, her body loose against the cushions. Ryder pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh and stayed there a beat, still on his knees, chest heaving, eyes on hers.
She reached for him. “Come here,” she whispered.
He rose over her, bracing his weight on the couch, and she pulled his mouth to hers. The kiss was messy, desperate, hertaste on his lips blunt and intimate. And beneath the hunger, something gentler wrapped around her like the blanket had earlier.
When he finally broke away, he rested his forehead on hers. His voice was hoarse. “I’ve got you, Ivy. Always.”
Her breath hitched, tears burning again—but these were different.
