We take a seat at the kitchen table. I eat some grapes while Ryne digs into whatever it is Mom made. He shrugs when I ask him how it is.
“It’s really not bad.”
I’m guessing this translates to very dry and not a lot of flavor, but I don’t ask him to elaborate. After a few minutes of silent eating, silent except for the occasional whine from the puppy begging for food, Ryne sets his fork down on his empty plate and sits back in his chair.
“So how long is your mom gone for?”
“She had to work, so until early evening.”
Ryne nods and touches his tongue to his lip. “And your dad?”
I grin into my pop as I take a sip. “He’s away on a business trip.”
Ryne clasps his hands together and props them on his head, and a few seconds later I can tell he’s shaking his leg up and down under the table. I take a deep breath and set my drink down, then stand and collect our dirty dishes. I just put them in the sink, for now, I’ll do them later. I drum my fingers on the counter a few times and when I turn around Ryne’s standing next to the table, watching me. I stride up to him and stop a few inches away.
“I have something to show you.”
His eyes do that smoldering thing I love. “And what might that be?” His voice is low and rumbly, rolling through my body.
I step back with a wicked grin when he reaches for me. “My room.”
I fly out of the kitchen and up the stairs and a half-second later he’s racing up them behind me. I reach the top of the second-floor landing and continue up to the third floor, then stride unceremoniously into my room. He hesitates in the doorway for all of one second and then follows. A minute later music floats out from my Bluetooth speaker. I take a big breath and slowly exhale. There’s only one thing left to do now. One thing, that is, until I actually glance around my room and cringe. Probably should have picked up a little better this morning before I left. I practically leap over to the bed and when the upper half of my body disappears between the side of my bed and the wall, Ryne speaks.
“Um, Dacen?” he addresses the lower half of my body. I pop my head back up and crane my neck around. My cheeks are red and I wear an embarrassed smile when I drag myself up to a seated position, scoot off the bed, and dump an armful of dirty clothing into my laundry hamper. “Are you a closeted slob, D?” His eyes move over the stacks of books on the floor beside my mostly full bookshelves, along my desk that’s got no less than two inches of paper mess and magazines atop it, and articles of clothing randomly strewn around that I quickly finish picking up as I flit about the room. “You totally are. Mr. ‘I Think I’m Perfect’ has a flaw,” he teases.
I shove my soccer equipment into one of my closets, slam the hamper lid shut, and then flop backward onto my bed, dramatically clutching my heart. “Harsh, Ryne. I am no slob. My room is just in a bit of disarray. It’s not always like this.” The state of my room tends to fluctuate based on my anxiety. Much of the time it’s pristine, but other times it turns into a bit of a disaster zone. “At least the sheets are clean.”
“I’m thinking any career involving cleanliness is probably off the table for you,” he teases again.
I prop up on my elbows and let my gaze rove over him, taking in his broad shoulders, trim waist, and thighs that I’d kinda—definitely—like to ride right now. “I guess I just don’t mind things being a little… dirty in the bedroom.”
Ryne stalks over to the bed and I scramble to stand and face him. The fire of desire flashes wicked hot, snapping and crackling and surrounding us on all sides. We’re head to head, toe to toe, and when he reaches out to stroke my cheek with the backs of his fingers, excitement shoots down my spine and my dick stands at attention. My fingers itch to touch him, my lips and tongue are desperate to taste him. He lets his hand slide down and wrap around my neck. He seems to have a thing with necks. With mine, anyway. That and my dimples. Can’t say I mind.
“I haven’t been able to get these lips out of my mind, Dacen, since the dance but really long before that.” His words echo my thoughts as he runs his lips across my cheek, breathing the words into my skin. “Ever since that first time you opened your mouth at camp.” His lips brush over mine. “And all the sass and attitude poured out then and from that moment on. I’ve wanted to taste you again for so long.”
Ryne lets go of my neck and slides his hands down my arms until our fingers lace together. His gentleness surprises me. My eyes flutter open and the pure lust and heat pouring from him set my insides ablaze. The gentleness takes a backseat as Ryne turns us and walks me back to the wall beside my bed. He pulls my hands up over my head, maneuvering so he’s got my wrists together in one of his hands. His free hand travels down my back until he grips my ass and yanks me closer so there’s nothing but fabric between us.
Ryne obviously likes to be in control, and while I’m typically not one to fold and do whatever someone demands, in moments like this? Yes please, Ryne. Do whatever the hell you want to me and my body. Ryne slips his hand between us and rubs me over my shorts. I grow even harder, and when our eyes lock I don’t miss the smirk on his lips nor the fire flashing in his eyes.
He drops my wrists and I wind my hands into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. I mean, I also like to do what I want to do, and right now I need him closer. When Ryne moves his hand, his dick brushes against mine and even with two layers of clothing between us, I feel him. My hips rock forward seeking more contact and I tug on his shirt. “Up,” is all I can manage to say as he leans down and devours my lips. He grabs the hem and pulls it up and off, quickly returning to my mouth. My head is foggy as I slide my palms up his bare chest, and when I hear a low moan I’m not sure which of us it comes from.
“Take your fucking shirt off,” he growls into my mouth and I obey in a heartbeat, ripping it off and tossing it aside. He bumps me against the wall again and runs a hand through my hair, tugging to raise my jaw up and give him better access to my neck. That wicked tongue of his licks a slow, hot trail from my Adam’s apple to the spot just behind my ear, and he sucks hard, running the tip of his tongue over the spot to soothe it. A whimper tumbles from my lips and a shiver rolls through me. My hips jerk forward when his thumb brushes over my piercing.
“Oh—” I start to whisper on an exhale and he crushes our lips together again, sucking the sigh right out of my lungs and gobbling it up. The intensity of our kiss picks up like we’re in a race to see who can suck the other’s oxygen out first.
Yeah, some things are definitely best NOT left to the imagination. Reality is so much better when it comes to Ryne’s hot tongue and greedy lips. And that little growly sound he just made? Kill me now. Actually, I must already be dead because this feels like an eternal paradise to me.
Ryne breaks away, panting, and braces an arm on the wall beside my head. He gently rests his forehead against mine as we both suck in air. “Jesus, Dacen. Look what you do to me.” With his free hand, he grabs mine and roughly shoves my palm against the front of his pants. “You keep making sounds like that and I’m gonna embarrass myself.”
I run my fingers down his length and squeeze gently. He visibly shivers and when I run my other hand up to his chest and around his back I can feel the tension vibrating in him. He’s as tight as a coiled spring. “Some people would take that as a compliment,” I murmur and plop my head back against the wall with a thud, staring up at the ceiling.
A low chuckle hits my ears. “Yeah, well it’s not my style, nor my preference if given another option.”
He grips my chin and lowers his face to mine, bringing our lips together again.Let me be that other option for you.I want to make him come. I want to know what he tastes like and hear the sounds he makes. I bet his broody face gets even tenser when an orgasm rips through his body. The thought of that brings a smile to my lips.
“Do I amuse you?” He bites my lip hard enough that it stings a little, then brushes his knuckle over the tender spot.
I pull back enough to see his face. His pupils are blown wide and something raw and almost painfully honest stares back at me. His warring need for—and distrust of—emotional closeness is written in the set of his jaw and his furrowed brow, even after our morning together. I rub my thumb between his brows to try to erase the perma-tension that settles there.
