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Grabbing it, I quickly slip it into my bag and turn to find Ryker locking the door.
It closes with a heavy click, sealing us into the privacy of the lobby of his office. The blinds are drawn, light filtering through softly, causing the shadows to shimmer and shift.
Suddenly I realize just how alone we are.
“Why are you locking the door?” I whimper.
I can’t let myself hope, even dare to hope it’s what I’ve been fantasizing about. I can’t let my dreams clash with reality and flood my mind with silly notions.
He walks toward me on slow, heavy steps, not answering my question. The same seriousness that gripped him on the street returns now – it’s the same seriousness that filled in him when he spoke about Zane and that whole mess.
Stopping just short of me, his lips twist, his eyes glimmer.
“I’m trying to fight this, Rosie,” he growls.
“Fight what?”
Another step forward, and now he’s almost touching me. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to… except that would mean taking a step forward to close the space between us.
He’s so, so close.
“This,” he growls, taking yet another step forward.
His chest pushes against my cheek as I turn my face in shock, his solid body pushed right up against mine.
“I’m trying to resist you,” he goes on.
My whole body sets alight when he grabs onto my hips, grips me firmly and possessively just like I imagined he would. He grabs like he never wants to let go, like the very idea of letting go makes him sick. He grabs me like he owns me, shivers dancing up and down my body, spawned at the ends of his fingertips, electricity sparking.
“But I can’t. I can’t fight it anymore. You’re too beautiful. You’re too adorable. Too sexy.”
I have no idea what I would or could say to those words. My mouth feels like it’s lost the ability to function anymore. Like forcing words out would cost me a great effort.
But I don’t have a chance to respond because in the next moment he leans down and kisses me.
I gasp through the tight press of our lips, too stunned to react as he groans and opens his mouth. Somehow his tongue finds mine and that’s when I flare into action, the wetness in my sex becoming a torent as I moan with him and lift my trembling hands.
Grabbing onto his shoulders feels like a dream, sinking my fingernails against his hard body. He feels even firmer than I imagined. Like I couldn’t hurt his marble sculpted body even with a hammer.
The tips of our tongues flare together, clashing and sizzling, as something takes over inside of me. It’s like my heart and something more primal is controlling my responses now, the way I moan and sink my fingers even deeper against him, the way my body moves in time with his.
“Why?” I gasp, once the kiss has broken off.
I mean, Why did you stop? But his response is for a different question. Why is he kissing me? Which is a good question, one just as vital as why he stopped.
“Because you’re beautiful,” he growls. “Because you’re… because you’re you, Rosie. But stop asking so many questions. I can tell how fucking much you want this.”
“You can?” I whisper.
His face is pressed to mine, so close I feel the shape of his smile rather than see it. It’s a mirror against my face, moving in time with my own smile. Except – no – his is a carnal grin, a baring of his teeth, rather than my anxious is-this-really-happening smile.
“Yes,” he says huskily. “And even if I couldn’t, you just admitted it.”
I giggle. “That’s a neat trick.”
He chuckles, his warm breath whispering over me. “Yes, it is. Now come here.”
He kisses me again, my thoughts swirling with the insanity of this moment.
Ryker Ridge is kissing me. Ryker Ridge has his hands on my hips, sliding them around to my ass, as he squeezes and massages and presses down hard.
I can’t help but twitch and tremble against him as he massages my ass, and then one of his hands slides around to my thigh, sliding up toward my sex.
My whole world shatters and sparks when he pushes down on my center, applying pressure, pressing on my clit, and rubbing my lips, making my hole buzz.
I can’t keep kissing him when he wedges his hands down the front of my sweatpants, down, down, his fingers pawing at my clit.
“Fuck, fuck,” I whimper, too caught up in the nascent euphoria, the sparkling possibility of pleasure, to worry about how downright crazy this is.
He rears back, watching me as he rubs, as though I’m the most captivating thing in the world.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he snarls, almost like it’s an accusation.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No,” he snaps. “Don’t you ever fucking apologize for that. You horny girl. God, your pussy feels so hot and sweet and wet. Are you close already, Rosie? Are you going to cream for me like a good girl?”
