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“You heard me, sheriff.”
“I’ve been inside you, sweetheart.” His low voice sends chills through me. “And that’s it. I’ve never been bare with a woman before, but I couldn’t fucking help myself with you. One second in your tight, wet heat, and I was gone.”
Jesus fucking Christ. My knees buckle, and Ryan catches me–tightening his hold around my waist.
Spinning me around, he captures my lips with his in a quick, bruising kiss.
“Now, let me feed you,” he says against my lips, and I have no words. With a slight nod of my head, he steals another kiss and grabs my hand.
Leading us out of his office and into the kitchen, Ryan lifts me up and onto the island and searches the cabinets. “I can make you soup? Chicken noodle?”
“Sounds perfect,” I tell him, my stomach growling at the thought.
Leaning back on my hands, I watch him open two cans of soup and pour them into a pot on the stove. Everything he does captivates my attention, no matter how dull the task–like stirring soup.
“Tell me something,” he says all of a sudden, looking over at me.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Tell me something no one else knows about you.”
“A secret?”
“Yeah.” He nods.
A secret. “Okay, well…I never told anyone about us. About that night.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t.” Looking down, I play with the hem of my sweater, rubbing the soft material between my fingers.
“Why not?”
“Did you?”
“No”–he shakes his head–“I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I asked you first.”
“I, um, just didn’t want it to become some funny joke to my friends. Because it wasn’t that for me.”
“What was it for you?” he asks, his eyes serious and penetrating.
I can’t answer that question. I can’t tell him that it was too much for me, and I thought about him every day since. That’s not what this is. That’s not what we are.
“It was more,” I confess softly, hoping he doesn’t press me further.
Watching me, Ryan searches my eyes. He abandons the soup and takes the few steps towards me, closing the distance. Standing between my legs, he runs a finger down and across my jaw, leaning forward and kissing me softly–sweetly.
My heart kicks up, and in the silence, I know he can hear it.
Kissing me again, he steps back and resumes stirring the soup at the stove. What am I supposed to do with that? Was it more for him too?
Clearing my throat, I play with the hem of my sweater again. “Your turn. Tell me something no one knows.”
He takes a minute before answering. “I didn’t want to be sheriff.”
