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He stilled. “But that wasn’t why I did it. And you knew that.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Rhyan, please. It’s okay. I promise. If it weren’t, I’d have left you out there on the snowy couch.”
His lips quirked into a hint of a smile. “Thank you. For forgiving me. And stopping me.”
“You wouldn’t have done anything truly inappropriate.”
“How can you be so sure? I was…not myself.”
“Because I’ve seen you when you’re ‘not yourself.’ And you still put me and my safety first. Every single time.”
He shifted, rising on his elbow. “Sometimes, I don’t know. I think about what I’ve done, what I was dreaming about, and then…what he’s like—my father—and I—”
“Rhyan, you are not your father.” I reached out for his arm. “You couldn’t be if you tried. I was never afraid of you. Never worried about what you might do or what would happen between us, not even for a second. I trust you, even at your worst.”
He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight. I shifted closer to him, my fingertips brushing against his abdomen.
“I wish I could take it back,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t have acted that way. If I had the chance, I wouldn’t have used the opportunity for anything other than to show you how much I wanted you, and how much it would mean to me. I would be gentle. I would take my time with you, the way I imagined. I would push your hair off your face.” He did just that as he spoke, the movement slow. His eyes were transfixed on me, like his words were creating some spell we’d both fallen under. “Smoothed it behind your ear.” His fingers brushed against my earlobe. His hand slid down the nape of my neck as my unruly waves fell down my back.
“Then what?” I barely breathed.
“I would have stared into your eyes and told you how fucking beautiful you are to me.”
I cringed. “Not first thing in the morning.”
“I’ve never woken to a more beautiful sight.” His thumb ran across my lips as a throbbing heat pooled in my stomach, coiling lower and lower. My core pulsed, and my inner walls clenched painfully around nothing. “I would take you in my arms. And I would have told you I want to kiss you.”
“Like you said the first time.”
“Like the first time.” He smiled. “I want to kiss you. Can I?”
I froze, my heart pounding, my thighs clenching. “Are you asking me now?”
His eyes searched mine. “Are you saying yes?” He leaned toward me, so close to me, so very close. The mattress was small enough that our foreheads were nearly pressed together, and I could feel his breath on my lips. I didn’t even care that it was first thing in the morning. This was Rhyan, and I would have him any way I could, I would take whatever he had to offer.
My lips hummed, coming to life as they felt the nearness of his. His chest was rising and falling, pushing against my nightshift, which barely concealed my peaked nipples. Pleasure rushed down between my legs.
I didn’t know if I moved toward him or he inched toward me, but our bodies were suddenly flush against each other as we lay on our sides. His palm moved between us, sliding over my hip, drawing me even closer against him.
Our eyes met, a barely formed question in his—a question clouded by hungry need and a storm of desire.
I tilted my chin up in response. One nod.
His lips brushed against mine. Once. Twice. His movements were so soft. So controlled. He kissed the corner of my mouth, his lips lingering there as my heart pounded furiously, and then he slanted his lips over mine.
It was like a dam burst open. Our mouths joined together in a frenzied kiss that felt like it had been happening for centuries. A thread existed between this kiss and our last—like there had been no end, no beginning, and these past three years apart had been a mere dream because the true reality had always been this, us, our lips joined, our bodies straining to be together, to be closer until they were one.
Rhyan groaned as his tongue swept across the seam of my lips, my mouth already opening for his. He deepened the kiss, connecting us not just to that first kiss, but to something that felt far more ancient and eternal. I wasn’t in my body, and yet I’d never felt more alive, every nerve ending on fire. His stubble was rough against my fingers as I slid them up his face and tangled them in the wild, bronzed waves of his hair. One of his hands cupped my chin while the other moved to the nape of my neck as he rolled me onto my back without breaking the kiss. His weight settled over me, his knee pushing open my already spreading legs.
I ran my hands down his spine, reveling in the warmth of his bare skin. I pushed them just under the waistband of his pants, gripping his hips, unable to stop touching him, unable to get enough of his surprisingly soft skin over his hardened muscles.
Rhyan growled into my mouth as I pulled him down harder against me, needing him closer, rougher. His arousal was straining through his pants, and I could feel him growing even thicker against the light material of my underwear. I was slick between my thighs, already so wet for him, and I rolled my hips up. Rhyan arched, rearing back before he rolled forward, thrusting against me. I gasped into his mouth. He circled his hips, his cock stroking me exactly where I wanted him, needed him. A moan escaped my lips as his tongue captured mine, massaging until I couldn’t catch my breath.
His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head up, as his other hand snaked down my side. The feel of his calluses stroking my skin lit every inch of me he touched on fire until his fingers closed around the hem of my nightshift. He hiked up what little fabric remained between us to my waist as he grinded faster against me. He squeezed my naked hip, his fingers tangling in the ties of my underwear, attacking the bow at my side.
