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The need to hold her close thrums through me as I gather her up into my arms and carry her to the steaming tub of water before stepping inside and settling in the warmth. I reposition her until the back of her head can rest against my chest.
“Just in case you didn’t realize it, you’re my everything,” I whisper. “The very reason I draw air into my lungs.You. And nothing will ever change that.”
She turns her head just enough to meet my gaze. This time, when I slip inside her body, there is absolutely nothing frenzied or rushed about it.
I make love to her.
Slow and sweet.
Just the way she likes it.
* * *
Thank you so much for reading Hate You Always! I hope you enjoyed Ryder & Juliette’s story as much as I loved writing it. Want a little more of Juliette & Ryder? Subscribe to my newsletter for a free bonus epilogue!
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Turn the page for an excerpt from Hate to Love You…
HATE TO LOVE YOU
BRODY
“Dude, I thought you’d be back earlier.” Cooper, one of my roommates, grins as I walk through the front door. There’s a half-naked chick straddling his lap. “We had to get this party started without you.” He shrugs as if he’s just taken one for the team. “It couldn't be helped.”
I snort as my gaze travels around the living room of the house we rent a few blocks off campus. Even though there are only four of us on the lease, our place seems to be a crash pad for half the team. By the looks of the beer bottles strewn around, they’ve been at it for a while. I’m seriously thinking about charging some of these assholes rent.
Although, I guess if I were stuck in a shoebox of a dorm, I’d be desperate for a way out, too. I played juniors straight out of high school for two years before coming in as a freshman at twenty. I skipped dorm living and went straight to renting a place nearby. There was no way I was bunking down with a bunch of random eighteen-year-olds who’d never lived away from home. Not to mention, having an RA up my ass telling me what I could and couldn’t do.
That sounds about as much fun as ripping duct tape off my balls.
Which is, I might add, the complete opposite of fun. Hazing sucks. And for future reference, you don’t rip duct tape off your balls, you carefully cut it away with a steady hand while mother-fucking the entire team.
My other two roommates, Luke Anderson and Sawyer Stevens, are hunched at the edge of the couch, battling it out in an intense game of NHL. Their thumbs are jerking the controllers in lightning-quick movements, and their eyeballs are fastened to the seventy-inch HD screen hanging across the room.
I can only shake my head. Every time they play, it’s like a freaking National Championship is at stake.
I arch a brow as the girl on Cooper’s lap reaches around and unhooks her bra, dropping it to the floor. Apparently, she doesn’t mind if there’s an audience. Cooper’s lazy grin stretches as his fingers zero in on her nips.
I’d love to say this scene isn’t typical for a Sunday night, but I’d be lying through my teeth. Usually, it’s much worse.
Deking out Luke with some impressive video game puck handling skills, Sawyer says, “Grab a beer, bro. You can take over for Luke after I make him cry again like a little bitch.”
“Fuck you,” Luke grumbles.
I glance at the score. Luke is getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter, and he knows it.
