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Riddick limps into my apartment slowly, gaze wide as he looks around. “This is a very nice place,” he says, his voice hushed. “You sure you want me staying here?”
Okay, between him and Ryan, they’ve set out to break my heart. “You kidding me? I want you to stay here. With me.” I slip my arms around his slim hips and kiss his mouth, a quick brush of lips. “It’s your home, too, if you want it.”
“I want you,” he says, smiling, flashing those deep dimples. “That’s all I want. That’s…”
He falls silent, pain flashing through his eyes, and we press our foreheads together. Avoiding any mention of him. Of Ryan.
I lead him to the sofa, get him settled down. He’s better, but he still has some trouble walking and needs to stretch out a lot. He has an appointment with the doctor in two days, to see the progress he’s making, see if he needs to take the anti-inflammatories for longer.
“It’s all so tidy,” he says, lying down with a sigh, folding a muscular arm under his head. “And clean.”
“Well,” I sit down beside him, “I don’t want to brag, but I took out the trash AND did the dishes in preparation for your arrival.”
He laughs, tugs on my arm until I half-lie on top of him. “You don’t need to make any special effort to convince me to come over, you know.”
“I don’t?”
“No. To be honest, I miss your cookies.”
Um. “You do?”
“Yeah. The cookies I bought are too sweet and fluffy.”
“And not salty and hard like rocks, huh?”
He laughs harder, the muscles in his stomach jumping. “Ow. This hurts, you know.”
Alarmed, I start getting up, but he tugs me down again. “Is your back okay?”
“It’s fine.” His mouth, his eyes are smiling. “I don’t care about the coffee and cookies. I don’t care about anything but being with you.”
Aww.
“I don’t care about your cooking skills,” he says, his eyes turning serious.
“But… but…”
“I don’t care about that at all. Or your cleaning skills. I love you, Bry.”
Hearing those words from him never gets old.
We’re kissing, and it’s hot and sweet and images and sensations from last weekend keep flashing behind my eyes. I’m throbbing madly between my legs, and deeper inside. “Please…”
His hands travel down my body, under my skirt. He kisses me as he touches me, his fingers slipping under my panties, finding my opening, dipping inside me.
“So hot,” he whispers against my lips. “So wet. You’re so damn sexy, girl.”
His fingers are magic. Stroking me inside, outside, moving in and out of me until I’m rocking on his hand, moaning, coming apart.
“Rid…” I lift my head, pleasure still rippling through my body.
“What does my girl want?” His grin is crooked, warm, his cock hard underneath me.
“Make love to me.”
“Your wish is my command,” he says hoarsely, and again the weekend flashes through my mind.
I refuse to let sadness drag me down. “I could suck you off,” I say, remembering his bad back. “We could—”
