Wrapped in Love - Lexi Ryan

by Ryan, Lexi

  I cup the back of his neck and lean forward, brushing my lips across his. Just once. “I offered myself to you before, Brayden.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You were a kid.”

  “I was eighteen. Totally legal.”

  “You were drunk.”

  I thread my fingers through his hair and keep my eyes on his. “That never stopped anyone else.”

  When he rescued me from the party that night, I’d seen him as the cold and hard eldest Jackson brother. All the Jackson boys were and still are gorgeous, but where his brothers were full of laughter, smiles, and jokes, Brayden was always too serious. Too hard. But that night, after he pulled me out of that party and away from those boys who were plying me with shots of cheap vodka and circling me like turkey vultures, there was tenderness in his eyes. I begged him not to take me home. I hadn’t expected compassion from a man like him. I’ve lived a life where I’ve learned not to expect that tenderness or compassion from anyone, and especially not from men.

  I swallow hard, thinking of the text Brayden’s brother sent him. “Do you want me?”

  He huffs out a dry laugh and searches my face. “More than you can imagine.”

  I lean closer. “Then do something about it.”

  His hand is hot, his fingertips searing as they find my thigh beneath the table and inch upward under the hem of my dress. “Are you drunk now, Molly?”

  My mouth brushes his ear as I whisper, “I’ve had enough to be brave, but not so much that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  One hand grips my thigh and the other plunges into my hair. He turns my mouth to his and kisses me. His lips are soft, coaxing, and I think I moan when his tongue touches mine. He’s heat and hunger, and his kiss lights a fire in me I haven’t felt in years.

  I ignore the voice in my head that chants, Slut, easy, whore, the one that whispers all the cruel words they flung at me in Jackson Harbor. I lock that voice away and press into Brayden, loving the feel of his calloused hand inching up my thigh and aching for more, for everything he’ll give me.

  Tonight, I’m going to pretend I’m worthy of a man like him, because tomorrow he’ll fly home, and it won’t matter that he deserves better than me. It won’t matter that I can never be more than a one-night stand.

  Brayden

  “Let’s get out of here,” Molly whispers against my mouth. She’s so damn sweet. I can hardly think straight.

  I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb, and she shudders. “Where do you want to go?”

  “To your room,” she says. I stroke my thumb higher, and her breath hitches. “Is it close?”

  “A few blocks.” God, I’ve never done anything like this. I’m not the kind of guy who puts his hand up a woman’s skirt in public, but her skin is so soft and I love the sounds she makes with each brush of my thumb. I’m dying to feel the heat between her legs and taste her moans against my mouth. I’ve never been so undone. I don’t give a shit where we are. “Are you sure?”

  She laughs. “So sure.”

  “You’re not drunk?” I asked before, but it matters.

  She sucks my earlobe between her teeth, and blood rushes to my cock. “I know what I’m doing.”

  I throw money on the table, and we scramble out of the booth and out of the restaurant. The streets are wet, and rain pounds down on the sidewalk, so we stop short under the awning.

  “I’ll get us a cab,” I say, holding her by my side.

  “I won’t melt.”

  “Fair warning?” My voice is husky with desire. “If you come back to my room, I plan to make you melt completely.” Part of my brain warns that this is too fast, that I’ll scare her off if I don’t slow down, but for the first time in my life, I ignore that voice of reason and focus on the woman in front of me.

  “That sounds like a promise.”

  I drag my gaze over her, lingering on her legs and the hem of her dress, remembering the heat of that skin, thinking about how close my fingers were to the apex of her thighs. “Oh, it’s absolutely a promise, Molly.”

  She takes my hand and threads her fingers through mine, all smiles and giggles as we race down the street to my hotel.

  The whole way to my room, I can’t stop touching her. A hand on her elbow as we cross the street, an arm around her waist as we push into the hotel, a quick kiss on the back of her hand as we wait for the elevator, and then a slower, open-mouthed kiss on her neck as we ride to my suite.

  After using my key card to get us into my room, I open the door for her and follow her in. The door has barely clicked closed behind me when she peels off her soaked sweater and unzips her dress, letting it fall from her shoulders and to the floor at her feet.

  When she steps forward, she’s in nothing but a black satin bra, matching lace panties, and pink heels I imagine hooked over my shoulders. “Christ, you’re beautiful.” My heart’s racing so fast and my blood roars in my ears. “Every time you’ve come back to Jackson Harbor the last few years, I’ve wanted to tell you that.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  I grin and step forward, closing the distance between us and settling a hand on her hip. “You barely gave me a chance. You’re rarely in town, and when you are, you only stick around a day or two.”

  Something flashes in her eyes that I don’t understand—a secret—but she blinks and it’s gone. “And to think I’ve spent the last eight years believing you just didn’t like me.”

  “Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

  “I crawled into your bed that night. You wouldn’t even let me touch you.”

  I took her back to my place because she’d begged me not to take her home. I assumed she was afraid she’d be in trouble for drinking, so I agreed to let her stay with me and set her up with a blanket and a pillow on my couch. She was still drunk when she woke me up an hour later, her hands on my chest, her mouth on my neck. “My reaction had nothing to do with what I wanted.”

  “Hmm.” Her fingers go to the buttons on my shirt, undoing them one by one. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too noble for your own good?”

  I wrap a hand around each wrist and still her hands. “I don’t regret it. You were beautiful, and I was . . . tempted.” I don’t even want to admit how tempted I was. She was so sexy but too damn young. Legal, sure, but it wasn’t about the law. It was about being able to look at myself in the mirror the next morning. But I never forgot that night, or the way she melted into me when I wrapped my arms around her and whispered, “Just sleep, Molly.”

  Her gaze flicks up to meet mine then drops down to my throat. Can she see the thrum of my pulse there? “Tempted enough that you’ve thought about it?” I’m still holding her wrists as she rises onto her toes and flicks her tongue at the pulse point in my neck. “Because I have. I went home that day and touched myself in the bath while I imagined your hands on me.”

  Lust surges through my blood at that image, and I release her hands. “I thought about it then and after, but . . . it was different in my fantasies.”

  “You wanted me sober.”

  “For starters.” I dip my head and run my nose down the side of her neck. She hisses at the contact and arches into me as she unbuttons my jeans. “This is so much better.”

  She swallows, then steps out of my grasp. “On the bed.” Her blue eyes rake over me, dark with lust. “I need a chance to redeem myself.”

  Chuckling, I pull off my shirt and climb onto the bed. I prop myself up on the headboard and put my hands behind my head, watching as she steps out of her shoes and reaches for the clasp on her bra.

  The satin straps slip down her shoulders and to the floor. She saunters toward the bed, all feminine grace and sexual confidence. She straddles my hips. “Is this okay?”

  “You think there’s a chance in hell I’m going to stop you this time?”

  She arches her back and shifts her hips, rubbing herself against the aching length of my shaft. “I hope not.”

  I thread a
hand through her hair and bring her mouth down to mine, kissing her hard and telling her with my lips and tongue that I’m not going anywhere. This is exactly where I want to be.

  She rocks into me, and pleasure bolts down my spine, building too fast. I need more. I need her closer. Need to feel her heat.

  I reach between us to rid myself of my jeans, and she’s there too. We become a mess of hands and limbs as we work in tandem to pull them off. By the time we throw them to the floor, she’s on her knees beside me, and we’re both laughing. She straddles me again. “Next time, remind me to make you get naked before you get on the bed.”

  “Next time, I’m going to strip you naked.” I dip my head and flick my tongue over her nipple.

  “I’m not naked yet,” she says, breathless.

  “But I like you like this.” I grip her waist and run my thumbs along the scrap of lace at each hip. “I could make you come like this.”

  She gasps, hands in my hair, and I suck the tight peak of her breast into my mouth. This time when she moves against my cock, I can feel her heat, feel how slick she is even through my boxers and her panties.

  I pull her closer, and she picks up the pace, and when her nails dig into my shoulders, I know I could come like this too—from nothing but the friction of our bodies’ instinctive dance.

  I flip her over on the mattress and kiss my way down her body.

  “Brayden.” She reaches for me, but I just look up at her from between her legs and smile.

  “This was worth the wait,” I murmur. I lower my face and suck her clit through the lace. She moans and grips fistfuls of the duvet as she arches into my mouth.

  She’s so fucking beautiful sprawled out before me like this, but I want to taste her, to feel her and only her under my tongue, so I peel away that last piece of her clothing and toss it to the floor.

  “What happened to making me come through those?” she murmurs.

  “Next time.” I hook an arm under each leg and draw up her knees, opening her. I lower my mouth to her inner thighs and sweep across that tender skin with my lips, then my tongue, then my teeth. When I finally bring my mouth between her legs, I hover above her and just . . . look. “You’re beautiful everywhere.”

  She trembles, and I lower my lips to her clit. Her hips jerk, and she cries my name. Hands on her thighs, I pin her open and taste every inch, dragging my tongue along her before circling her opening. I’m drunk on her. On this night. On the whimpers and moans and pleas as she falls apart under my tongue.

  “Please,” she murmurs. “God, Brayden . . .”

  I slide two fingers into her then and feel her body clench violently and the release of her orgasm rocking through her.

  I stay between her legs and stroke her gently as she floats back down.

  “Come here.” She grabs my wrist and guides me up her body.

  I settle over her, between her thighs, and frame her face with my hands. She’s flushed, and her hair is a wild mess against the pillow. “You’re perfect.”

  “I’m not. I—”

  I press my mouth to hers and kiss away her protest. She opens under me, and my blood heats further when she licks her own taste from my lips. When her hips lift to meet mine again and she’s moaning into my mouth, I pull away to shed my boxers and grab the condom from my jeans.

  She watches me roll it on, and a surge of masculine pride jolts through me at the combination of satisfaction and anticipation on her face. She keeps her eyes on me as I climb over her, and doesn’t break my gaze as I slowly slide inside.

  “You feel . . .” I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to come yet, but I feel my release threatening to surge down my spine. “So good,” I murmur. I move deeper and deeper with each pass, until her body adjusts to me and I thrust in fully.

  “Brayden,” she whispers in my ear. “Brayden, how can . . .? How can this feel . . .?”

  I nuzzle her neck. “So good. Me too.”

  We find our rhythm easily, and I get lost in her. She smells like strawberries and something intoxicating. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and she squeezes around me, orgasm building again.

  “Come for me.” I thrust deeper, clinging to the scraps of self-control even as my own release threatens. “I want to feel you come like this.”

  The words push her over the edge, and she does, arching her neck and crying out. When her release locks her body tight around me, I follow right behind.

  As we come down from our pleasure, I run kisses along her neck, her jaw, her lips.

  I take care of the condom, and when I come back to bed, she’s half-asleep. I pull her into my arms, loving the way our bodies fit together.

  Next time, I want her in my bed, not in a sterile hotel made for strangers and secret lovers. Next time, I’ll take it slow and show her just how much I’ve thought about this. Next time, and the time after that. “When can I see you again?” I whisper against her ear.

  She hums, nestles into me, and falls asleep.

  Molly

  Present Day . . .

  The tables are set. The water glasses are iced and ready. The kitchen is prepared to plate meals in twenty minutes. The staff members are dressed and know their stations, and I’m eighty percent confident that they’re capable of doing their assigned tasks today—only eighty, because this is our first event and half my staff has never served before.

  I scan the room one last time and cringe when the light catches on a handprint on the far bank of windows. I’m pretty sure that one was compliments of my son. Shit.

  “Austin, run to the janitorial closet and grab the window cleaner.” I point to the handprint. “I think our cleaning staff missed a spot.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Molly.”

  I cringe at the nickname but don’t correct him. I think he’s just trying to be polite. Austin’s a cute kid, eighteen, and a senior at Jackson Harbor High School—the same school where I graduated with his older brother, Gabe. I did a lot more than graduate with his older brother, most of which I’d turn back time to erase if I had the choice. But it turns out Austin’s much less lazy and more respectful than Gabe, and since he has serving experience, I’m thrilled to have him on my staff.

  He heads toward the exit, but then stops and snaps a picture of the empty room with his phone.

  I frown. “What’s that for?”

  He grins, his thumbs flying over his screen. “It looks awesome with the tables set and the linens and stuff. Schmancy. What’s the social media hashtag campaign for Jackson Brews? I’m posting this sucker on Insta.”

  Oh, hell, that’s kind of sweet. “The hashtag is happeningatJacksonBrews,” I say. I should have thought of posting myself, but with everything else going on, it slipped my mind. “Thanks, Austin.”

  He winks at me. “No problem, Miss Molly. Done.” He tucks his phone into the pocket of his black dress pants and disappears toward the janitorial closet.

  I left my to-do list on my desk, and I’m feeling a little twitchy without it, so I head to my office even though I’m almost positive every item’s been crossed off.

  When I confirm there’s nothing left to do, I plop down into my chair and realize immediately that it was a mistake. What a day. God, I’d give about anything to turn off the lights and close my eyes for twenty minutes.

  “Are you okay?”

  I lift my head and spot Brayden leaning in the doorway. “Everything’s fine. Great, really. I think we’re ahead of schedule.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “You look tired.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Thanks.”

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just worried. You have a lot on your plate right now.”

  It’s been a long day. After staying up packing until midnight, I woke up at four thirty and arrived onsite at six to make sure our new janitorial staff had the banquet center polished to my standards, but somehow I missed the windows. I’ll have to chat with them about that.

  I stayed throug
h my scheduled midmorning break to monitor the kitchen staff, though they probably would have done fine without me. I am tired, but I’ve handled long work days on minimal sleep a hundred times before. What Brayden sees on my face is probably less about physical exhaustion and more about how anxious I am that I might screw this up.

  Giving myself a little shake, I scan my list for the third time, confirming again that we’re not forgetting anything. “I’m fine.” I force a smile I’m too exhausted to make believable. “I promise to slap on some fresh lipstick so our clients don’t think you’re overworking me.”

  His gaze drops to my mouth and my bare lips. “I don’t think you need it.”

  Snorting, I grab my purse. “You’re just blinded by my inner beauty.”

  He doesn’t reply to that—though, really, what can he say? Instead, he narrows his eyes and asks, “How was the house you saw yesterday?”

  “A total bust. I don’t need fancy finishes, and I know better than to expect them with my budget, but a working furnace in the middle of a Jackson Harbor winter is a must.”

  Brayden barks out a dry laugh. “Snob.”

  I laugh. “I guess so.”

  “Have you thought any more about my offer?”

  A lot. Nonstop. Too much. My brain’s been spinning with the implications and potential complications of moving in with Brayden. That’s half the reason I stayed up so late last night. I knew I wouldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well get some packing done.

  I bite my bottom lip. I know what I need to do. I know what the best decision is, for me, for my son. “It would just be temporary.”

  “I know.”

  “And you have to promise you’ll tell me if we’re in your way at all. Ever.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’d like Santa to visit Noah there on Christmas morning—presents under the tree and his stocking hung on the mantel and the whole bit. If that’s not too much to ask. Because he’s four, and Christmas is everything to him, and—”

  “That’s not a problem, Molly.”