My overwhelming anxiety was temporarily relieved—that was, until I walked back into the bedroom where Ryan lay bare-chested. His long body was spread out like a lion relaxing on the Serengeti.
God, he looks so good. Maybe you’re a lioness on that hunt, Nick!
“Come lie down with me.” His voice carried notes of temptation.
I’m dead meat.
“Move over to your side.” It was ridiculously naive of me to assume we’d each go to sleep on our own side of the bed, especially since we'd spent three nights with each other prior to this one.
After my orgasms, I was ready to rest.
What everything meant and what his expectations were, I didn’t understand. I was only used to spending the night with a girlfriend and thought it was time for us to sleep. When that damn smile came over his face, I knew my sleepovers with Ryan were about to be defined in a new way.
“Come lie against me, baby. I’m waiting,” Ryan motioned to me with his finger. “I’ve waited a year for you.” He threw the covers off his naked body and motioned for me to swim with him in the deep end. “Your feelings have overtaken you over so fast, you don’t understand how it’s possible we could be together this way. Imagine, Nicky—someone came into your life even though you never planned to have him and you haven’t a clue of what you can do to control him.”
I know—it’s making me insane.
He looked so inviting—those arms, his naked chest, his wicked smile, his big love.
I jumped onto the bed, trying to be playful.
He immediately grabbed for me, pulling me down on the bed and staying me against his body.
"Mmm," he rubbed my belly. "My baby."
“You're my baby, too, but I need sleep and I know you do, and well, what I want to know is . . ." I counted to ten. "How you, I mean, I did, but um, how could you be, uh . . . did you—”
“Have an orgasm?”
“Yeah.”
"Mm-hmm."
"How? We didn't, that is, I didn't do . . . um, you didn't—"
“When you came as my finger moved your clitoris, I watched your expression and felt your body under me—”
“Yeah, I hear you, but what I’m asking is if you’re um, if you’re expecting me to do something for you or—”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes?” Oh, God. What does he want me to do?
“I mean no, you don't need to do anything. I’m satisfied. Yes, I want more, but for now what I want is for us to lie next to each other and have your loveliness against my heart.”
His voice settled like the evening around us. The way he said things was like a rhythmic seduction from the most beautiful of poems or sonnets, read aloud in a lost language.
Heavenly bells rang in my ears.
Even in those early days, I knew gold dust was my destiny.
It was so strange I lay in bed with a man who had filled his arms with me. Only a few months ago, I had been thinking about my first kiss with Jerry. I was pulled from my thoughts, “awakened” as Ryan pressed me to his body. His head was in the spot he’d come to love on my shoulder. His cheek rested on mine.
“Next time,” his voice dropped. “I hope you’ll invite me in the bathroom with you. I’ll wash you off and dry your thighs, your belly, and your wet . . .”
His unspoken words were left silent and invisible in the air above us, suspended like our snowflake that had melted in our forest. I relished the feel of his skin—rough and hairy in muscular places, but in others, he was soft and smooth. I became aware of the way his chest moved as he breathed, broadening with a deep breath, and falling as he exhaled.
The intoxicating and overwhelming feelings from his touch made me focus on his mysterious and intriguing muscular frame—especially his large penis. His erection was long and thick. Although I’d felt him before, my focus had been on his big body, not the part of him that seemed destined inside me.
How would his penis possibly fit?
The veins on it . . . were they always purple and prominent?
It stood up clear past his navel.
What was the average size of a man?
Was it always dark, thick, and moving on its own?
Was he normal?
Of course, I knew women had babies, and if they could fit through a vagina, certainly a man’s penis could. I also knew pregnant women produced hormones that relaxed their joints, so the whole area would dilate and expand when the baby was ready to be delivered—I wouldn’t have any of those benefits.
How tight or loose was the average woman’s vagina?
What was I like inside the warm, moist areas of my body?
Would Ryan moan with pleasure as I surrounded him or instead deflate with disappointment, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible?
Teasing me and pretending to undo the drawstring from my shorts, Ryan's voice vibrated against my neck and my meltdown began once again.
Oh, no. Keep control, Nicky. You can’t let yourself go there. If he feels between your legs . . . you have no panties . . .
“Please don’t." I fought to stay present. "I’m not ready for sex.”
“I just gave you sex, and you were, uh, most definitely ready for it.” My body writhed in the warm chocolate of his words.
“You know what I mean. When I go to the next step, I want my brain functioning right, not numbed or in a dream state because of what you just did for me.”
I want to. What about all those other women? What if I don’t satisfy him, he turns over, pats me on the back again and starts snoring? What then? How can I really compare to the gorgeous bodies he’s been with? I can’t. But I want to. Oh how I want to.
And then there was my need for control. When I went all the way with Ryan, I wanted to set up a special romantic night for our first time, planned perfectly and absolutely beautiful.
What kind of scene had I visualized?
I wasn’t sure.
I only knew that when the picture came to me, I needed it set to the last detail.
“I hate to break it to you, sweet woman, but when we make love, your mind won’t be working the way you're talking about it now. You’ll go where she tells you, because she’ll have given herself over to the sensual pulsing I’ll bring to your body. You told me I could come inside you when we were on the sofa and my finger was driving you to orgasm. That's all it took for you to say yes. Now that we’re in my bed, your curvy, round feminine body is moist and ready . . . don’t you think—"
“Good night, Ryan.”
After his masculine laugh slithered across my chest, he hugged me tightly and kissed me on the cheek.
“I just want to feel you against me.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “Remember how we lay close in Half Moon Bay and felt our hearts beating? Lie naked with me now."
Yes, but all you need to do is lie on top of me and I'll disappear. I need to catch my breath, write about this, analyze this . . . oh shit, do I really? Shouldn't I just—
“Not tonight, okay, Ryan? I just need . . . I’m on the edge. When you come back, okay?”
“Okay,” he surrendered to my hesitation. “You’re such a caring woman.”
“I don’t feel that way." I was disgusted that I couldn't move any faster with sex. "Why do you say that?”
“Because when you talked about keeping your shorts on, instead of saying what I did to you, you said for you. And the way you moved for me—oh, Nicky, it’s obvious you’ve enjoyed fingering yourself; you know where you like to be touched. It makes me so excited knowing that you like sex. Just thinking about us that way gets me going.”
“Ryan?" I have to say it. He needs to understand I'm not rejecting him. I'm afraid. Even though I told him he could do whatever he wanted earlier—now that my brain is coming back, oh hell—I'm a mess. “I don’t know how to give you the sex you want." I pulled the covers up to my neck.
“We’ll figure everything out as we go.” He sighed and his hand rubbed my belly.
“
Ryan?”
“Yes, Nicky.”
“I don’t think you’ll fit.” I turned my head slightly to watch his expression.
“What?” He opened his eyes wide, apparently surprised by my comment.
“What I mean is, I don’t think I have room for your thing,” I whispered.
“You’ll be okay.” I could feel his chest move up and down as he tried not to laugh. “Just relax. You need your rest, little Nicky, especially since you’re not a cool girl.”
I started laughing and had a hard time stopping the giggles.
He started laughing.
I couldn’t stop.
He couldn’t stop.
We laughed like children, loud, silly, and joyful, as if we were still skipping over the sand on Pismo Beach.
Finally, after teasing some more, we settled down.
He held me, my back against his chest, his hands on my belly and didn’t press me for any more sexually. The part of his body—the mystery that my mind was most definitely focused on—pressed against me off and on throughout the night.
I fell asleep quickly, trusting he would stay true to his word.
Ryan wrapped me with his body, the same way he was wrapping around my life.
Chapter 33
Trophies
T he next morning, the smell of coffee was in the air. I was alone in Ryan's bed. The clock on his nightstand read 8:09 a.m.
The water was running in his shower.
I knew I should have gotten up, but couldn't resist the chance to luxuriate in his bedroom. To feel his bed covers around me and enjoy his lingering scent were lovely pleasures, and having them all to myself . . . I just had to revel in them.
Shortly after the water stopped, the glass shower door opened. His towel rustled as he dried his body. When he walked out with it wrapped around his waist, my eyes couldn’t look away.
Oh, damn. That incredible chest is coming at me. Put your shirt on—please!
“Morning.” He sat down next to me on the bed and gave me a nice bear hug.
“Good morning." A wave of tingles rushed in my tummy.
“You seemed to sleep okay; did stirring your little button help you nod off?” From the smile he wore, he knew I felt lovely being in his bed.
Is he on automatic 24/7?
“I slept really well.” I couldn’t acknowledge his statement, fearing he'd go from first base to home plate in mere seconds. “How about you?”
“The best since Half Moon Bay when your naked body was against me.” He shifted his hips to face me more directly.
“Oh, sure.” My cheeks felt warm. “Thanks for saying so. You’re really a special friend.”
Just say the words, Nicky.
He laughed. I responded with one thousand flames between my legs. Liquid fire surged through my body all the way to my eyelashes. Ryan’s laugh was one of the most defining things about him. I never tired of hearing it—apparently, neither did my woman’s body.
“I’m a special friend, huh? You know, I’ve never seen a friend’s body jerk for me like yours did, or writhe and moan from pleasure when I brought your soft, wet, little flower to climax last night.
“Nope, I don’t ever remember doing that with any of my buddies,” Ryan continued. “And I’ve never had a friend stay the night with me in my bed, safe in my arms, talking about a certain thing fitting into a certain place inside of her. My friends don’t give a damn about my penis.”
He paused to gauge my reaction.
I looked away, but in reality, I wanted to grab him and bury my head in his chest. My very happiness called—no pleaded—to be released and say, I love you, Ryan!
“You look beautiful this morning. In fact”—Ryan put his hand under my chin—“it’s hard for me not to eat you up right now.”
Oh, God, please don’t. I knew I should’ve gotten up. Once you came out, well, I should’ve gotten up, that’s all.
“Coffee should be ready in a minute.” He rose up from the bed. "I'm almost done in the bathroom, but if you need it, I'll wait. There are some clothes in the closet"—he stopped in midsentence, as if suddenly confused about continuing—"old stuff from a while ago. You’re welcome to look through them instead of wearing my crap."
Is he actually suggesting I wear other women's clothing? Is this real? God, I feel like one of his castoffs. Our night was spectacular and now he casually tells me about former lovers' clothing still in the closet . . . is he nuts? Why are we always in turmoil? Aren't we doomed when it comes down to it?
“Thanks. I don’t want to wear anybody else’s stuff,” I snapped.
As I got out of bed, Ryan stood in front of me, blocking the doorway to the bathroom. He stepped into my space, once again pressing so close that the air squeezed from between our bellies as they touched each other.
God help me, I’m so weak.
“You used my stuff last night,” he said as if I’d forgotten.
Yeah, your stuff, Ryan, don’t you understand the difference? I thought you were . . . maybe you’re just a jock after all. No wonder you had an extra toothbrush. Now I understand.
If I spoke up in the way I'd just done to myself, would he throw his hands in the air and give up, finally understanding that I was too afraid to be comforted? Or perhaps he’d scream and rage like Dad did whenever Mom, Jenise, or I took a stand.
“So you already used other people’s stuff, right?” he challenged.
“That’s different.”
Why don’t you understand the difference?
“Why?" He folded his arms.
Just speak your mind, Nick. Now is the time before you fall any harder. Maybe you’re discovering his dark side. Maybe your own darkness is ready to lash out!
“Ryan.” I looked at the floor and took a breath. “I can’t believe you don’t understand why it bothers me. If I have to explain, all I can say is that I don’t want to touch clothes worn by the women you’ve been with. That's the clothes you're talking about, right? Women you've had sex with who left their stuff?"
"They're not all—"
“You know what? You just made me feel like I’m one of your hookups in the tunnels. It's as if I’ve just been told to hurry up and grab something so I can get out fast,” I continued. "Is that how it is? The women you've been with are still here in spirit because after sex you say goodbye as you hold the door open? Do you usher them out of your apartment so quickly, they don’t have enough time to grab their belongings? Or do they leave in your shorts and T-shirt, the same way I’m dressed?”
“No, that’s—”
“The thought of getting into their clothes is awful,” I cut in. “And that you’d still have them here, it’s . . . I thought you were more sensitive than this.”
“I’m sorry.” He stared at the floor looking defeated.
I felt badly that he seemed emptied of his fight. Now that I had mustered some bravery, however, I had to keep going and explain my feelings. Maybe, by the time I was through, he’d finally understand the battle it would take to calm someone who wasn’t using him, had her own focus and goals, and wasn’t only after an exciting life with a baseball player.
Just as it would be for me with Ryan, perhaps he finally understood being together meant facing a steep climb. Trying to make me feel secure against all the women of his past would be the challenge of our lives.
"Maybe they’re my mom’s.” He suddenly rose from the ashes, ready for another round. “You’re judging pretty quickly.”
“Okay," I drawled. "Show me. If they’re your mom’s, I wouldn't expect you to have her clothes in your closet—at least not piled in a corner or a box. So let's see them.”
He hesitated.
His eyes darted everywhere except my eyes.
I knew the answer.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so." I heard the disgust in my voice. “What you just offered, to actually search through the clothing of former lovers, you really say that to women who have spent the night? Oh, wait. Let me take that
back. You just did.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“What I’m trying explain,” I interrupted, “I’m supposedly special to you, but this is what you say to the woman you love? I mean, obviously you don't care about your former lovers as anything more than a sex partner. Okay, I accept that. What I don't get is you're so callous as to suggest she find something to wear the next morning?" I paused to see if he had anything to add.
Ryan remained quiet, his eyes focused and serious.
"And let me get this right. I’m supposed to casually sort through other women’s clothes and not feel anything? Like I said before, I may be naive, but I’m not stupid. I feel . . ." I thought back to my father's friend, Ernie.
“I know you're not stupid," Ryan interrupted. His face knotted. "You don’t have to repeat that to me. I respect your intelligence. I do have Mom’s—”
“Don’t.” I waved my hand in the air. “What you just did is pretty fucked up. I’m pissed you’d even say it.”
Ryan’s head jerked back as if I’d coldcocked him.
He didn’t understand the way his past affected me because he never had to with any other woman. They’d only been happy to be a part of his present.
For me, I had to be clear about all of it to move forward.
No longer did I want to accept the way things were because I was afraid to speak up.
No longer would I be passive only to keep the peace.
I had to begin taking small steps so I wouldn't remain in the same fearful life of my childhood.
"Move out of my way." I stepped around him and went into the bathroom and closed the door. My first thought was to go through his closet and look in the box of clothes, bring them out, toss them in his face, and then leave his apartment. After I took some time to freshen up, I reconsidered.
I began to second-guess myself.
Jagged Heart (Broken Bottles Series Book 3) Page 22
