by Rose, Ranae
“I didn’t realize the apartment came already furnished.” She ran a hand over the loveseat’s armrest. The leather was supple and definitely real. “This feels brand new.”
“I don’t think it was supposed to come furnished,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the high-quality seating.
“Oh.” His parents and their money. Not for the first time that day, she was left surprised by the ease with which they apparently spent it.
“Do you like it?” Ryan asked, standing tall in the middle of the living room with his good hand in his pocket. “The apartment, I mean.”
“It’s great.” It was the nicest place she’d ever lived. Walking through it and knowing she’d spend the coming months and probably years there was just as surreal as the rest of the day had been.
Ryan’s shoulders eased down a little, as if he was relieved.
Had he really thought there was any chance she wouldn’t love the place? “Don’t you like it?”
“I do,” he said, striding toward her. “But I think we need to make it ours.”
“What do you mean?” Did he really want to get rid of the furniture his parents had apparently chosen for them?
“I’ll show you.” He gripped her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.
She followed him to the kitchen.
“Remember our first time at my old place?”
How could she not? “Yes.”
“What do you say we make it a tradition?” He wrapped her in a one-armed embrace and hefted her up onto the countertop, using his hip and the strength of his back to lift her.
She balanced on the edge of the counter, her pulse already speeding. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”
As if that was all the go-ahead he needed, he quickly divested her of her boots and jeans.
“You’ve gotten pretty good at taking off clothes one-handed,” she said, her voice already breathy as he hooked a thumb beneath her panty’s side strap.
“It’s an important skill,” he said, tossing her underwear onto the floor.
Chapter 25
He was kneeling between her knees before she knew it, pressing his mouth to her pussy before she could so much as gasp.
After a day spent waiting, sitting and waiting some more, the burst of sensation was electric. Her body responded with enthusiasm, her nerves buzzing as he lashed her clit with his tongue, zoning in on the fastest way to make her want to squirm. She arched her back, bearing down with her hips against the countertop.
He moaned and pressed his lips more firmly against her sex, letting his teeth scrape lightly against her slick skin, just above her clit.
The pristine countertop in their brand-new apartment had become heaven. She spread her legs a little wider, a response born of instinct and need, inviting him to get as close as he dared.
He slid his tongue below, briefly tracing the slit of her entrance before returning his attention to her clit again. She hadn’t even been aroused when he’d led her to the kitchen, but he’d quickly summoned an intense need inside her. As he fucked her with his mouth, he drove her desire to a fever pitch.
Her internal muscles were just beginning to tighten when the sounds of their breathing were interrupted by an electronic melody.
It was Ryan’s cellphone – she would’ve recognized the ringtone had it been hers.
He ignored the call, gripping her thigh and holding it spread as he plunged his tongue inside her pussy and licked his way back up, the tip of his tongue tracing the swell of her clit with exquisite pressure.
That single stroke sent her over the edge. Her pussy began tightening and releasing to an arrhythmic cadence of its own, nothing like the musical rhythm coming from Ryan’s pocket. She shut out the noise as she squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on touch and ignoring every other sense.
His tongue was hot and wet, just like the flesh he was plying it against, each stroke sending her a little higher. The heat of his breath against her slit and the insides of her thighs was an intimacy that sent a shiver racing down her spine and straight to her core, which was caught in the throes of contractions strong enough to steal the air right out of her lungs.
She fought for each breath, gasping as everything inside her gave in to the pleasure he brought so easily with his mouth.
He didn’t let up until her thigh began to tremble beneath his hand.
Pulling back, he met her eyes. “What do you think?” He rose to stand between her still-spread thighs. “Does this place feel a little more like home now?” He cupped her jaw with one hand and leaned in, pressing his lips against hers.
She moaned and returned the kiss, parting her lips after a few moments and admitting his tongue, along with the taste of her own pussy. Mixed with the familiar flavor of his mouth, it sent another spike of desire through her. He’d given her pleasure, but she could take more. If he just unzipped his jeans, he could bury himself inside her in a heartbeat.
His phone rang again, its muffled beat ending the silence that had previously only been punctuated by hard breathing and faint moans.
He let it cycle once through the tune before breaking the seal of their kiss and standing tall again, fishing his phone from his pocket. “Hello?” He spoke with lips that were inflamed from the kisses he’d lavished upon her pussy and mouth. He stepped back and turned away, pacing to the center of the kitchen.
“No,” he said, the faintest edge of tension to his voice, “we haven’t.”
He spoke intermittently between pauses, apparently answering questions.
Meanwhile, Ally studied his body, the way his black cotton zip-up hoodie – the only outerwear he owned that stretched enough to fit comfortably over his cast – strained a little across his broad shoulders as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the way his jeans clung to an ass that she’d like to dig her nails into. Well, one set, anyway – it would be a little while before she’d be able to grip or claw his body with both hands. Her pussy gave a little jump at the thought anyway, her inner muscles tightening and releasing again in the blink of an eye.
“Okay.” He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket, simultaneously turning to face her and striding toward her again.
“About your question,” Ally said, meeting his eyes. “I don’t think this place will really feel like home until we finish this.” She smiled, already imagining the feeling of his shaft tunneling inside her, stretching her with strokes that would be effortless in their current positions.
A look that could only be described as hungry flashed across his face. “You’re right. Damn.” He frowned, his brows plunging into a deep V of irritation.
“What’s wrong?”
“That was my father on the phone. He and my mother want us to meet them for dinner.”
“Right now?” The digital clock above the oven range indicated that it was only two in the afternoon.
“He said they’d figured we’d be hungry after our flight, so they put off lunch to eat with us.”
“Oh.” Mingled waves of disappointment and nervousness swept through her as she eased her thighs shut, crossing them. “Sorry.” She was sorrier for him than herself – though it would’ve been another slice of heaven to go all the way on the countertop, she’d already climaxed and he hadn’t.
And it was obvious he wanted to. His erection strained the front of his jeans, the outline of his cock clearly visible, from the straight shaft to the rounded head.
“Yeah. Me too.”
She slid down from the counter, gathered her clothes from the floor and started slipping back into her panties, jeans and socks. “Are we going somewhere nearby?”
“It’s not too far. I chose the location – it was one of my favorite restaurants when I lived here.”
“What kind of place is it? Not formal, I hope?” She’d feel ridiculous in her jeans and sweater if they’d be eating at whatever sort of place wealthy New York CEOs and their families went to for special occasions.
“Not at a
ll,” he said. “It’s an Italian place. Definitely casual.” He smiled faintly as he extended a hand. “Ready to go?”
* * * * *
Ally felt a lot like Ryan’s shadow as they approached the Italian place he’d chosen to meet his family at. The reunion would be the first in almost four years. She walked close to his side – so close she was almost a part of him. That seemed to be how she’d spent most of her time since they’d arrived in New York. Not that she was complaining, but it was nice to think that one day she’d be familiar with the city too.
He hadn’t been lying about the restaurant being casual. It was a brick building crammed between others like it, small but inviting. The bricks and wide glass windows made it reminiscent of Annalisa’s. A pang of homesickness struck Ally as she let Ryan guide her inside.
The unsettling feeling was quickly smothered by heavy scents of sauce and garlic. Her stomach gave a low growl, but luckily, it was drowned out by the noise inside the restaurant. They weren’t there between peak hours, but half the tables were occupied.
Ally scanned the room for Ryan’s parents. She didn’t know what they looked like, but they’d stand out, wouldn’t they? Everything she’d witnessed about their way of life so far did. They’d sent a town car to pick her and Ryan up from the apartment complex and take them to the restaurant. Ryan had scowled and mumbled something about them showing off, but had accepted the ride.
“There they are.”
Ally followed Ryan’s gaze to a table in the far left corner, where two men and a woman were seated.
“Looks like my brother came, too.” Ryan started moving toward the table, guiding Ally with a hand against the small of her back, lightly massaging the curve of her spine.
Whether he meant to calm her, himself or the both of them, it was impossible to tell. But this was the first time he’d seen his family since his early days in the Marine Corps – they’d come to his basic training graduation ceremony, but had said something so hurtful to him that they’d barely communicated after that. By the time Ryan’s unit had been deployed to Afghanistan, correspondence had dried up completely. He hadn’t called or written to tell them that he was going, or to say goodbye.
Knowing all that, maybe it was natural for Ally to feel a little wary as she and Ryan approached the corner table. Her gaze kept drifting to his family members’ faces, as if she could somehow read into their personalities and thoughts, divining their natures by the lines and curves of their features.
It was Ryan’s mother who drew Ally’s gaze first. Slender and fair, she was pretty in an elegant way and had blonde hair that was twisted into a chignon. She wore a navy blue sheath dress that complimented her lighter blue eyes, a matching cardigan and black leather pumps. A narrow golden belt around her waist added a touch of opulence and brightness to her outfit, echoing the honeyed tones of her hair. Most interestingly of all, she wore a slight, almost tentative smile as she looked in their direction.
Ryan’s father was larger and wore a more reserved expression. The width of his shoulders and squareness of his jaw were much like Ryan’s, and he was good-looking, though he exuded none of the hard, rugged masculinity that marked Ryan as a fighter and made him so irresistible. Instead, Ryan’s father gave the impression of a man used to wielding non-physical power. The expensive-looking suit he wore enhanced the image, as did his carefully slicked head of short brown hair, peppered with grey.
And then there was Ryan’s brother – his only sibling. Ryan had mentioned that his brother was the eldest child by a couple of years. The suit he wore and his precise haircut and grooming made him look even older. His face was like Ryan’s in some ways, but different in others. It was smoother and a little rounder, its angles softer. It bore no scars or evidence of rough treatment – where Ryan had spent time in the ring, his brother had probably spent time exfoliating. And their eyes were different – Ryan’s brilliant blue outshone his brother’s subtler shade of watery grey-green.
So Ryan had gotten his blue eyes from his mother and his face from his father. His brother looked like a softer version of him, who’d led an accordingly softer life. All those judgments took about two seconds to make, and then she and Ryan were standing at the edge of the table, facing the trio of Moores who’d come to welcome their missing piece back to New York.
“We had the waiter put two tables together,” Ryan’s father said. “This place isn’t really equipped for groups bigger than four.” He looked briefly in Ally’s direction, then returned his gaze to his son as he rose from his seat. “It’s good to have you back.” He extended a hand toward Ryan.
It was the wrong hand – Ryan couldn’t shake it because of his cast.
His father realized his error and switched hands without skipping a beat.
They clasped hands and shook, their expressions impassive.
“This is Ally,” Ryan said when the handshake ended. “Ally, this is my father Patrick, my mother Cecilia and my brother Stephen.”
“It’s nice to meet you all.” Ally accepted handshakes from Patrick and Stephen, then from Cecilia. Her handshake was more of a squeeze and the only one accompanied by a smile.
Ryan pulled a chair out for Ally and she sank into it gratefully, her stomach still rumbling lowly.
He took the one next to her and there they were, a reunited family plus one seated just a little too close together in the corner of Ryan’s favorite Italian restaurant. It reminded her of their first date and where they’d gone to eat then. A faint smile threatened to surface as she remembered.
“You two certainly look like you belong together.” Cecilia’s thin smile stretched a little wider as she nodded at them. “Did you get into an accident together, or did one of you decide to imitate the other?”
“Separately,” Ryan said. “I fractured my wrist in a work accident. Ally’s injury happened at home.”
Ally willed her heart to maintain a moderate pace. Hopefully no one would press the matter. The fact that her wounds had been sustained in a drive-by shooting instigated by her dead gangster brother’s enemies wasn’t exactly on the list of things she wanted to reveal about herself during her first meeting with Ryan’s family. Besides, thinking of Manny still made her heart sink and her head spin. The smile she’d been entertaining evaporated as she scooted a little closer to the table.
“Oh? What kind of work were you doing in Baltimore?” Cecilia kept her eyes trained on her son.
“Construction.”
A spark of apparent interest lit up Patrick’s grey-green eyes. “Construction. What was your position?”
“Laborer. I built roofs.”
The spark was quickly doused, replaced by a flat shade of grey that harbored only hints of green. Patrick said no more.
“Was that the best job you could get after getting out of the military?” Cecilia asked. “I mean, didn’t they teach you anything there that would give you some sort of edge in the job market?”
Ally’s nerves tensed, like a wire being drawn ever-so-slightly tighter. Not for herself, but because she suspected Ryan’s were doing the exact same thing, only at a faster rate. Yeah, he’d come there for a job, but was that really what they wanted to talk about first thing?
“I took the first job I could get. It wasn’t like I had a fat bank account backing me up. I needed work, and roofing was work.”
“Well,” Patrick said, unfolding his cloth napkin and setting his silverware on the checkered tablecloth before lowering the napkin into his lap, “I think we can find you a much better position at Greene & Jacobs.”
“I’m not asking for anything I’m not suited for,” Ryan said. “I want a position where I can actually be useful, though I’m willing to be trained.”
“Well, we won’t be putting you out in the field if that’s what you mean.” Patrick shook his head briefly, as if the notion were a fly he could shoo away with a flick of the head. “For Christ’s sake, I’m not going to give my own son a job where he’ll be in danger of breaking his arm.
” He flashed a wry smile around the table, as if he found the notion funny but not truly funny at the same time.
Ryan didn’t seem to share his father’s amusement. No surprise there.
“Let’s talk about this later,” Cecilia said. “Ryan just got here. He doesn’t want to talk about jobs.”
“He came here for a job,” Patrick said. “Of course he wants to talk about jobs.”
A waiter arrived before any more could be said. After taking drink orders, he asked if everyone knew what they wanted already.
Everyone seemed to think so, so Ally went along with it. There were laminated menus at each seat at the table, but she’d been too busy observing Ryan’s family to so much as glance at hers. She ordered the chicken parmesan out of habit.
They spoke as they waited, but not about the specifics of Ryan’s new job and not about his and Ally’s injured arms – thank God. Stephen asked what Baltimore was like – more out of an effort to mellow out the conversation, Ally suspected, than because he was actually interested.
Ryan gave a sparse description of the Inner Harbor and Ally helped him out, adding details in an effort to paint a picture of the city meeting dark water in a cheerful coming-together of urban sprawl and the tidal portion of the Patapsco River. Cecilia seemed interested and Stephen nodded at the right times. Patrick simply sat, listening impassively.
When the food arrived, it was a welcome distraction.
The chicken parmesan was good. Almost as good as at Annalisa’s. The familiar taste triggered a trickle of memories, temporarily merging the New York restaurant with the places she’d known like it back home.
Ryan had ordered some sort of ravioli. By the time he was halfway through it, the conversation turned to the apartment.
“How do you like the furnishings?” Cecilia asked. “I kept it simple – just the basics so you could decorate in your own style.”
