BEST BAD IDEA (Small Town Sexy Book 2)

by Morgan Young

  Ryerson slides his hand down my thigh and off my knee, before he pushes back in his chair.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he says to the table, and heads toward the back where the restrooms are. Just before he turns the corner for the hall, he glances at me and smiles. I think he wants me to follow him.

  Zoey and Porter are still talking about gardening or some shit, when I stand abruptly. “Be right back,” I say to them, and they hardly notice as I leave.

  Ryerson is standing in the hallway, hidden from the restaurant, and holding a menu like he’s reading. I smile, and walk over to stand next to him. Without hesitation, he turns and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling my back against him.

  “I can’t keep my eyes off of you,” he breathes into my neck. “I want to take you back to my place.” His fingers dig into my hip, and I’m ready to walk out the door with him.

  “For a nightcap?” I ask, my voice a little shaky. My entire body is screaming for him, and I can’t believe I’m going to fall into this so completely. Zoey’s warnings be damned.

  Ryerson laughs, and brushes my hair aside, placing a small kiss on the back of my neck. I close my eyes.

  “No,” he says. “I’m going to bring you back and fuck you senseless. But we can have a drink too, if you’d like.”

  There is the jangle of keys, and Ryerson and I quickly pull apart. He holds the menu in front of his massive erection, and pretends to read about the starters. A server walks out from the back room, nodding hello to us, and hurries by. When she’s gone, Ryerson lifts his eyes to mine, a wolfish grin on his lips.

  “So does that sound like a plan?” he asks.

  I love the way his voice sounds, the way it tickles my ears. The way he touches me. There’s no way I can’t try a little more—just for fun. I won’t fall in love with him or anything. I’m too smart for that.

  “Text me your address,” I say, and grab my phone. “And I’ll see.”

  Ryerson reaches out to take my hand, and pulls me closer. He wraps his arms around me, his hands clasped low on my back. It’s a public embrace. If Zoey or Porter saw…

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he says, a little wounded. He doesn’t seem the type of guy to be vulnerable, and something about it rattles me a little. Makes him more than a very hot, very delicious piece of meat.

  “Yeah, I’ll come by,” I say, dropping my seductive act. He smiles, and leans in, eyes open, and sweetly places a kiss on my lips.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he murmurs, and kisses me again.

  He takes my phone from my hand, and enters his address and number. When he gives it back, he looks me up and down.

  “You really do look gorgeous tonight,” he says.

  I thank him, touching my hair. I’m embarrassed by how easily he charms me.

  Chapter Seven

  I shouldn’t do this. I park my car, and get out, locking the doors. I take three steps, and then stop and turn around to walk back to the car. I wait there, and then glance over my shoulder at the house.

  It’s a deep-green Craftsman style with well-designed front landscaping: a large Magnolia tree, a wide front porch, and plantation shutters. Of course, it’s basically my dream house. I see his truck parked up the driveway near the garage. He’s definitely inside; one amber light glows behind the window.

  I took my time driving here after saying good night to Zoey and Porter. Despite the earlier signs, they didn’t seem at all suspicious. Dinner was nice, hearing about Porter and Ryerson’s family pure comedy. Five brothers, one sister. I enjoyed learning about them, and every so often, Zoey would look across the table at me and smile.

  Neither of us have much experience with real families—she’s happy she’s now part of a big one. And I’m happy for her.

  I get to the stairs of the house, and am about to turn around again, when the door opens. I look over my shoulder, biting my lip, and find Ryerson standing there. And damn… he is sexy.

  “I was worried I’d been stood up,” he says, opening the door wider. “Thought maybe I’d come on too strong.”

  “You do come on strong,” I say, walking inside the house, and looking around. “But I kind of like that. Most guys think I’m the outspoken one.”

  “You are,” he says. “But I like your confidence. It means you’re up for anything.”

  I glance over at him, not qualifying the comment, and he closes the door and locks it.

  ***

  Ryerson gives me a quick tour of the house, and grabs us a couple of drinks—a craft beer with pineapple. We head into the living room, and he sits down on the large sectional sofa. I sit next to him, looking around at the white walls, wood beams.

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask.

  “About a year.”

  “You should decorate,” I say.

  He laughs softly. “No time. Besides, I’m not good with paint. I’m color blind.”

  I look sideways at me. “You are?” I ask. I’m not sure why, but I find this incredibly interesting, and I switch into interrogation mode. “What color is my hair?”

  “Reddish blond,” he responds with an easy smile. I furrow my brow. “I’ve learned over time what colors I see mean to other people. I can interpret them for the most part.”

  But I’m not done. I want to know more. I get up on my knees, facing him, and sip from my fruity beer. “What about my dress?” I ask, running my hand down the fabric.

  He licks his lips, and his eyes have a devilish gleam when they meet mine. “I’d say your dress is entirely too much fabric, but if I had to guess the color, I’d say blue.”

  I frown slightly, and look down. “It’s green,” I say. This seems to take him aback, and he looks over my dress again. He reaches out to roll one of the buttons near my breasts between his fingers.

  “Are you saying… are you saying that my house isn’t blue?” he asks. When he lifts his eyes to mine, he smiles. “I’m just kidding,” he says, and then I nearly drop my beer when I lean in and kiss him.

  ***

  We don’t stay on the couch. Instead, Ryerson is kissing me, walking me backwards toward his room. His palms gently hold both sides of my face, while my hands work frantically to tear off his shirt. I’m barefoot, on my tiptoes, and just as he reaches out to push open the door, I get the final button undone on his shirt.

  He grins, pulling back to take it off. When he drops it to the floor, I smile and drag my eyes over his bare chest. He is absolutely perfect. He reaches for my dress, but I stop him, and back further into the room.

  He furrows his brow, but allows me to lead. He shuts and door, and stands there, eyeing me hungrily.

  I saunter over to him, and run my finger from his chin down past his belly button, and hook it inside his black pants. I lick my lips and lift my eyes to his. He hitches in a breath, that vulnerability back in his expression. I love it—I love the power I have.

  “I owe you, remember?” I say, and slowly lower myself to my knees in front of him.

  “Good Christ,” he murmurs, and reaches down to gather my hair away from my face. He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as I undo his belt. I slowly tug down his pants, but leave his boxer briefs so I can grip his massive cock over the fabric.

  Ryerson closes his eyes, and the way he’s playing with my hair, the tender way he’s handling me, is insanely sexy. It reminds me of when his face was buried between my thighs, loving me. Caressing me.

  I take down his shorts, and when I hold the full weight of him in my hand, my entire body clenches with anticipation. I bring his head to my lips, kiss it sweetly, taste it. He moans low in his throat, eyes still closed.

  I slide my hand down his length, and when I press him into my mouth, he goes very quiet. I start to suck on him, taking my time, enjoying it as I grip the back of his thigh. His hand slides down to rest possessively on my neck, his thumb tracing my pulse point.

  I want to make him explode, ready to swallow him down, but he reaches u
nder my arms and pulls me to my feet. He kisses me, devours me, and the abrupt change leaves me helpless, spinning.

  Ryerson walks me to the bed, hiking up the back of my dress, his hands on my ass. He leans in to lick my neck, and I’m all nerve endings. He’s completely naked, and I wish he would strip me already. Instead, he pulls my panties aside, and dips his finger inside me teasingly while he kisses me again, his tongue gliding under my lip. I moan into his mouth, my knees going weak. But he doesn’t stop—he picks up the pace and I orgasm in a wave of bliss.

  He rubs his fingers through the slickness, using it to arouse me everywhere. Taunting. Teasing. My eyelids flutter, and I want more. I want everything. I want him everywhere.

  “I need you,” he says, low and raspy, using his fingers from behind to make me scream, and I dig my nails into his back as another wave rolls over me.

  He was wrong before, I’ve never been all that adventurous—up for anything. This is the sort of guy you went on erotic adventures with. And I sure as hell never met anyone like him before.

  I’m gasping, my chest heaving under my dress. Ryerson looks down into my cleavage, and then up at me.

  “Tell me what you want,” he says, leaning in to kiss my neck. His hands come up to finally start undoing my dress. My thighs are shaking, the orgasm still in my muscles.

  “I want you,” I say, not caring how it sounds. Letting go of perfect words or flirtations. I wanted him to have me, and in return, I wanted to take him.

  He laughs softly, and continues to work on my buttons before looking at me. I’m heavy-lidded, but love the softness in his eyes. The desire, but the playfulness, too.

  “Is this dress a favorite of yours?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I say, admiring the bulging muscles on his arms.

  “Good. Then I’ll buy you a new one.” He yanks on the fabric, popping open the buttons he couldn’t get undone, and exposes my breasts. My heart beats even faster, and he bends his head to put his mouth over my nipple, sucking hard and making me gasp in a breath.

  He straightens and pushes me back on the bed, making me laugh. His eyes are so dark, so deep. He crawls up my body, hand immediately between my legs like he owns it now. He possesses it. My eyes roll back.

  He pulls off the remains of my dress, and then we’re both naked in his bed. My legs are already over his hips, and he grinds against me, so close to entry. Neither of us are thinking right now, kissing and rubbing, breathing and moaning. It isn’t until the last second that he curses, and moves.

  My eyes flutter open, and I see him pull open a drawer and take out a condom. As I lounge back into the pillow, arms carelessly over my head, he looks sideways at me and then grabs two more condoms and tosses them on the bed. I laugh, and lift my eyebrows like I’m impressed he might go that long. I watch as he puts one on.

  “Now come here,” he says, and grabs me behind my knees and pulls my legs to him. I like the way he handles me, how strong he is—and yet, how gentle he can be too. Like he’s in complete control of everything he does.

  He holds my legs over his left arm, and leans in to kiss my calf. Then the back of my knee. I feel the head of his cock press against me, waiting to enter. When I meet his eyes, he must see how much I want him, because he slowly, impossibly slow, starts to press inside me.

  I try not to break eye contact, and both of our mouths open, taking in a gasp of air as he stretches me, fills me. He’s so big, but it’s exactly what I want. He pulls back, and then enters again, and this time, I scream, reaching behind me to knot my fingers in the white bed linens.

  “Oh, Cheyenne,” he says in a low voice, begin to pump into me more quickly. I can feel myself soaking him, clenching him. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  I can’t even talk, I’m moaning, and then he shifts, rolling to bring me on top of him.

  I open my eyes, and gaze down at him. My hair falls over my shoulders, and he smiles up at me. His eyes are glassy, his face relaxed. He holds my ass, and then begins to lift me up and down on his length, making me melt each time.

  I can’t handle it, though. It’s too good. I’m not nearly as experienced as I’ve let on, and I collapse against him, telling him it’s too much. He laughs, slowing the pace.

  He rolls us again, and this time he’s between my legs, his weight on his elbows as he lies above me, staring down at my face. And as I look up at him, I’m completely besotted.

  He’s gorgeous, sure. But the way he begins to slowly work in and out, watching my every gasp, mimicking it as he takes care to fuck me good and thoroughly while also making sure I don’t lose my mind is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  And it isn’t until his hands take mine and stretch them over my head on the sheets, our fingers interlaced, our entire bodies touching as he glides in and out of me, that I realize… we’re making love. The intimate way we’re wrapped around each other, the murmurs in my ear, the soft kisses on my neck. He’s making love to me.

  I’m about to suggest we change position, but it feels too good. And as he starts to pick up the pace, I forget everything in my head and scream out his name.

  Both of us climax in heavy waves, pressed together. We stay that way, completely wrapped in each other’s arms, even after the spasms stop.

  And it’s a few moments later when Ryerson kisses my cheek, and falls onto the bed next to me, both of us gasping and staring up at the ceiling. I’m pretty sure I won’t be moving any time soon.

  “Cheyenne, you’re exactly the kind of girl a guy could lose his heart over.” He reaches down to pat my thigh, and then sits up. “Want a water?” he adds.

  I don’t respond at first, a little confused by his statement. “Uh, sure,” I say, finally, although I’m still laid out on his bed, naked.

  “I’ll bring an extra,” he whispers, and leans down to kiss my shoulder. “We might need it.”

  I smile, and he puts on his boxer briefs and leaves. But once he’s gone, I sit up and look around the sparsely decorated bedroom. Sure, I would have sex with him again. I certainly want to. But what just happened… it wasn’t normal. At least, it wasn’t normal for me.

  Because although I didn’t say it back, Ryerson is exactly the kind of guy I’d lose my heart to. And as I grab my ripped dress from the floor, and look toward the door, I worry that I already have.

  Chapter Eight

  I consider walking out—leaving him minutes after mind-blowing sex. The sort of sex I’d tell my grandkids about after I’d been drinking and started to ramble on, and then pretend I was just old and not still fantasizing about Ryerson Banks sixty years later.

  I need to call Zoey. No. Shit—I can’t call Zoey. She directly said she didn’t want this to happen. Oh my God—she knew. She knew I’d have sex with him and fall in love and then get my heart broken and die alone. No, I definitely can’t call Zoey.

  I nearly call Frankie to ask him what I should do, but thankfully, I’m not completely stupid. Even sweetheart Frankie wouldn’t want to have to talk me through a “sex was too good and now I’m scared I’m in love” conversation.

  My dress is in tatters, and I’m pretty sure I can’t drive home in it. I walk over to Ryerson’s dresser, and pull open the top drawer. There’s a stack of clean white t-shirts, and I grab one and pull it on. It falls to mid-thigh, and when I turn, I catch my reflection in the mirror.

  I smile, a little taken aback by my appearance. My curls are wild, my cheeks pink and flushed. I look like I’ve been thoroughly had, but in a really sexy way. Not like, dirty regret sex. This was the beginning of a long night of sex.

  There’s a whistle from somewhere inside the house, and I open the bedroom door and go out there. It’s dark, the only light coming from the kitchen and living room area we were in earlier. It takes me a moment to find him, but I see Ryerson by the back door, and head over that way.

  He looks over his shoulder, scanning me. “Holy shit, you look cute,” he says, holding out his hand. I take it, although I know I sho
uld be backing away from this entire situation.

  He pulls me in, and kisses the side of my head. The breeze from the back door cools my skin, and it feels nice. I snuggle into Ryerson, just as he whistles again.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice a little hoarse from, I assume, screaming.

  “My dog doesn’t want to come in,” he says. “He hates when people come over.”

  “Wait,” I say, pulling back to look up at him. “You have a dog?”

  He smiles. “I didn’t mention Rufus?”

  “No. Where is he? Why wasn’t he in when I got here?” I peek outside, but his yard is dark. I see some movement in the back corner, but for all I know, it could be a raccoon or something waiting to tear out my eyes.

  “He heard your shitty car, and went out the dog door. Won’t come back in until you’re gone.”

  “Why?” I ask, hurt. The dog didn’t even know me. He wasn’t allowed to reject me yet.

  “He doesn’t trust women,” Ryerson says, surprising me.

  “Don’t dogs usually not trust men?” I ask, checking to see if he’s making this up.

  “Maybe. But I…” He stops, and looks outside. “I used to live with someone in Seattle,” he says quickly. “I think he’s still a little mad at her.”

  Oh. Ohhhh…. I swallow hard, and glance to the side where the dog door is. However, it isn’t a normal dog-sized door. I could practically walk through it.

  “What kind of dog is it?” I ask, distracted.

  “Come on, Rufus,” Ryerson calls outside, getting annoyed. “She’s nice. Just come meet her.”

  He’s trying to reason with his dog, who’s mad at his ex-girlfriend, and there’s a dog door that’s way over-sized. I’m starting to think I died mid-orgasm, when Ryerson sighs.

  “Good boy,” he says, waving his hand into the house.

  I turn and see a giant Great Dane trot up to the back door, all dopey and cute, and my heart just about melts. He’s black and spotted with white and brown fur. He, however, doesn’t even look in my direction.