by RC Boldt
Licking my lips, I add another finger and watch as her lips part, her eyes heavy-lidded, chest rising and falling, breathing becoming more labored. “I can’t wait to wrap my lips around those nipples. To suck on them.” I feel a gush of warmth on my fingers, my eyes closing on a wince as I try to maintain control. “Jesus, Mags. You liked that, didn’t you?”
My fingers have a mind of their own, it seems, as they thrust a little faster, so slick with her arousal. Maggie never answered, her eyes closed, head tipped back, breathing labored as she works her nipples.
“You want to come on my fin—”
I don’t get to finish my question when her fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping my movements. Her words are spoken in a ragged breath. “I want to come on your tongue.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Maggie
Oh, holy crap. Did I just say that?
Yep. I totally said that out loud. Dirty Maggie. Dirty, dirty, naughty Maggie.
Slowly rising to stand, Ry guides me to lie back on the bed. “Why don’t you get started for me?”
Stripping himself of his sweater before tackling the buttons of the shirt he wore beneath it, his fingers fumble in his frantic attempt to hurry and rid himself of his clothing. And I hope that maybe it’s because I’m lying on his bed, my finger rubbing my clit in slow circles, that it’s pushing him close to the edge.
Shoving down his pants and boxer-briefs in one move, he forgets that he hasn’t removed his shoes and nearly trips himself trying to get untangled.
Chuckling softly, I feel my face light up with heat and humor. “In a bit of a hurry, are you?”
Grinning, Ry toes off his loafers, kicking off his pants and underwear before shucking his socks, as they join the rest of his clothing on the floor. “Kind of. It’s kind of an urgent matter, here.”
Climbing onto the bed, he braces himself above me, and I bite back a hiss at the feel of his naked body. Dipping his head, he brushes his lips against mine. “In fact, it’s pretty damn urgent.”
“Is it, now?” I whisper back, playfully. My thighs cradle him, wrapping my legs around him, my core radiating heat against where his cock is nestled against me.
“I didn’t tell you to stop playing with yourself.” He attempts a stern tone.
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Well, it makes it awfully hard when you’re in the way.”
“So what are you saying? I should move out of the way?”
“Maybe.” A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
Shifting abruptly, he slides down over me until his face is directly between my thighs. His hot breath washes against my core when he asks, “Maybe I should do this?” Leaning in, he presses an open-mouthed kiss to me, running his tongue along my opening.
“Maybe,” I breathe.
He devours me with his tongue and lips, and I slide my legs up, bending them, placing my feet flat against the mattress as I rock against his mouth. When he hums against me in approval, I feel myself flood his tongue with wetness. My fingers move to grip his hair, as I whisper-moan his name.
“Ry …” Another soft moan slips from my lips. “Don’t stop.”
Shoving his tongue deeper inside me, I rock against his mouth as his hand moves up to roll my clit between his fingers, causing my inner muscles to clench tightly.
“Ry, I’m—” I can’t finish as my body takes over, arching, my inner muscles spasm through my release. And he’s there, with every single pulse of my body, with every single clench of my inner muscles, lapping it up, urging me on with his tongue and fingers.
Once my muscles begin to relax, he presses a gentle kiss to my mound before moving back up my body to where I lie sated, eyes closed, chest still heaving.
With his lips near my ear, he whispers, “I’m not pleased with you, young lady.” My eyes fly open in alarm. “You didn’t moan my name loud enough for my liking.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“Really. You know what that means, right?”
“No, what?”
Shifting so that the tip of his cock presses against my entrance, he answers. “It means I’m not going to go so easy on you next time.” Pushing forward barely an inch, we both gasp at the touch. “I’m going to have to go hard on you.”
Rocking my hips, it causes him to sink another delicious inch deeper. “I think I can handle it.”
I don’t care that my breathless words belie my statement. All that matters right now is the fact that he’s inside me. My hands are gripping his ass, tugging him forward and causing him to slowly—so achingly slow—sink in deeper until he’s buried to the hilt.
Swallowing hard, I watch him, knowing that he’s attempting to restrain from thrusting like crazy. He blows out a long breath against my neck.
“You’d better not be trying to slow things down.” My husky words cause him to lift his head, regarding me curiously. “Because, if that’s the case, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
The grin that spreads across his face at my playful words is slightly boyish and just … so cute.
God, I love him.
“So what you’re saying is if I did something like this”—he slides nearly all the way out of me slowly, only to give one strong, quick, deep thrust back inside—“you wouldn’t like it?”
My neck arches, my head back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes closed. “I’m … not sure. You might need to do that again to check.”
And he does. Again and again. Throughout the entire night, we love one another, exploring and learning each other’s bodies. Until, finally, we’re so exhausted that we fall asleep, with his arms wrapped around me, my head on his shoulder and palm on his chest. Right over his heart.
Where I hope—pray—that it beats for me. Pray that it might somehow begin to love me the way that I love him.
* * *
“Sometimes, I feel like your kisses are the kind where I’ll end up like, ‘Holy shadoobie. I think I just got impregnated.’”
Ry stares at me in the bathroom mirror, rinsing his mouth after brushing his teeth while I twist up my messy morning hair in a clip.
Flashing me an amused look, he cocks one eyebrow. “You do know how babies are made, don’t you, Mags?”
“Why, yes, Ry, I do know how a baby is made. But you get my meaning. My ovaries practically cry out your name when you kiss me a certain way.”
“You mean between your legs?”
Playfully shoving his arm, I let out a huff of laughter. “You’re terrible.”
He tugs me closer. “You love it.”
I love you. “Mmm, maybe.” My expression is thoughtful as if I’m considering it.
“Bet if I made you some of my famous bagels, you’d feel better.”
Giving him a look, I say slowly, “You put bagels in the toaster and butter them.”
He gasps in mock dismay. “You dare to scoff at my bagels? Don’t you know I live in a—”
“Glass case of emotion?” I prompt.
Grinning, he gives me a perfunctory kiss on my lips and releases his hold on me, turning to exit the bathroom. “I’m kidding. I’m going to run down to Sweets N Treats and see Michelle about some croissants and good stuff. I’ll be back in a few.”
“And then what?” I ask curiously, following him out and down the hallway as he scoops up his keys, heading for the door.
His head whips around, his hand on the doorknob. “Then”—his eyes have that spark of something naughty in them—“we feast.” Just the way he says the word “feast,” I know he doesn’t just mean actual food.
He means me.
If I were wearing any panties beneath Ry’s large T-shirt he pulled over my head this morning, they’d be soaked.
Scratch that. Those suckers would be gone—up in flames, that is.
Chapter Fifty
Ry
“I’ll be right back.” Turning, I twist the door handle.
“Wait!” Maggie’s tone is urgent, and my head whips around
. When I see her start forward, rushing to me, I turn, catching her as she flings herself into my arms. Her palms frame my face before she presses a soft kiss to my lips.
“I know you’re only going to the bakery, and I’m being clingy, but,” she whispers against my lips, “I’m going to miss you.”
I’m not usually one who turns mushy at much of anything but this moment, right here with Maggie, gets me. She’s the only woman who can make me melt.
Hell, she’s the only woman who has ever made me melt.
Grinning down at her, I tease. “I think I like clingy Maggie.”
She blushes, ducking her head briefly. “Hurry back.” She dusts her lips against mine and when our lips part, her eyes have a different lightness to them. Like happiness with a touch of something else.
I’m so damn afraid to hope for that something else to be love.
“If that’s what happens every time I have to leave, you’d better believe I’ll do everything in my power to get back here in record time.” Releasing her slowly, I set her on her feet.
Once I leave and close the door behind me, I end up staring at the closed door far longer than I’d like to admit.
Because when I walk back through that door, I’ll be walking inside not just as Ry, her roommate, but as Ry, her lover.
Maybe even her boyfriend.
But first, I’ll have to come clean. Which is why I’m heading out to get the necessary items. To ensure that our talk goes as smoothly as possible.
* * *
“You having a breakfast get-together this morning, Ry?” Michelle asks as she places the pastries in the large box for me.
I might be going a bit overboard in getting so many, but I want it to be perfect. Last night was fucking perfection in itself, and I don’t want to do anything to break that trend.
“Nope.” There’s no way I can tamp down the dopey grin I know is spreading across my face. “Just me and Mags.”
“Ah.” That’s all she says. Her tone is knowing and not at all surprised, flashing me a kind smile. “I wondered when she’d realize what was right under her nose.”
Me, too, I think. Me, too.
Carefully holding the large box of baked goods, I exit the bakery. Stopping by the small florist’s shop, I choose a purple and white orchid—Maggie’s favorite flower—and wait for them to gently place it in packaging for me.
Then when I’m satisfied I have the necessary items to ensure this morning with Maggie will be perfect, I head along the sidewalk to make my way back home. Home to Maggie.
So lost in my thoughts, it takes a moment for me to realize my cell phone is vibrating in my back pocket with an incoming call. Pulling it out, I furrow my brows when I see the caller ID.
Cara. My ex.
We had ended things a while back—before she relocated to Boston upon receiving her promotion. While we’d been serious for a while, after some time, it became apparent things weren’t headed in the right direction, and we’d parted amicably.
“Hey, Cara.”
“Ry! Hey, I’m in town for a bit, doing some visiting, and have something of yours that got mixed up in my stuff somehow.” She laughs. “I’ve finally finished unpacking after all this time and found one of your hockey jerseys.”
I’d been wondering where that jersey had gone. “Cool. How long are you going to be in town? Maybe we can set up a—”
“I’m actually about to get to your floor. I ran into Jack at the coffee shop, and he told me—”
I don’t hear the rest of her words. I’ve already shoved the phone in my pocket, trying desperately to sprint while juggling the boxes in my grasp, dodging early morning risers and dog walkers along the sidewalk.
My stomach is in knots, throat tight, and I’m basically scared shitless. Because if Cara says anything to Maggie before I get the chance to talk to her—before I get a chance to come clean—I’m not sure Maggie’ll be able to forgive me.
Hell, I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive myself.
Chapter Fifty-One
Maggie
I’m pouring myself a mimosa because how else can one plan to try to convince a gay man—who, after all that’s happened, has to also be bisexual, too, right?—that he should be my boyfriend?
By plying him with alcohol, of course. Duh.
I know, I know. I’m terrible. But can you really blame me? Don’t even try to tell me you wouldn’t be doing this if you were in my position.
There’s a knock on the door. Startling me, it causes some champagne to spill over the rim of the glass, splashing onto my thumb. Setting down the bottle, I raise my other hand to suck off the champagne and walk toward the door.
Why would Ry be knocking? Is he being funny?
Hand on my hip, I lay on the sass, flinging open the door. “You get in for free as long as you’re putting out—”
Oops. Not Ry.
There’s a tall, blond woman standing there, staring back at me curiously. “Hi, I’m Cara.” She holds out her hand with a smile.
“Maggie.” I shake her hand wondering why she’s knocking on my door at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. And holy crap, I’m still dressed only in Ry’s shirt.
“I was looking for Ry, but our call got disconnected or something.”
Her words cause me to go still. She’s looking for Ry? My Ry?
“He should be back in a moment,” I say slowly.
Pulling something from her large handbag that looks like a man’s jersey, she hands it to me. “This is Ry’s.” With a little lilt of a laugh, she adds, “I told him I’d finally unpacked, and that somehow ended up with my things.”
Suddenly realizing how rude I’m being, I snap out of my daze. “Oh, come on in. Please.” She’s clearly a friend of Ry’s, especially if she has his jersey, right? Closing the door behind her, she follows me inside.
“I’m making some mimosas if you’d like one. Let me just throw on some shorts real quick. Help yourself.” I gesture toward the kitchen as I head back toward the hallway.
“Thanks, Maggie. I’d love one.”
Hurriedly, I tear into my room, tossing Ry’s shirt onto the bed. Luckily, I find a pair of decent shorts, deciding to add a sports bra to the mix to try to be a little more hospitable and less jiggly before pulling Ry’s shirt back on. Because God knows there’s not much worse than being greeted by another woman’s unencumbered breasts. Much less a woman you don’t really know.
Returning to find Cara with a mimosa in hand and glancing around the living room at all of the framed photographs adorning both the wall and end tables, I watch as she glances over at me. “How long have you and Ry been together?”
With a nervous laugh, I slide my hands into the front pockets of the soft material of my shorts. “We’re not really … together.”
Shrugging, I add, “I mean, he and Jack had been together for such a long time and then…” I trail off awkwardly, unsure of how to even begin to explain the situation. Then I realize Cara’s staring at me. In a way that sends prickles of unease through me.
Her eyebrows furrow in what appears to be confusion. “What do you mean he and Jack had been together?”
“I mean together-together.” My words are drawn out slowly.
After a beat of silence, she throws her head back in a laugh that’s … Heck, the only way to describe it is a full-on belly laugh. Cara’s laughing so hard, she actually has to wipe away tears from her eyes.
While I just stand there, watching it all happen, wondering what the hell this chick is smoking.
“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly between some more, less hearty laughs. “It’s just hilarious to hear that. I mean there’s no way Ry and Jack have ever been anything more than friends, let alone gay.” Another peal of laughter escapes, and I’m standing here wondering what she’s on. Because maybe she shouldn’t be drinking that mimosa, after all. Everyone knows you shouldn’t mix alcohol with pills …
“I mean I should know, right?” she continues while I
eye her mimosa glass, wondering if I should just be ballsy and rip it from her grasp. “I dated Ry for about eight months. I know that was two years ago but still …”
That’s the moment it happens. When everything stops.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Surely, I didn’t hear her correctly. Because there’s no way she dated Ry for eight months, let alone two years ago. Because that just doesn’t make sense.
Ry’s gay.
Isn’t he?
The room feels like it’s closing in, air thinning as my mind races. Memories flash through my mind—through all of the encounters I’ve had with Ry since meeting, since moving in together. The times when he ended up with my dates, the times when the guys ended up seeming to like him more.
Something’s not adding up.
“Ry’s not … gay?” I ask Cara cautiously, tentatively.
She must notice something in my expression because her features sober, eyes growing wide, her lips parting to answer me.
But before she can speak, another voice answers for her.
“No, I’m not.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ry
I’m out of breath from sprinting the remaining blocks to get back here, in hopes that I might be able to get here before anything happened—before any serious talking occurred.
When I hear Cara’s uninhibited laughter through the door, I get the worst feeling in the pit of my stomach. Shoving my key in the door, Maggie and Cara must not hear me enter over the sound of Cara’s laughter.
“Ry’s not … gay?” I hear the confusion in Maggie’s voice.
Before Cara can answer her, the words spill out of my mouth.
“No, I’m not.”
Startled, Maggie whips her head around; she’s staring at me with a combination of hurt and what is now coming to the forefront of her expression—anger.
Then another emotion joins in the mix. Betrayal.
