A girl with a French braid passed by. Her eyes widened and she tightened her grip on the books she carried.
“Sorry, Cynthia,” Ryleigh called before shooting him a scowl that only conjured a smirk on his lips. “God, you are so embarrassing.”
“But you love me anyway.” He winked. Peter unknotted his tie and secured it in a new knot on the doorknob. “This usually did the trick when I was in college.”
“Hate to break it to you, but things might have changed since then,” she teased while sliding her key card and entering the pin.
Ryleigh did not bother to turn on any kind of light as they entered the space, but there was enough moonlight flooding through the window to navigate the room. She wandered beneath the loft bed and removed her heels. Peter’s heart beat hard enough to have burst through his chest as the implications of the situation dawned on him. He had promised himself to gain back the weight before they became physical, yet there they were, alone in a darkened dorm.
Make something up. Anything. Get out of here.
But he was not the least bit swayed by the urgent voice in his head. Peter wanted to stay, regardless of whatever shame he might have faced when it came time to undress.
Still in her dinner dress, Ryleigh raised herself onto her desk. She swung her legs and displayed a grin that shone even across the poorly lit room. “Come here.”
A good eight feet separated them and blood already rushed to his groin. Distract yourself. You can’t blow this.
“Hold on.” Peter produced his cell and penned a quick text to his mother.
P: staying at Ryleigh’s.
“Are you texting your mom?”
Retiring the phone, he approached her and fought off the knots tugging at his stomach. Peter claimed the desk chair with a forged calm front. Any proximity to Ryleigh incited an extreme reaction, body entirely deprived of her most minute affections. “Yeah, I was. I realize that’s not incredibly attractive in a moment like this. She would’ve been worried if I didn’t text.”
“You two are sweet.” She smiled, shifting her feet so they were in his lap.
“Maybe we should avoid talking about my mother while your feet are placed so precariously.”
Peter shut his eyes as Ryleigh slowly slid a foot against the inside of his thigh. Biting her pillowy bottom lip, she asked, “What’s precarious about this?”
Swallowing hard, he gently pushed her foot aside and glanced away while he readjusted himself.
Ryleigh’s face fell. “Do you not like that?”
He took her hands in his. “It’s not that. I’m worried about…” he trailed off, prematurely embarrassed at the ensuing words, “lasting for you.”
“Peter,” she whispered, tilting her head to one side to look at him with sympathetic eyes. “It’s my first time. I have no expectations, and if it falls short of yours, it’s not like this is the only time we’ll have sex.”
“No, but it’s arguably the most important time.”
Ryleigh anchored her arms around his neck and pulled herself down from the desk and into his lap. Her lips found Peter’s ear, like that night on the bench when she had first electrified his soul. “Then give it your best shot, Rosenfeld.”
Their lips met, though no matter how they angled their heads or how much their mouths widened to permit the passage of tongue, they could not get close enough. Perhaps it was that they had come to a mutual understanding that this baseline connection was not enough, and neither one would be satisfied until they had explored every part and memorized each detail of the other.
Breaking away from their kiss, Ryleigh dipped her head back slightly as she rocked her hips atop him. He marveled at the milky column of her exposed neck before leaning forward to reacquaint himself with the sweet taste of her skin. Peter tried to focus on the warmth of her neck beneath his lips, the delightful flicker of her pulse on his tongue and the intoxicating scent of her perfume—but her slow, though repetitive, gyrations against what strained in his khakis made it impossible to concentrate.
He playfully bit and kissed a trail up to her ear, brushing her hair out of the way so his lips caressed her lobe as he spoke. “I love you and yes, for the record, that feels amazing, but, please, don’t do it tonight. You know it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone.” Kissing the bit of jaw just below her ear, Peter continued, “I don’t want to mess this up.”
“I’m just as worried about messing it up as you are,” Ryleigh mumbled. Panic set in when she started undoing the buttons on his shirt. He feared what she would make of his uncomely state. “I’m worried I won’t satisfy you.”
“That’s a ridiculous thing to worry about.”
She jammed a finger into his bare chest. “Don’t minimize my feelings.”
Peter shook his head. “Not at all. What I meant is, this,” he gestured between them, “is completely natural. People figure it out as they go along.” In spite of what lodged against his zipper, a sense of calm flooded him; because Ryleigh needed reassurance, and he was hell-bent on doing whatever was necessary to alleviate her sexual woes. He peeled her dress off with minimal struggle and tossed it behind them. “Don’t worry about me, alright? I want to make sure you have a good time.” His palms slid across the smooth planes of her thighs as he pressed a few kisses into her lips. “Are you nervous? Be honest.”
Ryleigh’s chin ducked down, but he could still see her sheepish smile. “A little, yeah.”
Heart hammering, he studied her in the moonlight. Lips swollen from their kisses. The adorable dip in her chin. Sapphire eyes rimmed with black liner. Peter began to question if love was too weak a word to describe how he felt toward the woman who sat before him.
She had possessed his body, mind, and soul.
“Get back on the desk,” he said, fingers ghosting along her spine.
“Why?”
“I want to help you relax. You trust me, right?”
Searching his eyes, all Ryleigh identified was desire, loyalty—and above everything else, love. Of course she trusted him. What kind of inane question was that?
Palms sweating, she hoisted herself onto the desk once again. Peter stood and pushed the chair to the side, and her fragile heart may as well have exploded when he dropped to his knees between her spread, and now quivering, legs.
His fingers traced the low hills of her breasts and along her curves, eyes immersed in a lustful haze as his focus flickered from her face to the rest of her body. Ryleigh was just as mesmerized by him, with his open dress shirt and his magnificent head of curls, which had recently been cropped closer to his angular face.
Peter dropped burning kisses down her stomach, lower and lower, until his mouth reached the dampened fabric of her underwear. Ryleigh’s chest tightened as the ascension of inner hysteria threatened to shatter her confidence.
“Can you take these off?” he asked sweetly while massaging her through the wet material.
Holy shit. It’s happening.
She forced a nod as she configured a way to shimmy her underwear off without dismounting the desk. A swirl of conflicting emotions overtook her, leaving in their wake a tinge of nausea and the seedlings of vertigo. Ryleigh was much too awestruck to politely tell him that she had no interest in losing her virginity on a university-issued desk. But rather than rising to unclasp his slacks, Peter remained on his knees, staring up at her with his head poised between her thighs.
He placed a delicate kiss on her glistening sex that sent a jolt of electricity shooting up her spine. “Is this okay with you?”
Ryleigh may as well have flatlined in the seconds it took for her to piece together what he had requested to do. Through her shivering, she managed a quiet, “Uh huh.”
Her back arched no sooner than his tongue grazed her. Something about the way he handled her, sweet and gentle in his exploration, made Ryleigh fall deeper in love with him. Even though he could be a complete jerk, she knew he was a caring guy underneath it all.
A feveris
h heat crept up her neck as she basked in the sensations Peter bestowed upon her: the rough scratch of his stubbled face, the heat of his breath and velvety texture of his tongue.
“Oh my God,” she sighed, gripping the edge of the desk. A familiar pressure built within her and, though she fought to suppress it, an intense moan radiated from the depths of her lungs.
Peter kissed her through a cocky grin. “Oh, what? Did you like that or something?”
“Like isn’t the right word.”
Leaping from the desk, Ryleigh unhooked her bra, discarding it on the floor. With one unsteady foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, she glanced his way and implored, “Meet me on top?”
“Sex in a loftbed should be outlawed.”
She laughed softly at his comment but her nerves regenerated while she settled in amid her comforter and waited for Peter to join. Heavy breaths fled from her nasal passages in mass exodus as she listened to the symphony of buckles and zippers that scored his undressing.
“You don’t have a condom, do you?”
Her brows pulled together. “I’m on the pill.”
“Yeah, I know that. It’s safer if we use both, though.”
“You’re right. It’s better if I don’t come into direct contact with your ghost of syphilis past.” Ryleigh peered over the railing to gloat at the comeback, but the sight of Peter in his boxer-briefs halted any thought of rejoicing.
While the material usually fit snugly around his waist and clung to his thighs, they were now loose in those areas, struggling to stay in place against his pronounced hip bones.
“Um,” she started, tearing her gaze from him before he noticed her staring. “Check the bottom desk drawer.”
The drawer rattled open followed by the crinkling of a paper bag.
“Sherman’s, huh?” he called.
Ryleigh slipped into a veil of nostalgia at the mention of the stapled brown bag. She remembered how anxious she had been purchasing the box back in Connecticut with the hope they would use them the weekend her parents went away.
Of course, it had not gone according to plan.
“Why do I feel like we’re going to end up on an episode of Sex Sent Me to the E.R. for this?” Peter released a low laugh that made her hair stand on end, materializing at the height of the ladder and climbing onto the pitiful twin size mattress alongside her. His tongue parted Ryleigh’s lips, administering a slow but devastatingly passionate kiss that left her head spinning. “Lie on your side.”
Stomach flip-flopping at his innocent direction, she shifted and Peter wrapped an arm around her middle, bringing them skin to skin.
She jumped slightly when his chilled palm made contact with the backside of her thigh. “Lift your leg a little.”
Any fear Ryleigh possessed over her lack of experience or the pain that may have accompanied the act faded away as he sidled up to her further and buried his face in her neck.
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
She had never been more sure of anything in her life.
“Yes.”
Ryleigh closed her eyes and siphoned a lengthy breath to prepare for whatever discomfort lay ahead. But as Peter submerged himself in her depth, pain became irrelevant. A firework display erupted behind her lids, a mural of brilliant colors bursting in unison.
It was far too sublime of an act to be marred by worry and infinitesimal agony, and so she chose to focus on its beauty: the thrilling way their bodies sealed together, his arm keeping her anchored to him in silent possession, his quiet sighs of pleasure against her fevered skin. It was almost perfect.
Almost.
“Peter, I…” Ryleigh started, confused by her own hesitation. Her ears were impossibly hot in the face of the forthcoming request. “I want—I want to see your face.”
He turned onto his back and she took the hint from the positioning and climbed on top of him, using a shaking hand to help them reconnect. Ryleigh had to stay low to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling, but their closeness did not completely obscure her up-close view of his unrecognizable torso.
Tears rushed to her eyes as he moved within her and she traced the bottom of his ribcage and depressed stomach. Those tears fell with urgency, splattering on Peter’s chest in the darkness.
“I know,” he said in a strained whisper, giving a fractional nod. The acknowledgement pierced her heart like a dagger. “Just kiss me, Ry. Please.”
Nothing had ever gouged her ventricles quite like that desperate ‘please.’ It was a plea to—temporarily—forget what she had seen in favor of riding out their moment of transcendence.
Ryleigh covered his mouth, wild kisses searching for a way to get lost in his love and lessen the hurt that had crept under her skin and flowed freely through her veins as if it were her own.
Peter released a low moan, body convulsing below hers. Hearing his ecstasy and feeling the caress of his breath on her lips made her thighs clench in a mix of pleasure and triumph. Ryleigh collapsed onto his chest and let the reservoir of tears continue as he snaked a hand in her waves and whispered sentiments that were too sweet to have arisen from such a bitter soul. She was too consumed by the loss of mass beneath her to have heard the uncharacteristic remarks.
While she had convinced herself Peter did not need help, that he would be able to spring back from this on his own, she was doubtful as she clung to his decimated body.
And for the first time, Ryleigh fretted over losing Peter, not as a result of their ages, but because of his submissiveness to his illness, and his seeming indifference toward letting it control—and eventually claim—his life.
Peter awoke to the familiar warmth of Ryleigh nestled into his side. He relished the occasions on which he would be the first to rise, whereupon he watched her serene, sleeping form and played with her hair, wondering how in the world he had landed amid such splendor.
Something was different this morning, and he was unsure if it should have been attributed to their lovemaking or that Ryleigh had uncovered the physical damage inflicted by his depression. Either way, Peter felt closer to her, like a fraction of their souls had been forever embedded in the other.
He shifted toward Ryleigh and planted a kiss on her forehead. Lids fluttering, a slow smile spread on her face and those blue eyes were on him within seconds.
“Good morning,” Peter mumbled, catching her by the waist.
Before she had a chance to respond, a loud crunching sounded in the background. They looked at each other with furrowed brows. He propped up on an elbow, spotting a girl, who he assumed to be Min-ji, eating a bowl of cereal in pajamas. She shoveled large spoonfuls into her mouth, staring directly at Peter with an earbud in one ear.
“Is your roommate always this intense?” he whispered to Ryleigh, whose face blanched as she wrapped the comforter around her unclothed frame.
He returned his attention to Min-ji. Her eyes sparkled with a level of awakeness that Peter could not have hoped to mimic until he had downed at least two cups of coffee.
Gesturing to her laptop, she said, “You two were so adorable up there I had to pause Big Brother. And yes, I know that’s kind of creepy, but if you guys are going to romp around in my dorm, I reserve the right to ogle your post-sex morning bliss.”
Ryleigh turned to address her roommate, still clutching the blanket to her bare chest. “How do you know we had sex? Maybe he just spent the night.”
“One,” she started, wiping her mouth with the backside of her hand, “there’s a tie on the outside of the door.”
“Told you,” Peter said.
“Two, both of your clothes are all over the room, and three,” Min-ji wrinkled her nose, “there’s a used condom in the trash can. So thanks for giving me an excuse to run the diffuser this early.”
He saw her mouth something to Ryleigh that appeared to have been, ‘he’s cute,’ and he found that funny. However, the humor dissolved when Peter realized they were both naked with no way of retrieving their clothes while Min-ji was in
the room.
Rubbing the back of her neck, Ryleigh asked, “Could you give us a minute to get dressed?”
Min-ji was out of the bed in an instant. “Yeah, of course. I’ll go down to the lounge. Text me when you guys leave.” Lingering in the open doorway, she added, “That trash better be empty when I come back.”
Ryleigh felt like she was floating as they entered Peter’s apartment, where his parents had spent the night. Though she had been heartbroken over his physique, she did not give that sorrow permission to dull her shine in the wake of finally having slept with him. She was thankful he did not let go of her hand, for she may have drifted away on a cloud of ecstasy and vanished into the ether.
But he dropped her hand like a criminal might a bag of drugs when they came across Janet, standing in the kitchen with a hand on her hip. A digital scale lay beside her slippered feet.
Peter raked a hand repeatedly through his curls. “Not this bullshit again.”
“If you love me and you love your girlfriend, you’ll get on this scale,” Janet insisted, fidgeting with the sleeves of her robe, “because I’ll be damned if the next time I see you is in a body bag.”
An iciness coiled itself around Ryleigh’s spine at the fear laced in his mother’s tone, at her bloodshot eyes and grave expression. She connected with the intensity of that pain, and the underlying desire to see Peter well; but perhaps this was an inappropriate way to kickstart that process, humiliating him with whatever horrific number would materialize on the digital display.
She jumped as the FaceTime ringtone went off in her back pocket, and, certain it was her mother, excused herself to the corridor.
Ryleigh pulled in a deep breath, ousting any lingering thoughts of the intervention scene in the apartment. Against her better judgment, she sank to the floor and accepted the call, instantly wishing she had not when Janet and Peter’s muffled shouting resounded outside the unit.
“Hey mom.” From the scrunching of Charlotte’s forehead, it was clear she had already deduced her daughter was away from the dorm. And what of it? It was the weekend, for crying out loud. Ryleigh feigned nonchalance. “What’s up?”
Having Rosenfeld (Rosenfeld Duet Book 2) Page 7
