by SM West
***
THE DIM LIGHTING, DARK, WIDE-planked wood floors and the exposed brick walls make it feel rustic but cozy. Along the back wall is a beautiful, deep dark wooden bar with brass rails and leather bar stools lined around it. Lenny Kravitz’s American Woman thrums in the air.
With about a third of the eighty tables occupied and about a dozen people around the bar, the place is buzzing. In the backroom, a bunch of guys are playing darts and a couple is at the pool table.
Saddling up to the bar, I study the liquor lining the mirrored shelves along the wall. The Waters is just like I imagined, and more.
Named after Thomas Moore’s The Meeting of the Waters, his dad wanted a place like the poem that evoked love and friendship. Now that I’m here, I feel it. The familial vibe, devotion and camaraderie are alive within these walls.
“What’ll it be?” A young, dark haired woman asks from behind the bar. She’s striking with her unusual yet piercing blue-green eyes.
“Vodka Martini, straight up with olives.” She nods and turns away.
Sitting at the bar, I peruse the room and patrons, not really sure what I’m looking for. It’s not like I expect to see Ry, or maybe I do? Soon after, I move to a table and order a burger. It’s delivered by a very attractive, older woman. It then hits me. She’s who I was looking for.
“Here you go, darling. Do you need anything else? Can I get you another Martini?” She asks.
“No, thanks. Just a glass of water, please.” I hadn’t thought about what I’d say, now that I’ve seen her, I won’t let the opportunity pass me by.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she says, setting the glass down.
“Thanks. Are you Siobhan Wolfe?”
“Yes, and you are?”
Wiping my mouth on the napkin, I hold out my hand, “I’m Tate Conrad, a friend of Ry’s.”
Her eyebrows arch as she takes my hand, her smile widens. She gestures for the vacant chair across from me and with my nod, she sits.
“Nice to meet you, Tate. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Ry. I was hoping you could help me.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I don’t know where my son is and even if I did, I wouldn’t say. Ry’s whereabouts are his business.” Her smile is smaller and genuine. I can see where Ry gets his directness from.
“I figured as much. It’s just, he came to California to see me and then got called back for work.” I realize I could be divulging more of Ry’s business than he normally would. Something akin to recognition flashes in her blue eyes. “I just wanted to know he was okay.”
“Ry’s working,” she says, patting my hand. “Never know for how long or when he’ll show up. If you’ve contacted him, he’ll reach out when he can.” It’s obvious this is old hat for her. I nod. “So, how’d you meet my son?”
Now it’s my turn to evade. Shrugging, I say, “On the job. He helped me out. I really shouldn’t say any more than that.”
Siobhan nods, patting my hand again before excusing herself. I don’t have any reason to stay, I also have nowhere to be. In another lifetime, the thought may have saddened me, but now, I’m content. There’s no burgeoning hollowness in my chest or the immense sense of being trapped. This is my city and I’m taking it back.
Laughter from the bar draws my attention. Turning, Ry’s kissing the dark-haired bartender on the cheek. She’s in his arms. And then he kisses his mother. Seeing the three of them so close together, the resemblance hits me. The bartender’s his sister. God, I hope she is.
My heart squeezes and stomach flutters at watching him with his family. Damn, he’s beautiful. I can’t believe I walked away from that. His mother says something to him and all three look my way. Our eyes lock. Striding to the table, his face is indiscernible, not what I expected or hoped for.
“Tate, you shouldn’t be here,” he gruffly says.
“Hello to you too,” I reply defensively. “I came as soon as I could.”
“I’m working. I shouldn’t be here, but I had a few hours.”
“Oh. Can we talk?”
“Let’s go.” Taking my hand, he waves to his family.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” his sister calls over the din of the bar and Bono’s distinctive voice belting out With or Without You. Ry shoots her a glare.
We walk in silence. Our hands entwined. His closeness warms and comforts me. I’m not nervous nor is our silence awkward. The air around us is wrought with sexual tension, craving. Or maybe it’s just me?
It sounds wildly foolish, and perhaps foolishly romantic, but his nearness further annihilates my demons and galvanizes my desire to be with him.
We enter an old refurbished building in the Meatpacking district, only a few blocks from the bar. On the sixth floor, the top of the building, we enter one of four doors.
The apartment is lovely with steel-beamed ceilings, easily fifteen feet, with ebony hardwood floors and industrial track lighting. The kitchen décor is clean and sleek with Carrara marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. The space is highly functional but impersonal.
The living room’s the same. One wall is exposed brick and another is entirely glass, with a great view of the Hudson. Dark brown leather furniture fills the room. It’s pristine, hardly lived in. There’s a hallway off to the side that leads to three rooms and ends with what looks like a den.
Without permission, I head in that direction. The walls are painter’s white and glaringly bare. The den is a man cave complete with a humongous flat screen TV mounted on another exposed brick wall. The entire ceiling is a glass skylight, and there’s a door leading to a private patio. I love it.
“Is this another safe house?” I ask.
Shaking his head, he leans against the wall by the hallway, “Nope, this is my place.”
“It’s wonderful although it doesn’t look like anyone lives here. I guess you’re not here a lot with work?”
“Yeah, not as much as I’d like to be.”
“You’re so close to the bar and to my gallery,” I state the obvious. He nods again.
He’s standing as far away from me as is possible in the room. I’m not sure what the problem is. I’m definitely sensing there is one. Even with this vibe, I throw caution to the wind, lunging myself at him. I want him. Now.
Jumping into his arms, I wrap my legs and arms around him like a koala bear hugging a tree. His strong hands cup my ass, holding me steady and flush against him. Immediately, everything is right with the world. I’m right where I should be.
“Whoa, easy,” he laughs, barely holding me for a second before he puts me down.
I reluctantly plant my feet on the floor and remove my grasp. Sensing his aloofness, I take a small step back. Indecision seems to flick through his eyes, quickly replaced with longing. His hands grasp my hips, anchoring me to him. Much better.
He takes one hard look at me and his hands fall from my waist. Instantly, the loss hits, my stomach lurches. He steps back.
Hugging my middle, I too put distance between us, stepping back toward the patio door. It’s my move, that’s what he said.
I’m in too deep. I’m wading out into deep waters and his rebuff is like being without a lifejacket. It’s my move, internally repeating it several times before acting.
“Ry, I’m here to talk.” He nods, encouraging me to continue. “I want you. First off, I was never on any dates.” I’d asked Coop about this and he confessed. It was his poor attempt at matchmaking. “There’s only ever been you. Simply put, I want you. I love you,” I declare.
I’m not wasting time. So many emotions flit across his face, shock, happiness, wariness?
“Go on,” he says. Ouch. I’d had hopes for his reaction, that wasn’t one of them. He cares. I know he does. I walked away from him, I remind myself. He needs to know, hear, where my head and heart are at. Shaking the negative thoughts out of my head, I go on.
“I’ve done a lot of soul-searching. I’ve had the
rapy to figure out who I am now, what I want and to finally put everything that happened where it belongs, in the past. Patrick helped.”
“I’m sure he did,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing, go on.”
“Coop helped too. I didn’t see it at the time, why I chose LA, but I soon realized they were my connection to you. It was my way of staying connected to you even when we were apart. I never stopped thinking about you.”
His eyes are drilling into me; his heated stare burns me up.
“As for trusting you, I always did. My struggle was with my father’s betrayal. My greatest protector let me down, in fact, did the opposite. I quickly learned to count on only myself and to keep those I loved at a distance for fear of them getting hurt, or worse. I was emotionally locked down. Numb. And then there was you.
“Being with you unlocked my heart. Suddenly, all I did was feel. It terrified me. I found myself, again, with something to lose. Someone to lose. I wasn’t prepared for that and that’s why I never fully let you in. It was never about not trusting you. It was about the fear of losing you. I love you…if I lost you…it’d be my undoing. I surprisingly survived Griffin’s death. Ry, what I feel for you…I’ve…never…felt this before. I’d never come back if I lost you.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” he reassures, closing the gap and wrapping me in his arms.
Resting his forehead on mine, our eyes connect. Being in his arms is pure bliss. He mends my broken soul, filling and strengthening me with his love. His warm, firm lips brush mine. Then he abruptly steps back. Again. This time, the physical loss is a punch to the gut.
“Why do you keeping doing that?” I shriek in frustration.
“What?” he asks puzzled.
“Rejecting me.”
His eyebrows cock, his mouth gapes, “Reject you? Are you crazy? I’m not rejecting you, I want you,” he declares.
“Then why do you keep taking any chance you get to let me go?” I whine.
His lips form a silly grin. Nabbing the belt loop of my jeans, he pulls me to him, our chests bumping. He then lowers his head, looking directly at me.
“I’m trying to control myself,” he growls. “I want you so fucking badly. I can barely keep it together. I want nothing more than to rip off your jeans, fuck your dripping pussy with my tongue. And then slide in so hard and so deep, you don’t fucking know where you end and I begin. And yes, without even touching you, I know your pussy’s soaked. You’re ready for me.”
Sucking in a ragged breath, my fingers dig into his muscular biceps, clinging to him. My knees are weak. The risk of them buckling are imminent at the thought of his tongue, hands and cock.
“I can’t. I have to get back,” he groans.
“How long have we got?”
“I’ve got to leave in half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”
“That’s plenty of time,” I say cockily, going for his belt buckle. Ry’s hand wraps around mine, stilling my moves.
“It’s not enough,” his voice is thick and heavy. “I want to spend days with you in my bed.”
“I want that too. But I can’t wait days, I want you now. Ry, I need you,” I say, breathless.
My tongue flicks his top lip. Tasting him is like pulling the trigger on a gun. My loaded desire vehemently spirals through me. There’s no chance of misfire. Nothing will stop me now.
My teeth latch onto his bottom lip, nipping and nibbling. Diving into his mouth, clawing at his body, I show him just how much I want him. Moaning into his mouth, he responds with a low guttural sound.
“Tate. You’re making this hard.”
“I should hope so,” I coyly respond, slipping my hand into the front of his jeans and wrapping my fingers tightly around his long, hard length.
His lips are on mine. Our mouths a battlefield of teeth, tongues and lips, for who can take more, devour more, own more of the other. Ry surrenders his mouth, I’ve won. Yet, victory’s fleeting. His lips are punishing as his tongue probes and thrusts hard and fast like I hunger for his cock to do to my body.
He walks me backward into a bedroom, all the while shedding my clothes. In seconds, we’re both naked on the bed. With his arm around my waist, I’m lifted onto all fours.
He presses soft, wet kisses between my shoulder blades, the nape of my neck, behind my ear, while swiping his long fingers through my folds. Once, twice, three times, building and intensifying my pleasure.
As the pad of his finger rubs my clit, his other hand firmly envelopes my long hair, tugging with a jolt to my core. With the column of my neck exposed, his lips taste and suck. His tongue mirroring his finger. My climax is a tidal wave, growing, cresting and demolishing as I scream out his name.
My intense soul-shattering red ocean of love for him crashes over me. I embrace, ride the wave of our love, the kind that obscures all comprehension and control.
I’m still coming, my core spasms as he continues to drive his cock hard and deep into me. The walls of my sex clench, taking every hard inch of him on each relenting thrust.
“Harder,” I breathlessly pant.
Pulling my hair harder, to the edge of pain, he forces me to my knees. My back’s flush with his chest, his thumb swipes across my nipple and then pinches and tugs.
A long, throaty groan escapes my lips. He pounds relentlessly into me and before I know it, I’m climaxing again. This time, he comes with me. As my body tightens, my hands wrap behind him, digging my fingers into his firm ass. His taut body stills and we tumble over the edge, together.
Collapsing onto the bed, I fall face first onto my stomach. Ry falls gently onto my back, half on, half off. The heat and weight of his slick body is comforting.
We’re spent. His lips lightly and teasingly trail a path along my back, with soft, small kisses every few seconds. With the warmth of his breath across my back, goosebumps erupt all over me, causing me to shiver. He chuckles, the curve of his lips, into a smile, is evident on my skin.
“I could go again,” he says. “It’s been way too long. This wasn’t enough. I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of you.”
Utterly and completed languid, my body’s deliciously broken. Like him, I want him again. Need him. A wistful sigh passes my lips at the thought of him leaving.
“Where are you staying?” he asks, lifting off me and the bed.
“Four Seasons.”
I turn and sit up to watch him. He nabs his jeans, pulling them on in one effortless move. His red t-shirt is up and over his hard, defined chest.
“Stay here. I like knowing you’re in my bed and that I’ve you to come home to.”
What’s a girl supposed to say to that? Nodding, our lips turn up into matching satiated grins. Opening a drawer, he pulls out a black Pearl Jam concert shirt and walks to the bed. Leaning down, his lips softly skim mine. He slips the t-shirt over my head and arms, his hand resting on the nape of my neck as his lips graze mine, again. And then he’s gone, turning at the doorway to look at me.
“I’ll see you in a few days. If you need anything go to the bar.” He winks with a sexy grin.
“See you.”
Sitting crossed legged on the soft, chocolate brown comforter, I glance around what looks like his bedroom. All the furniture in the room is the same Cherrywood. In addition to the king size bed, there’s a matching dresser, tallboy, and two side tables. Nothing else.
Unexpectedly, Ry peeks his head around the doorway. Jumping off the bed, we meet halfway. His hands land low on my hips, drawing me against him. His arousal pushes into my belly. Warmth blossoms in my chest knowing that I do that to him.
“And Tate,” his forehead presses against mine, our lips practically touching. “I love you to distraction.”
His kiss is deep, breath-stealing and euphoric, expressing his love and devotion for me. My arms latch onto his shoulders, holding him tight. I need more. Reading my need, he delivers, kissing me hard, deep and searing.
“Me too,”
I whisper with a sigh.
I watch the fluid movement of his board, defined back and sexy ass as he leaves. Touching my fingers to my swollen lips, I can’t help but smile. I’ve never felt so happy before, so full and hopeful.
***
TRUE TO HIS WORD, HE’S back in three days. My things are at his place. I spent the past couple of days getting to know his mother and sister. Knowing this is what Ry wants is an eye opener and a major turn on. He’s only ever shown me he wants me in his life and his heart.We make up for lost time upon his return. Reacquainting ourselves with each other, his apartment and its many surfaces. I intimately know the counters, tables, walls, floors and showers. I can’t get enough of him and love every minute of it. My love for him is as vital as breathing, an effortless and fiercely untamable love.
I CHECK THE DOOR, IT’S open. Fuck. Lately, Tate leaves the door unlocked. I’ve told her countless times to lock the fucking door. It doesn’t matter that she’s no longer part of her parents’ world, she’s in New York, her mother’s here and Bobby’s men. Bad shit happens every day, everywhere. I could say more to make her understand the potentially grave consequences of an innocent unlocked door, yet I don’t want to scare her.
Yet some days, the need to tell her is strong. I don’t like withholding information. But she’s a civilian, I can’t tell her. Most importantly, she’s moved on, severed ties with her mother and that life. I don’t want her sucked back into that shit. I’m not involved either. I make sure to know where things are at and what’s going on by talking to my buddies on the case.
Walking through our place, she’s not in the kitchen or living room. Moving down the hall, the shower’s on, the dining table is set for nine. The fucking dining room.
Tate moved in four months ago and I love having her here, but not losing my TV room. We fought for days. She insisted we needed a dining room. I insisted we didn’t. Needless to say, I’m pussy whipped. Anything she wants, I can’t deny her. So, we have a fucking dining room.
I change and head back to the kitchen to get dinner started. We’re having everyone, Julia, Max, Coop, Leanne, Tripp, Carys and Ma, over for dinner. Max is in town, staying with us, and Coop and Tripp are finally back in the city. Over the past few months, Ma and Tate have become thick as thieves. Some might think it should worry me. It doesn’t. Ma doting on her, being the mother she never had, fills me with so much pride for my mother and devotion for the woman I love.
