by Sharon Page
Jonathon’s voice is soft. “He’s worried about you.”
I want to say, I’m worried about him. But I can’t on the phone in front of Ryan. “I’ll call you in a few days. I’m going to visit with Ryan.” I’m going to make love to Ryan. And talk sense into him.
I hang up. At Ryan’s questioning look, I say, “Just a friend. I’ll call the inn. In just a few more minutes…we can be in bed.” Argh. It’s going to be longer than just a few minutes. I have to get stuff together. Then we have to get there—
“Do you want to make love right now?” I ask. “It would be a quickie, but I think I’m going to explode if I have to wait any longer.”
Next thing I know, Ryan is on his knees in front of me. I’m on the tiny rolling office chair in front of my desk. He pulls me to him and the wheels take me there. He spreads my legs, looking up at me with his sapphire blue eyes.
It’s been three months almost, since I’ve been so close to him. All my breath goes out of my chest. He bends and pushes up my hoodie and shirt. He kisses my tummy just below my navel and above the waistband of my jeans. His lips are firm but velvet soft. I reach down and stroke his face, but he nudges my hand away.
So he can reach the fly of my jeans. He opens them, lifts me with one of his large hands splayed under my ass. He tries to pull my jeans down. I help him so we can get there faster. I push my jeans into a puddle at my ankles, then do the same with my panties, baring my pussy and the red-blond curls to him.
He kisses my abdomen and I moan and wriggle on the chair, so aware of how close his mouth is to my aching clit. I don’t want to slam my parts against his mouth but I’m arching up subtly. Hurting with need.
His tongue runs down my skin, skims over my curls, and flicks over my clit.
Oh God. God. God.
In my socks, my toes curl. My fingers gouge into the arms of the chair. I want to grind against him until I explode, but I can’t do that. I have to hold on. And they say guys are uncontrollably horny. I want to sob and scream and cry, I want him so badly.
I stroke his head as his tongue strokes my clit. I want to touch him, connect with him. He strums him tongue—way too intense! I almost climb up the back of the chair. I love getting my clit stroked, it always makes me come, but his tongue is too strong, and the sensations are too powerful. I don’t want to complain though. So I’m on the chair, stiff and tense. I want to relax against his mouth, but it’s too much for me.
His lips touch my clit, softly suckling. I scream. I can’t help it and put my hand over my mouth. The walls aren’t that soundproof.
His tongue goes out again and licks around the entrance to my pussy. I’m getting wet, very wet. I reach down and tug on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, trying to pull him up on top of me. This is so intense I need him to move on.
He moves over me, his body long and lean and strong. This time I go for his fly, fumbling with it. Together we manage to get the button undone and the zipper down. I reach into his briefs, my hands bumping his warm, rigid shaft. I wrap my fingers around his cock, my hand brushed by cotton, and I stroke him. Up to the head, just under the rounded crown, then down to the hilt, where my hand brushes his blond curls.
He pulls his jeans down, then his underwear, baring his lean hips, the flat plane of his stomach, and his cock.
“Stand over me and let me suck you first,” I say. Blushing again.
I take him into my mouth. He tastes so warm and good. I can’t believe this is real—that I’m with him, that I can have two days of decadent sex with him.
His cock can take a lot more pressure than my clit can. I suck him hard, until my jaws are almost aching. I play with his balls gently too. Even daringly rub his perineum—the bridge between his balls and his ass—then let my finger trail to the hot valley between his tight butt cheeks.
He jolts with surprise when I let my index finger graze his anus while my other fingers stroke his balls, feeling the seam, the way they’re wrinkled, and the way the testicles inside run away from my fingers.
I back him out of my mouth, gaze up at him. I want to say fuck me, but I lose courage and whisper, “I want to make love with you.”
He lowers his body, anchoring us with a foot on the floor and a hand on the desk, so we don’t roll away. Then he groans. “A condom. I need one.”
“Do you have one?” I look down to his jeans.
“No,” he says.
No? He came to see me without bringing one? The thing is: I have some. “We have some in Lara’s bedside table.” Again with the blushing. “Yardley gives them out to everyone, and she got some. Cause she was dating a guy. That’s why we have them.”
It’s the absolute truth, but I fear I’m acting like I’ve been caught doing something bad. The college freely hands out condoms to anyone at the beginning of the year—males and females.
Ryan tears the package, and rolls it on, cursing as he tries to adjust it over his long cock to leave the little reservoir. That always confused me—I thought they were supposed to fight tight, as if a guy had saran-wrapped himself.
I look up at him. Sapphire eyes. Sexy mouth. High cheekbones. The tenderness and lust in his eyes, something I’ve never really seen on a guy’s face before. Usually they were all about victory and lust.
Ryan leans down and kisses me, and gently lowers his cock into me.
It’s at that point, when I put my hands on his shoulder, I realize he’s still wearing his soaked sweatshirt. “Ryan, you’re wearing wet clothes. You’re going to catch a cold. I’m so worried about you—”
He gives a raspy chuckle. “It’s okay, Mia, I don’t care. I can’t stop now.”
I arch up my hips and take him inside. He lowers until his groin bumps me. He’s deeply in me and I close my eyes in bliss and joy and because I just might cry.
I’ve never had sex this special. Not ever. There’s something about it. It’s filled with love and that makes it feel almost magical. Every little bit of it is spectacular.
He starts thrusting into me, thrusts that scream of power. He has such control. He goes slow, then faster, then shifts his hips to play with me with his cock. This is really screwing, I guess, since he teases me in places that make me gasp. And moan. Or make my eyes go wide.
I moan intensely for him. After three months, I want to rock his world again.
I lift my leg and hook it around his hips. Lavishly lick his neck and his jaw while he’s fucking me. I want to come with him, really come. If I were to touch myself while he thrusts in me, it could happen.
Do I dare? I can’t really get my hand between us. How do I explain I want to play with my clit because I really want to have an orgasm, and I just can’t any other way? He thinks I can, since I faked it on the dock.
“I’m going to come,” he whispers. Sounding troubled. Like he’s doing something wrong. I know he’s worried because I haven’t come yet.
It’s so sweetly Ryan. “Do it harder,” I gasp at him.
God, he does. He really pounds in me. Okay, this is fantastic. Some thrusts rub along my clit and those screams are for real. I try to lift to him, but he’s moving too hard and too fast. I let myself be completely taken by it. I’m getting so close. I cry out his name, claw at his shoulders through his sweatshirt. I love getting pounded like this, by him. I wrap myself around him, nipping his earlobe, and moaning—
He bucks against me. Hard. He cries out my name against my ear and lets out hot, wild moans like he’s being flayed. The chair rolls back and smacks against the wall, and his hips still rock against mine. His neck is damp with sweat and I suckle there, tasting salt, while he comes into me.
I love having him like this, out of control. I close my eyes. I gave him pleasure and my heart is aching with delight. I’m still horny but this—this is so sweet and good.
And after, when his hips stop moving, he kisses me long and lovingly. He cups my face and kisses me like every inch of me is a treat for him.
Then he goes soft inside me and he mutters, �
��Damn.” Holding the condom to his shaft, he pulls out of me. I keep my arms hooked around his neck so he can’t escape and kiss him again. “I’ll get my stuff packed quickly.”
He uses the bathroom, then when he’s done, I go in. My clit is tingling inside my jeans and panties. Every scrape of the seam is driving me crazy. I grab my makeup back and throw stuff in.
Then I stop, haul down my pants and fiercely rub my aching clit, thinking about how good Ryan felt inside me, and how warm he is, and how good he smells and how much I want to run my tongue all over him. Even naughty places like his butt, which is something I’ve heard about but definitely never done.
With Ryan, I want to do everything—
Oh! I bite my lip and make tiny mewling sounds and my body explodes under my fingers. Pleasure forks through me like a lightning bolt, and I sink to me knees on the matt.
I couldn’t have survived any longer without that. Somehow, I have to figure out how to make it happen with the man I love.
Chapter Twelve
As soon as we reach the Louis Mansion, we check in and go to our room. Since Ryan is cold and still wet, I make him take a hot shower. I let him do it by himself, as much as I’d love to join him. He needs dinner as soon as he can get it.
Ryan has brought along one of his leather motorcycle bags. I unpack it, putting his extra socks, jeans and briefs in a drawer. There’s something sensual and intimate about doing it. I hang up his heavy leather motorcycle jacket and pants on hooks by the door, hang up his extra shirt in the old-fashioned wardrobe, then I add my clothes.
The room takes my breath away. We have a small fireplace with a white marble mantelpiece. A fire burns cheerily. A small loveseat faces the fire, and there is an old-fashioned Queen Anne style chair. The floor is maple, covered with oriental-patterned rugs.
And we have the most enormous, fanciful bed. Four posts of elaborately carved white-painted maple hold a bed canopy of ivory silk. The quilt is white and looks as puffy and soft as a cloud.
I hear the shower shut off. Ryan steps out of the bathroom and warm steam billows out with him. A white towel is wrapped around his hips, and he’s using another to dry his hair. He’s so ripped and lean, it’s stunning. He was in amazing shape before he left for college, with a body that made me drool. Now, he’s even bigger with bulkier muscles. He barely had any fat before, but it seems to have totally disappeared now.
“Wow.”
He jerks his head up. “What is it?”
“You must have been working out a lot.”
“It’s the physical training. I’ve bulked up more than I thought.” He shrugs.
We have a huge bed. Should we talk first, though? Or go right to bed? No, wait. He said he drove straight today. “Ryan, have you had anything to eat today?”
“I grabbed a burger at about two this afternoon.”
I suddenly wonder if he only had one burger because he couldn’t afford to buy anything more. Coming to see me is an expense he probably can’t bear. And he only did it because I was in trouble, and I refused to be honest and tell him about it.
For his sake, but really, did I help him in any way?
“The restaurant downstairs is supposed to be amazingly good,” I say. “I had food at the residence cafeteria.” I make a face. “It was okay, but I could eat more and you should have dinner.”
A shadow crosses his face. Then he says, “I’d love to. But do I look too scruffy for a place like this?”
“You look so sexy I could throw you on the bed and do wicked things to you all night. But you’d starve, so I better not.”
He grins. “You’re sure I don’t look too rough?”
“You really don’t.” And I mean it. He’s so gorgeous he can get away with wearing anything.
He gets dressed then rubs his hair again with the towel. That’s all it takes to dry it. He holds out his arm and smiles at me, showing dimples. He’s offering his arm so I can slide my hand into the crook of it.
I smile at him, slip my hand there, where I can rest my fingers on his taut, bulging biceps.
This is heaven. And it’s going to be soooo hard to say goodbye and let him go.
***
For dinner, we go to the tavern in the hotel, which is less formal. It’s also quiet, since early November is off season—it’s after the beautiful colored leaves and before skiing and Christmas. There’s a fire blazing in the fireplace, and we get a cozy booth right beside it. I dressed up a little—in a short skirt, a sweater which looks as soft as cashmere, heels and black stockings. Wickedly, I let my right shoe drop off and play footsie with Ryan. Even wriggle my toes between his thighs and gently stroke his package, making his eyes go wide with surprise. At first I think I’ve shocked him too much—and worry. But he catches my foot when I go to move it, and strokes my toes playfully.
I let my foot play with his calf through his jeans. He can’t feel it because he’s wearing his motorcycle boots that go up to his calves. I like feeling the hard leather under my toes.
I want to get him naked. Want him naked. Now. Now. Now.
But that would be selfish. It’s so hard not to leap off my booth seat and jump on top of him. Everything about him excites me. The line of his jaw. The way his lips curve when he’s going to smile. The curl of his lashes, so obvious when he’s looking down at the menu. Every little gesture he makes steals my breath.
I study the menu and feel Ryan’s gaze on me. I look up and see he’s studying me. I guess he likes to look at me as much as I love staring at him. That makes my heart pound.
We have soft drinks and share steak and shrimp fajitas, which I love. Since I’ve had dinner that leaves a lot of food for Ryan. He orders a white chocolate cheesecake for dessert, and gives most of it to me, and I know he ordered it for me all along.
I quietly tell the waiter to add the cost of dinner to our room. I have a credit card—I got one when I turned eighteen. I have money saved up from working in part-time last year and full time all summer. My mom got me a job at the restaurant she works for, and I did okay on tips. Not a huge amount but enough to build some savings after I helped mom with the bills.
When we’re done eating, Ryan reaches over and strokes his fingers along my palm, making hot, electric quivers rush down my spine. “Do you want to stay or go upstairs now?” he asks.
“I want to go to bed. You’re not too tired for making love, are you? You must be exhausted from riding and—”
“Mia, I could stay up for a week straight to make love with you.”
That is so seriously tempting I want to wail in need and agony.
Hand in hand, we rush upstairs—up the sweeping staircase that runs from the beautiful Georgian-style lobby to our sumptuous bedroom. It is deserted and half way up, Ryan pulls me into a kiss. I leap up into his arms and wrap my legs around him, because he holds me up easily. I know my skirt has gone up too high, so I’m half watching for other guests as we kiss passionately.
Then he sets me down and my heart is thundering as we race to our bedroom. He locks the door while I kick off my heels and start pulling off my clothes. I get completely naked, just like I was when we went skinny dipping off the dock, when we had our first time together.
I want to consider that time with Ryan on the dock to be my very first time, because it was with him.
This is amazing: being naked in this gorgeous room with my gorgeous guy. I feel hugely adult right now. Giggling—not very adult—I pull down the thick comforter on the bed. There are oodles of pillows. This is the kind of bed I’ve always dreamed of but have never slept on. It is king size. We could have a party on this bed.
I dig the box of condoms out of my backpack and put it beside the bed. Naked, I sit on the bed, half-hidden by the counterpane and watch Ryan strip.
He straightens to take his shirt off, baring his chest. Oh, I’m melting.
My heart hammers as he undoes his fly. Skims his jeans down. Then he bends to take off his boots. His ass strains against his briefs and
the white fabric cups his firmly muscled curves perfectly.
I have to bite my hand. My sexual desire is so intense I’m making squeaking noises.
Off come his leather boots. Then he kicks off his jeans and yanks down his briefs. I watch them slide down his bulging thighs, his taut calves, then they land on the floor.
His cock bobs, bouncing slightly side to side, as he comes to the bed. I kick off the blankets, lie down and he gets on top of me. Arched over me, he captures my lips, then nuzzles my neck. He moves down and rains kisses on my breasts.
“Ooh, suck my nipples. Please,” I whisper.
His lips part and he takes my left nipple into his wide open mouth. I run my hands over his peach-fuzz hair, caressing him.
He sucks.
This is so intense, so incredible. I moan, “Oh Ryan.” I love gazing down at his sexy, chiseled features while his cheeks suck in so he can pleasure my nipple.
He draws away and I giggle. He’s sucked a red hickey around my nipple. I squirm on the bed and reach down for his cock. I feel very proprietary toward his beautiful prick. I stroke it, feeling the warm weight against the palm of my hand.
Ryan gets a condom out, but I put it on him, rolling it carefully. I love handling him this way.
“I want to try something,” I whisper. I roll onto my tummy and spread my legs wide. Lying on my stomach, I crush my breasts against the mattress. To help relieve the pressure, I slip my hands in front of my belly, then down, which also lifts my naked ass to him. I’m about to explain that I want him to mount me from behind, but he guesses right away.
Ryan slides between my legs. I can’t see him this way, but I can savor the feel of his thighs between mine, and I can see his hands braced on each side of my shoulders. His cock bumps my butt. I wriggle back against him. Almost tempted to try that…
