Strip Me Bare

by M. Never

  “Last night was the best sleep I’ve had in five years,” he murmurs, and I suppress a smile.

  “What do you want to do today?” Ryan nibbles my neck. I pause, staring straight ahead at the white-tiled backsplash. Hmmm, that answer can have so many possibilities. Taking a deep breath of resignation, I turn slowly around and look him in the eyes. He’s about six inches taller than I am. His hair is a brown mess on top of his head, and there’s just a hint of stubble growing on his chin. His features are more mature now. But he’s still just as gorgeous as he was five years ago, even more so. He makes me weak.

  I reflect on last night and the decision I made. If I want Ryan in my life, I’m going to have to let him in, no matter how challenging or terrifying that is. No pain, no gain, right?

  “I thought we could spend the day getting to know each other,” I suggest with a gleam in my eyes.

  Ryan’s jaw hits the ground, he catches my drift.

  “I’m cool with that.” His smile is so wide I can’t stifle the laugh. Without wasting a moment, he removes the coffee cup from my hands with purpose, then runs his hands leisurely up my hips, as if re-familiarizing himself with all my curves. His touch is every bit as sexual as it is sensual. Every bit enlivening as it is illicit. My body temperature rapidly rises as the hem of my t-shirt catches on his forearms, riding up as his hands gradually travel over my torso, then my breasts, and come to rest in the middle of my back.

  Breathe.

  Ryan doesn’t kiss me throughout his venture. He just stares. Pinning me in place with impenetrable blue eyes. He wants me, and nothing or no one is going to get in his way.

  My whole body springs to life. Every nerve, and every cell, and every molecule. That’s Ryan’s effect, pure vitality. I place my hands on his chest, looking down at the little scar on his left pec. I touch it, and his face splits with a warm smile.

  “My little piece of you.”

  It’s the scar my cigarette left the first night we met.

  I press a lingering kiss over it, and he groans. Low and deep in his throat. The sound vibrates through me, reaching places that have been dormant for years. Need searing and desire scratching at the locked door.

  Both reaching a prickly pinnacle, Ryan yanks me out of the kitchen. I’m in his room, being pushed onto the bed, before I can even process. He crawls slowly on top of me. Unhurried and predatory. He’s the hunter and I’m his prey.

  Forcing my t-shirt over my head, he exposes my body.

  “God, you’re still so gorgeous,” he rasps as he glides his hands over my shoulders, then down to my chest, stopping to tease my nipples with his thumbs. I moan languidly as he takes his sweet time exploring my body, stretching every inch into a mile. It’s incomprehensible how easily he can make me feel this aroused, this loved, this worshiped with only the tips of his fingers.

  His exploration goes on for ages. It’s drawn out. Time consuming. Mind altering.

  I finally reach the point his tender touch feels so good it actually begins to hurt. I’m panting heavily by the time Ryan begins to kiss me, and it’s not on the lips or cheeks or neck, but right where he left off last night. He senses my need. A blind man could.

  “Don’t stop me, Alana.” He demands, his voice sending me straight into overdrive. And I don’t. I don’t stop him when he peels my pink, lacy Victoria’s Secret panties from my hips, or nestles his face right between my legs. I don’t stop him when I feel the first titillating thrash of his warm tongue against my sensitive skin, or the rush of excitement that saturates us both.

  The sensations are enough to have me writhing. I close my eyes and tilt my head as he locks his arms around both my thighs to still my squirming body. Spreading me wide, he circles and rolls his tongue firmly over every inch of my buzzing flesh until I can barely stand it.

  “Ryan!” I heave, as he sucks on my clit relentlessly until my vision clouds.

  I glance down at him through the waves of pleasure to find him looking up at me, watching me, a lewd, salacious grin spreading across his face as he sinks his tongue deep into my burning depths.

  “Oh, shit!” I bow on the bed with his lust-filled eyes locked tightly on mine. It’s all so dirty, and hot, I have no control over the high octave moans that escape my mouth or my trembling thighs that could be mistaken for an earthquake. I can’t hold on, he’s going to break me.

  I grab onto Ryan’s wild hair and yank, submitting to the pushing, pulling, unyielding pressure. My heart beats out of my chest, my pussy throbs, and my head pounds in tandem as my screams echo around the room. Ryan shatters me to pieces, a thousand, tiny, little pieces, as the orgasm he unleashes blasts a hole right through me.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  I’m completely spent. Ryan has managed to suck every bit of my climax out, leaving me only a pile of rubble on the mattress.

  As I slowly come back down to Earth, I find Ryan lying beside me, his head propped up on one hand and a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

  Cocky bastard. I may never live this down.

  “I could do that all day,” he moans seductively in my ear.

  “I could let you.” I laugh.

  “I want to be the only person who does that to you.” He slides his nose up and down my cheek.

  I bite my lip. “One thing at a time.”

  “I’ll take whatever I can get.” He kisses me emotively and digs his hard-on into my hip. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  A noise wakes me. It’s annoying like an alarm. I pick my head up to see Ryan reaching for his phone. We stayed in bed all day, and it was . . . amazing? Remarkable? Incredible? None of those words really encompass it.

  No sex, just hands and lips and mouths and discovery.

  Total body discovery. One hundred percent, unadulterated exploration.

  Ryan turns the ear-piercing beeping off, kisses me on the forehead, and then slips out of bed.

  “Where are you going?” I rub my eyes, groggy.

  “Shower, then work.” He stands and stretches, all his miraculous muscles elongating.

  I bolt upright. “Work? But it’s Thursday.”

  “Yeah? I work Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.” He scratches his chest lazily, the quill around his bicep dancing.

  My heart sinks into my ribcage as reality finally sets in. I have to share him. With other women. I cringe as I flashback to last week, watching him bump and grind all over Emily, mostly naked, tassels covering his penis. .

  And now he’s going to go do that to some other girl tonight. I feel sick. After the unparalleled day we had, how am I supposed to let him out the front door?

  “Alana, are you okay?” Ryan asks. “You look pale.”

  I gaze up at him. He’s standing by the doorway now, a towel draped over his shoulder, looking all hot and sexy and deliciously edible.

  Oh, God, oh, God, what do I tell him? Not to go? That I’m too insecure with his career choice? That the thought of his hands on another woman makes me want to break something? His face, mainly.

  In one fluid, fast forward motion I throw the covers off, hop out of bed, grab my clothes, and dress hastily. Maybe if I get out of here fast enough I can pretend this day never happened. Pretend that Ryan isn’t on his way to dry fuck a dozen and a half other women and make big bucks doing it.

  “Alana?” Ryan suddenly snatches my arm. “Don’t leave.”

  “What am I supposed to do Ryan, hang around here by myself while you’re out humping other women?”

  I’ll go nuts.

  I bolt out of his room, down the hallway, and straight to the front door. But before I reach the doorknob, Ryan has me slung over his shoulder and is hauling me back into the bedroom.

  “Put me down!” I pound on his naked back.

  “Happily.” He tosses me onto the bed, and I land with a heavy bounce.

  “I thought we talked about this, Alana?” He crosses his arms infuriated.

  “We glazed over the sub
ject, Ryan, we did not talk about it.”

  “You can’t go.” He stands before me steadfastly, half-naked and completely glorious. “I told you, now that I have you back I’m not letting go of you again. And I mean it.”

  “I can’t do this.” I try to slip off the bed.

  “Why not?” He blocks me. It’s a cat and mouse game now.

  I spring to my feet. “Why not? Ryan how would you feel if it was me prancing around half-naked for money?”

  “I’d be a deranged lunatic.” At least he has the balls to tell the truth.

  “Well, don’t you think that’s kind of a double standard?”

  “No.”

  “No? Explain.”

  “It’s different. I don’t dance stark naked on a stage for singles. We can’t even get naked, Culture serves alcohol.”

  “That argument holds no water for me. Other women still touch you. You still touch them!”

  “Alana, they don’t mean anything to me.” He’s back-breakingly tense. “It’s just a job.”

  “So you’ve told me,” I bite.

  “Alana—”

  “Ryan, don’t.” I shut him down.

  “Alana, I don’t have anything else. I need this job.”

  “And what about me?” I question.

  “I need you, too. More than you’ll ever know. Just give me a little time,” he scrambles. “I’m trying to save some money so I can start my own business. You know, being a convicted felon, my future’s kind of fucked. No company worth a shit will ever hire me. And I don’t want to end up on my ass somewhere with nothing to show for my life.”

  Shit. How do you argue with that?

  “What kind of business?” I ask restlessly.

  He crosses the room, opens a dresser drawer, pulls out a piece of paper, and hands it to me. My breath catches when I look at it. “Is . . . Is this supposed to be us?”

  Ryan nods. Now, I can’t pretend to know anything about graphic design, but the picture I’m staring at is two people who look like avatars from a video game. They’re sitting on the beach, a handsome boy with light eyes holding a girl with long blonde hair. They’re watching the sunset on a blue and white hemp blanket, just like we used to do. The words stripped from you are scrolled across the bottom.

  It’s almost surreal.

  “You made this?” I peer up at him, my emotions bubbling like a Malotov cocktail.

  “It was my final project. I got my associate degree in prison. Graphic design.”

  I immediately recall an echo of a conversation from our past. Even though Ryan was three years older than me, he didn’t have a college degree or really know which direction his life was headed. He was so artistically talented though, always doodling on napkins or sketching something in the sand. So I suggested he do something with graphic design. And right now, I’m unexpectedly holding my advice in my hand.

  The detail is beyond impressive. The color of the sand almost perfect. The sunset looks like watercolor over the ocean, he even captured the fluidity of the waves.

  “It’s amazing.” I exhale.

  “I want to start my own company. There’s a huge market out there for freelance artists. Book covers, web design, all kinds of shit. I think it could be lucrative.”

  I run my hands through my hair, sighing with resignation. This is so fucking difficult.

  “I also want something else.” Ryan pulls me into his arms, but I’m reluctant to go. “I want the wife and kids, the white picket fence, and all that American dream bullshit. And I want it with you.”

  I wilt. “Me?”

  “Mmm-hmm. I’ve always wanted it with you. I want to be the father I never had, and the husband my mother was cheated out of. So, if I have to take off my fucking clothes to make the money I need, I’ll do it. And I pray you want me enough to suffer through it. Because I promise, I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life.”

  “Ryan . . .” I begin to crumble.

  “Please, Alana, just try.” He drops to his knees, wraps his arms around me tightly, and presses his cheek into my abdomen. He’s not making this easy. Not a lick.

  I stare down at him wracked with indecision, tangling my fingers in his soft waves.

  “They don’t mean anything. You mean everything. There’s no emotion, no connection. It’s all clinical. A means to an end.”

  I sigh again, twirling a lock of his hair around my index. I have always loved his hair. “Do you have any idea what my life is going to be like the next three years? I’m going to law school, Ryan. It’s a full-time commitment,” I tell him this because I want him to understand that he’s not going to have much of me once school starts.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” He tilts his head up, regarding me with raw, blue eyes.

  “I just want you to realize, having any kind of relationship with me is going to be a challenge.”

  Am I trying to scare him off? I don’t know. Am I looking for a way out? Possibly. Am I just being a coward right now? Definitely.

  Ryan scoffs, “You think I can’t handle you being in law school? That I won’t compete for your time?”

  “I just want you to be prepared. It has to be my sole focus.”

  Ryan smiles. A wry, arrogant smile. He’s straight-up telling me to bring it. “Alana, I lost you for five years, do you really think I’m going to let a little thing like law school get in my way?”

  I shrug, unsure. Everything is different now. We are different.

  Ryan slides his hands to my hips, rubbing his thumbs against my skin under my shirt. “Baby, when I look in your eyes, it feels like coming home. And I have been wandering for so long. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than law school to keep me away.”

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

  “I am sure of myself. I know what I want. And if you can deal with my challenges, I sure as hell can deal with yours. So, can we try?”

  Try? I stare at Ryan blankly. Can we try?

  “Maybe,” I cave, unsure about the outcome.

  Ryan breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “I can live with maybe, for now.” He lifts my shirt and kisses my stomach right below my navel, then proceeds to move south.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I grip his hair tightly.

  “Reminding you of how good today was.” He unbuttons my jeans. I allow him to do so, and so much more. Ryan slides my pants past my hips and then slides his mouth over my panties.

  I drop my head back and moan as he slips his tongue under the dainty lace, pulling my jeans down to my ankles as he teases me. When my pants are a distant memory, Ryan runs his palms firmly up the back of my thighs, gripping my ass tightly with strong hands. “You feel so right,” he breathes, dragging me down to the floor. Capturing my face in his hands, Ryan skims the seam of my lips with his tongue until I open and allow him inside. It doesn’t take long. I melt from his touch, melt from any physical contact with him. Today has made that abundantly clear.

  Ryan manipulates our position, pushing my back against the side of the bed.

  “Spread your legs a little more for me, baby.” He guides my thighs apart, both of us still on our knees. The position makes me feel overly exposed, my tiny tank top not doing a damn thing to conceal my lower body.

  “You’re so beautiful it scars me,” Ryan whispers as he glides his fingers into my panties and over my hot, pink, pulsing flesh. He knows exactly what he’s doing. What he does to me. “And soft.” He sighs in my ear as he circles his fingers around my clit making my knees weak. I grab onto his shoulders for support, the growing weight my body is becoming under his sanity-stealing strokes is almost too much to bear. I’m completely wet and throbbing as the ache swiftly escalates inside me. Dropping my head into the crook of his neck, I moan. A small, feeble sound that tells him how much he’s affecting me.

  “Ryan, please,” I beg.

  “You were going to walk away from me.” He slides one finger inside me, and I clutch onto him harder. He feels
so good. “Don’t ever walk away from me, Alana.” It’s a demand.

  “I was upset.” I mewl.

  “There isn’t anyone else but you. Tell me you know that.” I clench my eyes shut as he works his finger slowly in and out of my slick entrance.

  “I know,” I gasp.

  “Promise me you’ll try.”

  “I told you I would.” He slips two fingers inside me, and I feel like I’m going to splinter.

  “Good. Because that’s all I want. Another chance to love you.” His voice is husky, and scratchy with lust. Obviously, I’m not the only one affected here. I look up into his mesmerizing, blue eyes finding them hazy with desire.

  “I want to watch you come.”

  He’s said that three times to me today.

  “So, make me.”

  I can’t get enough of his touch, and I’m pretty sure after this go-round, I will be completely dependent. Like a junkie. Stoned off Ryan.

  Ryan picks up the pace of his fingers, only slightly, but enough to have my insides burning and my muscles clenching. When he rolls the pad of his thumb over my throbbing clit, that’s it. I implode. Burst from the inside out.

  With my back pressed against the mattress and my face cupped in one of Ryan’s hands, he watches with delight as I fall apart, wringing out every drop of my orgasm with his skilled fingers. Demanding, insistent, oppressive.

  “Ryan,” I nearly cry his name.

  “Alana,” he echoes, confidently. He knows he has me.

  I’m utterly spent. This day has destroyed me in the best possible way.

  If he can make me feel like this with just his hand, I can’t even imagine what he will be able to do with the rest of his body. The thought excites and terrifies me all at the same time. I drop my face into the crook of his neck, panting, and nothing but dead weight.

  Ryan wraps his arms around me and it’s only now I realize we are both still on our knees.

  “Do you know how many times I dreamt about you? How many times I played our last night together over and over in my head?”

  “Probably as many times as me,” I respond lazily. Nearly delirious.

  “Reality is so much better.” He grabs my face and kisses me slow and hard. Crazy in lust.