He just hums a questioning sound—uh-huh—and the hum flutters through me, heightening the ache. I’m weak, limp, and shaking from the orgasms I’ve already had, but the one building inside me as Ryder licks and fingers me slowly to the edge is more powerful than any yet, and I know it’s going to leave me shaking and screaming.
“I—oh god, oh fuck—Ryder, I’m gonna come.”
“Good, honey, good. Let me have it.”
I shake my head, biting my lip. “I…I’ll scream,” I groan, and then lose myself in ever-loudening whimpers and shrieks. “You have to muffle me, Ryder. I’m gonna come so hard I’ll scream, and you have to muffle me.”
He yanks the pillow out from under my head at the last second, and I bury my face in it and hold it against my mouth with both hands and let my hips thrust furiously against his face. His hands slide under my ass and he holds me by the hair as I arch off of the bed, screaming into the pillow. He grips my hips and pulls me against his mouth, and I’m sobbing through screams of an orgasm so intense I can’t breathe for the power of it. I can’t do anything except arch rigid, hips flexed, stomach tensed, lungs deflated, a silent scream trapped in my throat, wave after wave of orgasm shattering and pulsing and exploding, each wave so hard on the heels of the last that it’s all one blasting supernova of climactic ecstasy—the kind of pleasure that’s so exquisite, so intense, so powerful, so potent that it’s almost painful.
When the waves begin to spread out enough that I can breathe, I suck in oxygen with an indrawn scream, hips sagging briefly, only to thrust upward with the renewed assault of his mouth and thrusting fingers.
My scream subsides, and I have to focus on breathing.
He feels me backing away from the edge of ecstasy, and this time, he lets me off the hook of orgasm entirely.
I gasp, limp and helpless, for I don’t know how long. I feel Ryder still between my thighs, his beard tickling the tender silk of my inner thighs, his tongue lapping gently and slowly.
I have to stop him—I can’t take any more.
And I need him.
God, I need him.
I tangle my fingers in his beard and haul him upward. He crawls almost reluctantly away from me and up my body. I still can’t make the rest of my body move—I’m essentially paralyzed from the intensity of the last orgasm…
My hands work, and my mouth works, though. Mostly.
“Ryder,” I gasp.
He grins. “Awake, now?”
I huff a laugh. “For the most part.”
He’s still entirely clothed, a fact that makes me frown unhappily.
“What?” he asks, seeing the frown on my face.
“You’re not naked.”
He laughs. “No, not yet. Is that a problem?”
I nod sloppily. “Yes. I’m dead—you killed me. But I need you, and I need you now.”
He lifts up onto his knees, peeling off his T-shirt to bare his beautiful torso and heavy shoulders. “I can take care of that.”
Jeans next, and then he’s wearing nothing but socks and underwear—he makes quick work of the underwear, and now his gorgeous erection is bobbing bare, bulbous and gleaming.
I laugh, shaking a finger at him. “Ah-ah-ah. No socks during sex.”
He slumps to one side, digging at his socks with a finger. “Is that your rule?”
I nod, reaching for him as he finally moves over me. “Yes. It’s a rule I just made up right now, because if you’re trying to fuck me while wearing nothing but socks, I’ll laugh and it’ll ruin the moment.”
He brings himself into range of my hand, and I grasp him, stroke him greedily. “I don’t know—I wouldn’t mind laughing as I come.”
“Maybe we’ll try that, sometime. I’ll tell jokes while you fuck me, and see if you can come while laughing.”
He kneels between my thighs, reaching for my bedside table—he finds the condoms, opens one, and rolls it on. “That could be fun,” he says. “One problem, though.”
I frown, taking his shaft in both hands and guiding it against my opening. “What’s that?”
“I won’t be fucking you.”
I frown even harder. “I’m confused.”
His smile is…well, loving and tender is the only way to put it. “I won’t be fucking you, Laurel.” He bends, kisses me with exquisite gentility. “I’ll be making love to you.”
I turn the kiss hotter, demanding his tongue. “One problem with that,” I whisper.
“What’s that?”
I push against him, driving him into me in a single sudden thrust. “I don’t want you to make love to me right now, Ryder.”
“Laurel—” he gasps, head dropping against my breasts.
I push him away, rise up onto my knees. Ryder reaches for me, but I turn away from him on my hands and knees, presenting my ass to him. He moves up behind me, caressing with both hands. I reach under myself and find him, grasp him, bring him to me. Notch him against my opening, then turn and look at him over my shoulder as he palms my ass.
He groans, hands digging into the generous flesh of my hips, and he slams into me, hips slapping loudly against my backside. “Laurel…”
“Please,” I groan, writhing backward. “Let me feel you go crazy.”
He pulls back, moaning, holds there, just the tip of him left inside me. A few slow thrusts, more of a gentle flutter than anything else…and then, with a resounding spank, he drives in hard—I bury my face into the comforter and let myself wail as he hits me just right, and I touch myself with two fingers, heightening my own pleasure.
Drawing it out, Ryder is still torturing me with those ridiculous fluttering thrusts, only an inch or two sliding shallowly between my clamping channel. I whimper, sob, and now I’m riding the edge, hovering, needing him to fall over. I can’t get myself there, not like this, not without Ryder.
“I need you,” I sob. “Please, Ryder. Please—”
He caresses my bottom where his spanking has me pink and burning. “Please what, baby?”
“Come—let me feel you come. Fuck me, please, Ryder.”
He groans, pushing into me all the way—slowly, so slowly I whimper in frustration.
He pulls back, just as slowly…and eases back in. “Like this?” he asks.
“No, god, no…Harder. Please!” I beg, my fingers flying, but I still can’t fall over the edge, and I know I won’t—not without him, not unless he comes first.
It’s maddening, infuriating, delicious. I need him so I can come this one last time—and I’ve never known this, never needed something so badly as I need to feel him lose control, never needed anyone else’s wildness to complete me.
I need Ryder—his completion is mine; his need is mine; his pleasure is mine.
I nod, letting myself move against him, timing it so I thrust backward as he slides in. “I can’t—ohhh god, I can’t come until you do.”
“Didn’t seem like you had that problem a minute ago,” he grunts.
“It’s new,” I murmur. “I’m right on the edge, but I can’t come—it’s…it’s like it’s stuck.”
“And you think me coming will trigger yours?”
I nod raggedly. “Yes,” is all I can manage.
“Why?”
I sob. “I—I don’t know!”
I’m losing the ability to control my movements, my building, fragmented, stuck orgasm ramping up into madness, into wild fury, making me shake all over, making my movements tremulous and desperate. Every muscle trembles, and I try to stay synched to his thrusts, but all control is gone, and I even need him for this—to take control.
He does.
God, he does.
He growls, and I feel him shudder and now I know it’s time—I’m about to get exactly what I’ve been begging him for.
His grip on my hips tightens and I know I’ll have marks—he yanks me backward and pounds in. I cry out, sob with each powerful thrust.
Again, again, and again, each movement more raggedly powerful than the last.
His grunts are nonstop, feral and wild.
He drives into me, grunting and groaning, cursing—and now the sounds become my name, chanted like a prayer: Laurel—Laurel—LAUREL!
I’m clamping around him, clenching, squeezing so hard I feel every inch of him.
“RYDER!”
“God—Laurel!”
I’m there, finally, but still teetering on the razor edge. Waiting, waiting, waiting for him. One last time, he slides into me and I ache, squeeze around him, shaking all over, sobbing, trying to push back into his thrust.
Ryder comes with a roar.
I feel it, feel him pulse, and he slams deep, stays there, pushing deeper and deeper. He can’t go any deeper—yet I still need more, want more. I come around him, trying to scream but I’m too breathless, my lungs are empty, the oxygen forced out of my lungs.
How long does our merged orgasm last?
I lose track.
All I feel is him, all of him.
Finally, he gasps as if undone, and sags backward. Falls to his side, panting as if he just ran a hundred-meter dash.
I fall onto the bed as he releases me, and I’m still trembling, spasming, shaking, jerking with waves of orgasm. Ryder gathers me in his arms and holds me tightly, our breathing matched—even the ragged gasps for air are united, merged, becoming one.
“Ryder…” I whisper, lips brushing his beard, seeking his face.
“Hmmm?” he asks, vague with delirium.
I find his cheek, kiss just above his beard line, then alongside his nose, and then the other cheek, and his ear, nibble his earlobe and then kiss his shoulder and lick his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat.
Finally, I touch my lips to his.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I feel his lips curl in a smile, and I look up to see him looking at me with a puzzled, happy grin. “Thank you? Why are you thanking me?”
I cup his face. “Just…for you.”
He shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“This whole thing has been like some teenage boy’s wet dream. You send me pictures of your tits, you FaceTime me topless, you invite me over and let me use your spare key—you ask me to wake you with sex? I come in here and find all these candles lit, rose petals everywhere, and you, naked—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking seen in my life, and you’re waiting for me? I get to put my mouth on you and taste your sweet, perfect pussy? And then I get to watch you come? And seriously, Laurel, the vision of you having an orgasm is pure sex, pure, raw erotic perfection. The way you moan, the way you move? Fuck, I could come without touching myself, just from that. And then, Laurel…and then you beg me to fuck you, and when I do, you make me come so hard I think I saw heaven.”
I blink up at him, utterly melted. “You saw heaven?”
He grins, a bright, brilliant, ten thousand megawatt smile of utter joy. “Yeah, Laurel, I saw heaven—You, and me, coming together…that’s heaven. I watched you come apart for me, and that’s heaven. Us, together—that’s heaven.”
I bite his lower lip, lick it where I bit down. “You’re a poet, Ryder.”
He shakes his head. “No, you just inspire it in me.”
My heart is exploding, shattering with a happiness I didn’t even know was possible. “Ryder, I—” I swallow hard, keeping my eyes on his. “I fucking love you, Ryder.”
He chokes, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard anyone say in my life.”
He nuzzles against me, hiding his face in the inky mass of my hair.
I pull away, look at him. There are wet streaks on his face, and I wipe at them. “Don’t you dare hide that, Ryder.”
“It’s fucking embarrassing,” he mutters.
“It’s not.” I kiss him, a dozen quick pecks to his face, and then a slow kiss on his lips. “Talk to me.”
“I just…” He sighs, composing himself. “I never thought I’d hear that.”
I frown at him. “But—”
“She never said it. She talked about things she loved about me, and I knew, in the rare moments she was lucid and made sense and was anything like even-keeled; I knew she felt it, somewhere in there. But she never said it.”
“That’s so wrong.” I cup his face, brush under his eyes with my thumb, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. “But I get it. I rarely ever heard it myself. Not never, but rarely.” I touch his lips to stop him from saying it. “Don’t—not until and unless you mean it wholly on your own. Don’t just say it back.” I drop my eyes. “I couldn’t help myself. I don’t know if you even want that with me—”
He silences me with a fierce, wild kiss. “You shut the fuck up with that mess, Laurel Madison,” he growls.
“I just—”
He levers over me, his arm under my head, his body on mine, pinning me to the mattress and blocking out the world. “I was in love with you at the barbecue, Laurel. I was in love with you then and I fucking knew it, and that’s why I tried to ghost you. I was a scared little pussy, because I didn’t think a woman as incredible and perfect and sexy and fucking normal and sane as you could ever love me back.”
I blink tears. “Ryder—”
“So yeah, I want that with you.” He brushes his lips against mine in a fragment of a kiss. “I mean it wholly and on my own, not just to say it back, not because what we just did together somehow managed to be fucking and making love at the same time. I mean it because it’s what’s inside me, because you’ve managed to capture my heart, and I thought that was impossible—I thought that had been ruined for me forever.”
“God, Ryder.”
He bends down to kiss me again, and for a moment I’m lost in it.
I whimper, and Ryder pulls back, puzzled. “Already? All I did was kiss you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, it’s not that. I couldn’t come again if the world depended on it.”
He frowns. “Then what?”
I glanced pointedly downward. “The condom is leaking on my thigh.”
He rolls away with alacrity, vanishes into my bathroom and cleans up, and then comes out with a warm washcloth. Cleans me, kisses me, and tosses the washcloth into the bathroom.
“Want to know the unromantic part of all these candles?” I ask. “Having to blow them all out before bed.”
Ryder chuckles. “I got it.”
After the candles are all blown out, Ryder sits on the edge of the bed next to me; I reach up and pull at him. “Why are you up there?” I ask. “Come down here and snuggle me.”
He hesitates. “I…I probably shouldn’t.”
Puzzled, I frown up at him. “Why not?”
“Because I’ll fall asleep, and I can’t guarantee I’ll wake up before Nate this time.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” He bends down and kisses me. “I don’t want to go, but—”
My heart clenches at the thought of him leaving. I let out a sharp sigh, and realize there’s no real choice to be made here. I sit up, wrap my arms around his neck and haul him down to the bed. “So don’t.”
He laughs, struggling against my hold on him. “But, Laurel, you said—”
I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to his neck with both arms, kissing him everywhere I can reach as I keep him trapped in my embrace. “I know what I said,” I say between kisses. “But I realized it doesn’t apply anymore.”
He stops struggling. “It doesn’t?”
I shake my head. “Nope.” I meet his eyes. “Having admitted that I’m in love with you changes things.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s obvious Nate is completely enamored with you, and you seem to like him back—”
“Falling in love with you means loving that kid, too, Laurel.” He crawls onto the bed, but stays on his hands and knees above me. “Just needed to point that out. Continue.”
I feel my throat close. “Stay, Ryder.” I shrug
, unable to speak properly. “That’s it. Just…stay. Please.”
It’s his turn to brush dampness away from my cheeks. “If you’re sure.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
He lowers himself to the bed, and we make a mess of the rose petals as we slide under the covers and tangle ourselves together. I nuzzle into him, seeking the perfect place…I find it, that nook in the shelter of his arms where I fit like I’m the puzzle piece crafted for him. I sigh, and he murmurs in similarly wordless happiness.
We drowse and flit and drift; a thought bubbles up and out of my mouth. “Hey, Ryder? Are you…clean?”
He hums an affirmative response. “Yeah. Got tested the day after we met.”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
“Mmm-hmmm. I went to a clinic before work the next day. Just to be sure.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m on birth control.”
“Okay.”
I smile against his chest. “Just saying—we’re both clean, and I’m on the pill.”
He grumbles, an unintelligible mumble, and then I feel him twist, and I open my eyes to meet his. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I nod. “Mmmm-hmmm.”
“You and me, and nothing between us?”
I nod again. “Mmmm-hmmmm.”
He rests his head back against the pillow. “Have I ever told you how much I love the way you think?”
“May have mentioned it at some point.”
“Fair warning, I’ll probably last about thirty seconds like that.”
I wiggle against him. “Good.” I lift up and kiss his chest, then burrow back down against his heavy, powerful chest. “Sex doesn’t always have last a long time to be good.”
He rumbles a laugh. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that.”
We drift again, and this time, I’m content to let sleep steal over me and drag me under.
I’m in that place just before falling asleep, that place where you’re heavy and warm, where you have no thoughts, just contentment.
“Hey.” Ryder’s voice, vague and distant.
“Mmm?”
“I love you, Laurel.”
I can only sigh, rolling to my side with Ryder behind me. I clasp my hand over his, tangling my fingers into his, and he clutches my breast possessively, my heartbeat under his palm; I’ve never been so happy to be the little spoon—I feel utterly safe, filled with joy as I sink into slumber in the protective, loving shelter of Ryder’s arms.
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