Chapter 22 #2
“I need to feel myself inside you. Need to feel you pulsing around my cock like you did around my fingers earlier.” His thumb traced lazy circles over my hip bone. “I need to feel you come undone while I’m inside of you.”
A shiver ran down my spine, heat unfurling in my core so fast it left me breathless. I needed him. Right. Now.
Our mouths crashed together in a desperate, searching kiss as we stumbled toward the couch. My fingers dug into his shoulders, and he caught my waist, steadying me like he knew exactly what I needed before I did.
When we reached the couch, he broke the kiss long enough to shove his pants down, kicking them off completely and leaving them in a heap on the floor. The sight of him–bare, unrestrained, completely mine–made my pulse spike.
He dropped back onto the cushions and pulled me with him, his hands spanning my hips like he was anchoring himself. The kiss deepened again–hot, slow, intoxicating–his tongue sweeping against mine with deliberate precision as he guided me onto his lap.
His fingers trailed up my spine, pausing at the zipper of my dress. The sound of it sliding down was soft but electric, every inch undone making my skin prickle with heat. He eased the fabric off my shoulders, letting it slip down my arms before tugging it away completely and tossing it aside.
His gaze flicked between my face and where I was touching him, his jaw clenching.
With a quick, almost impatient movement, he reached down to his pants for his wallet, flipping it open and pulling out a condom.
The foil tore with a sharp rip that sent heat rushing through me.
He rolled it on with practised ease, his eyes never leaving mine.
Then his hands were back on me–one sliding up my thigh, the other moving my underwear to the side with a slowness that made my breath hitch.
I knelt up, guiding him to where I needed him most, and as I sank down onto him, we both let out a sharp, gasping breath.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I gripped his shoulders, steadying myself as he filled me completely. His hands flexed against my hips, holding me still for a beat, as if he needed a second to compose himself.
Or maybe he just wanted to drive me insane.
His mouth found my breast, tongue flicking over sensitive skin, and I arched into him with a needy whimper, rocking my hips experimentally. The way he filled me, stretched me–it was too much and not enough all at once.
His fingers dug into my waist as he guided me, slow at first, teasing.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmured against my skin, his voice nearly reverent.
A moan slipped from my lips as I moved faster, chasing the heat curling low in my stomach. He met me thrust for thrust, his grip tightening as he lost himself in me.
The pleasure built fast and intense, winding through my body like a live wire.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped, the words barely audible as I shattered around him.
Ryan groaned, his grip flexing, and before I could fully recover, he shifted–strong arms lifting me off him with a surprising tenderness before flipping me over the arm of the couch.
The shift was effortless, instinctual. A shiver ran down my spine as his palm slid over the small of my back, pressing me into the couch
Then, in one slow, deep thrust, he was inside me again.
I cried out, fingers curling around the fabric of the couch as he set a rhythm–deep, unrelenting, almost punishing in its precision.
“Fuck, Harper,” he groaned, voice raw and desperate. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently so I arched against him. “You feel so fucking good.”
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. I could only feel.
Every thrust pushed me higher, each sharp snap of his hips unraveling me a little more.
And then–God.
The pleasure crashed over me in waves, stealing my breath, my sanity. Ryan followed seconds later, his rhythm stuttering, a low, broken moan spilling from his lips as he found his release.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was our ragged breathing, the heavy silence settling over us like a fog.
Then, Ryan’s hand slid from my hair to my back, smoothing it down as his fingers traced slow, lazy circles against my spine.
My chest still heaved as I turned my head, looking at him over my shoulder. His face was flushed, his lips slightly parted, but his eyes–those damn eyes–held something different. Something soft. Something dangerous.
“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.
I nodded, dazed and spent. “Better than okay.”
His lips twitched into a slow, satisfied smirk before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. Then, with a gentleness that made my stomach flip, he pulled me upright, gathering me against him.
The warmth of his embrace, the steady thud of his heart against my back–it felt… perfect. And that was dangerous.
By the time we made it to the bedroom, something had changed.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow–deliberate.
Ryan’s hands traced over my skin like he was memorizing every inch of me, his lips following the path of his fingertips. There was still that electric pull between us, but this time, we weren’t trying to chase it. We were letting it build, letting it settle deep in our bones.
We moved together, unhurried, as if we had all the time in the world. And maybe we did.
Because in that moment, nothing else existed except the feel of his body against mine, the way he held me so close it felt like he was afraid to let go.
And when it was over, I didn’t move.
I didn’t want to.
I lay curled against his chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns along the ridges of his stomach. His skin was warm beneath my touch, solid and steady in a way that made something in my chest tighten.
Ryan let out a soft breath, his hands moving absently over my back, fingers skimming my shoulder in a featherlight touch. It wasn’t meant to be seductive. It wasn’t meant to be anything at all.
But it was.
Because he wasn’t just touching me.
He was holding me.
And I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be held until that moment.
I shut my eyes, letting the quiet fill the space between us. It should have felt too still, too peaceful after everything we’d done, but instead, it was perfect.
I wanted to stay here. Just like this.
Because this–this–felt different.
Different in the way he looked at me. Different in the way he touched me, like I was something to be cherished, not just desired.
My heart clenched. Could this be something real?
I didn’t know.
Connor. My responsibilities. Everything I was trying to keep together. And Ryan? He was everything I wasn’t–steady, uncomplicated.
I pushed the doubt away, not wanting to think about what came next.
Right now, all I wanted was this.
Him.
Us.
As if sensing the shift in my thoughts, Ryan’s hand slid up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb brushing lazily over my skin.
“You okay?” His voice was quiet, rough from exhaustion, but there was something else there, too.
I swallowed, my throat tight, and nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He hummed softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my hair.
And just like that, the doubts faded.
Because in this moment, nothing else mattered.
Or at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.
Yet as we lay there, tangled together in the warmth of the sheets, my mind wouldn’t quite settle. A memory from earlier flickered through my thoughts–his voice when he’d said, “she was…” I hadn’t questioned it then, but now, it lingered. A quiet, insistent tug in the back of my mind.
I debated whether to ask. I didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to pry. But something about Ryan made me want to understand him–made me want to know the things that shaped him, even if I wasn’t sure I was ready to share my own.
I shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, too full of emotion for me to read, and there was a heaviness there that made my heart ache.
“Ryan,” I began, my voice tentative, “you mentioned your mom earlier… I couldn’t help but notice the way you talked about her. Is she…?” I trailed off, not sure how to finish the question.
He held my gaze for a beat, then exhaled slowly, like the answer was too heavy to carry. “She passed away six years ago.”
My breath caught. “I’m so sorry.”
He gave a faint nod, eyes fixed on some point past my shoulder. “Car accident. She was… on her way to one of my games.” His voice cracked just enough to betray how much it still hurt. Before I could respond, his jaw tightened, the shutters slamming down.
“Anyway,” he said abruptly, forcing a small shrug that didn’t match the weight in his voice, “it was a long time ago.”
“Ryan,” I reached for his hand, but he shifted, running a palm over his face like he could wipe the moment away.
“It’s not something I like to talk about,” he muttered. The words weren’t unkind, but they were final.
I let the silence settle between us, even though my heart ached to ask more. He’d given me the bare bones of the truth, but I could feel the rest–layers of pain and guilt–locked up tight behind walls he wasn’t ready to let me climb.