Chapter 7
SLOANE
I practically trip over my dress as I follow Ryan up the stairs, the chatter and music of the party fading against the rumble in Ryan’s throat as I reach behind him and grab his hand on the second floor.
By the time we round the corner to the third, the din of voices and the bass from the music have almost disappeared, and now all I can hear is the sound of us both breathing.
When we reach the landing and the empty, dimly-lit hallway, I pull him toward me without thinking, and then his lips are on mine. Soft but purposeful, melting away any uncertainty I had a few minutes ago, when I was reminded of the vow I’d come so close to making.
For someone who spends most of his time alone, Ryan is a practiced kisser, expert maybe. His hands grasp my hips, then move slowly up my torso, closing the last inch of space between us.
Just my dress and his shirt. And somehow, it’s a chasm. I want more. I want all of him.
Which is crazy. I’ve known Ryan for a week. Any of this irrational behavior can only be traced back to the decision I made only seven days ago. Unwillingly, I flash to what I imagine Jack doing right now.
Sitting with his parents in my least favorite place in the world, the sitting room of their home, where we spent interminable hours discussing things that made my skin crawl with boredom.
How their neighbors down the way are trimming their hedges in a way that doesn’t align with the town bylaws.
Who was attending the upcoming fundraiser at their country club. Where they should travel in February.
Ryan obviously notices me hesitating. “Sorry,” he says, his voice low and breathy. “I just–”
“You don’t need to apologize,” I say, the scent of his aftershave firmly transporting me back into this moment.
And all I feel now is an insatiable need to say exactly what’s on my mind.
No more of this “elegance is restraint” bullshit I’ve been living by for the past four years, my life for the last two at least orbiting around the wedding that was less about us or me and more about the performance, the spectacle, the need for Jack’s family to close the loop on the birth to private school to Ivy League to society marriage pipeline they’re on.
Next up would have been grandchildren and the cycle restarting.
Now, I feel a freedom I’ve never felt. Ryan is impossibly authentic, unassuming, real. “I need you,” I purr, with full knowledge that my breathy voice is partly responsible for the rock-hard bulge pressing against my thigh. He pulls back just slightly, and there’s hunger in his eyes.
Without a word, he tears away from our kiss and tests the doorknob of the door closest to us. Locked.
“We’re breaking into someone’s room?” I say, almost laughing, but truthfully, I don’t want to deter him. The man is on a mission and the fact that it includes me is exactly what I want right now.
I watch as he moves to the second room. Locked.
“Maybe we should just go back to your place,” I say, but on the third doorknob he tries, the door opens, and without thinking, I’m following him into someone’s dark hotel room and his lips are on mine again.
The faint light through the drawn blinds of the suite adds enough glow that we find the bed quickly, and I’m unzipping my dress but I feel Ryan’s hands push mine aside.
He wants to be the one to undress me, and the feeling of being wanted pushes me over the edge.
“Quickly,” I gasp, and as soon as the silky gown falls to the floor, I grab his tie and fall back onto the bed, and he’s on top of me.
“Should we be doing this? Here?” I manage, barely panting the words as he kisses the sensitive skin of my neck and I run my hands over his firm torso.
I ask the question, but really, I don’t care. I want him too much.
“Probably not,” Ryan murmurs in my ear. He pulls back and looks me straight in the eyes, and that serious, fixated look undoes me even further. “But I really don’t care. I want you, Sloane.”
Mmm. His words puncture a part of me that’s been long dormant. Being wanted. Not just as an accessory, or an item on a checklist. But actually wanted. It’s intoxicating and oh, so hot.
I slither out of my bra and underwear like they’re in flames, allowing Ryan to take my nipple between his lips while his right hand trails along my inner thigh, pausing slightly before he reaches the place between my legs where I most need him to be.
“Please,” I groan, and his fingers plunge inside me easily while his thumb tends to where I’ve been throbbing for his touch.
Ryan is methodical, and I’m not surprised that everything he’s doing takes my wants and needs into account.
When I try reaching out to touch him, to stroke him, he firmly takes my hand and places it on the bed.
“Not yet,” he says, and I whimper. Touching him like that would probably put me over the edge right away. But he wants me to wait.
It isn’t long, because seconds later, he lowers himself down my body and his tongue replaces his fingers, and I’m cascading on an electric pleasure.
I try to hold on but the warmth of his tongue and how expertly he’s moving it against me is no match for my desire to keep this tidal wave at bay.
I climax hard, deliciously, in a way I’ve never done before.
There was no part of me that expected this day to go like this. It’s the best wedding I’ve ever been to.
I know this is wrong, and that we should immediately go back downstairs and rejoin the party before someone realizes we’re missing, or worse, comes to find us.
But looking up at Ryan, who’s wearing the satisfied expression of a man who knows he did well, I’m ready to dump whosoever’s suitcases are in this room out in the hallway and move right in myself.
“Thank you,” I say, and before I do anything, he’s leaning over again and kissing me, softly this time.
It was never like this with Jack. Sex with him was exciting in the beginning, the newness of it, learning another person’s body and desires, but it quickly became perfunctory, passable. Weeks would go by before he’d bring up the subject of sex, and I’d realize I hadn’t been missing it.
I’d justified it by telling myself that this happened in every relationship, but Jack never looked at me the way Ryan’s looking at me now. Equal parts like he wants to own me and worship me.
I tug on the waistband of his boxers and expect him to help me, but he hesitates. “Are you sure?” he asks.
I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I want him inside me, need him inside me. I nod, and it’s all the invitation he needs to pull his wallet from the pants he’d shed on the floor, fish out a condom, and moments later, enter me.
We both know this isn’t a stretch-it-out-and-enjoy-ourselves situation. We both want it, and we need to it be quick. But even still, there’s an intimacy to it, the way Ryan looks deep in my eyes, a silent admission that this matters beyond the pleasure that’s coming in waves.
And even though it’s only a couple of minutes before Ryan exhales and a low rumble escapes his mouth, it’s by far the best sex I’ve ever had, and I feel deeply, overwhelmingly satisfied.
And yet, I’m already wondering how soon we can get out of this wedding and be alone at Ryan’s place to do it all over again.
He collapses beside me, and even though I know we should get up, get ourselves together, and go back to rejoin the party I have no business being at, Ryan appears to be in no rush, so I take his lead.
“You okay?” he asks, and without thinking, I roll toward him and nestle my face in the crook of his arm. Could we just go back to his house? No. I promised him this. I’m going to see the night out.
“We should go,” I say, and just as I stand up and pull my dress back over my body, floorboards creak outside the room.
I freeze and look at Ryan as he quickly stands up and throws on his suit.
He has the foresight to smooth the bedspread before we quickly slip through the sliding door onto the terrace.
He pulls the curtains shut right before the door slams, and miraculously, we’ve escaped.
It’s only when I see the balloons affixed to the patio furniture on the terrace—the “newlyweds” balloons—that I realize what we just did.
And when I lock eyes with Ryan, I can see he knows it too.
We just had sex on his ex’s bed. At her wedding.
“Just keep walking,” Ryan says as we move quickly down the path that leads to the other side of the property where the festivities are taking place.
“Hold on,” I say, dropping the sandals that have been dangling from my fingers. “Let me put these on.”
I offer up a silent thank-you to the universe that I went with the strawberry slides.