Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Candace
T he knock at the door jolts me awake. I blink against the dim light of the room, my neck stiff and aching from falling asleep slumped over my little cache of memories. My arms are tangled awkwardly, the soft sweater I changed into now rumpled and scratchy against my skin. The half-empty glass of wine sits precariously on the edge of the coffee table, the bottle beside it nearly empty.
For a moment, I just sit there, the persistent knock echoing through the house. My head feels foggy, my body weighed down by the emotional exhaustion of last night. I rake a hand through my hair, and my fingers catch in the tangled mess. I groan, wincing as I ease myself upright.
Another knock, harder this time.
I shuffle to the door, every muscle protesting the movement. The cool air from the window reminds me I’m barefoot, my toes curling against the cold hardwood floor. Whoever this is, they’ve chosen the worst possible moment.
When I open the door, I find Ryan standing on the other side. Great. Worst possible moment. Worst possible person.
He looks rough—his dark hair damp from the rain, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his clothes wrinkled as though he hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep. His eyes, though, are what catch me off guard. They’re stormy, intense, and locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“What do you want, Murphy?” I ask, my voice raspy from sleep. My body tenses, instinctive walls going up.
“Candace,” he replies, his tone low, steady. “We need to talk.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I move to close the door, but his foot shoots out, wedging itself firmly in the gap.
“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Not this time.”
“Go away,” I snap, trying to shove the door harder, but he doesn’t budge. “Fuck it.”
I turn my back and step away. He pushes against the door, and it allows him easy entry with a fluid motion that leaves me gaping at his audacity. He closes the door behind him, his presence overwhelming in the small space.
“I came by earlier,” he says, as he gazes at my casket of memories as well as the hospital bracelet and the form I’d left sitting out. “I saw you.”
My stomach drops, anger rising to cover the shame of being seen like that. “You had no right…”
“I had every right,” he interrupts, his voice rising slightly. “You think I could just stay away after seeing that? After everything you said to me?”
“Why not? You walked away before. That’s kind of your MO, Murphy. When the going gets tough, Ryan Murphy gets going,” I bite back, my voice shaking.
He takes a step closer, his hand gesturing toward the couch. In a softer tone, ignoring my snark, he says, “I want to hear it. I want to know why you didn’t tell me.”
I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him. “Would it have mattered? You made your decision. You left.”
“That’s not an answer,” he says, his voice tightening with frustration. “It was my baby, too.”
“It’s the only answer you’re going to get,” I snap, the heat in my chest building.
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing the small space between the couch and the door. “You think it wouldn’t have mattered? You think I wouldn’t have dropped everything to come back if I’d known?”
I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “Come back for what, Ryan? To play the hero? To fix everything with a grand gesture? That’s not how life works. You left, and I wasn’t going to chase after you like some lovesick girl.”
His jaw tightens, and he stops pacing, turning to face me fully. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t care,” he says, his voice low but filled with a quiet intensity. “I left because I was barely holding myself together. I was trying to protect you…”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, the word sharp and final. “Don’t you dare try to spin this as some noble act. You didn’t protect me. You abandoned me. And you left me to deal with the fallout alone.”
His shoulders slump slightly, the fight momentarily draining out of him. “I know I screwed up, Candace. I know I wasn’t there when I should’ve been. But I’m here now. And I need to understand why—why you didn’t tell me. Why you’ve spent all these years hating me instead of letting me help.”
I clench my fists, the weight of his words more than I can bear. “Because it was too late,” I say, my voice breaking. “By the time I realized I was pregnant, you were gone. By the time I lost her… by the time I almost died… you weren’t reachable, and your father indicated you didn’t want to know and didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to beg you to come back. I wasn’t going to beg for anything.”
“I should have known my father was at the root of all this,” he mutters bitterly.
The room falls silent, the only sound the distant crash of waves against the shore. I can feel the tears threatening again, but I refuse to let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him.
He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to touch me but stopping just short. “I didn’t know,” he says quietly, his voice filled with something that almost sounds like pleading. “If I’d known…”
“But you didn’t,” I say sharply, cutting him off again. “You didn’t know because you didn’t stay. Because you made your choice without telling anyone. In my case, your choice didn’t include me.”
His hand drops, his expression tightening as my words land. “You think it was that simple? That I didn’t care? God, Candace, I’ve spent every day since I left regretting it. You think it didn’t tear me apart to walk away from you? From us? I thought… I believed that after basic training, I could come back for you.”
His words hit me like a blow, the raw emotion in his voice breaking through my defenses. I turn away, my arms wrapping around myself as though I can shield against the storm raging between us.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Ryan,” I say quietly. “You can’t change what happened. You can’t fix this.”
He steps closer, his presence warm and overwhelming behind me. “Maybe not,” he says softly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.”
I turn to face him, my chest tight with a mix of anger and something I don’t want to name. “Why?” I demand. “Why now? Why do you even care?”
“Because I never stopped caring,” he says simply.
The words hang between us, heavy and unspoken for years. And then, before I can respond, he closes the distance between us, his hands cupping my face as his lips crash into mine.
The kiss is hard, fierce, and filled with all the anger, frustration, and longing we’ve both been holding back. My hands shove at his chest, but he doesn’t let go, and slowly, the fight drains out of me.
I kiss him back, my fingers tangling in his hair as the years of hurt and anger melt away, replaced by a heat that consumes us both.
“Candace,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough and filled with need.
I don’t answer, my hands pulling him closer as the weight of the past fades into the background. Right now, in this moment, nothing else matters.
I shake my head. This can’t be happening. I can’t fail myself again. The storm outside mirrors the one within me.
I don’t need a man. Not now, not ever. I can handle life on my own terms, without leaning on anyone. Men? They’re distractions I’ve learned to avoid, complications in a life already complicated enough. But Ryan? He’s different. That infuriating grin of his, those eyes that seem to strip away every layer of my defenses and see straight into me. Even after all this time, even after everything we’ve been through, they’ve got me craving him in a way I can’t explain, can’t control. It’s maddening, wanting someone I’ve convinced myself that I hate and that I don’t need.
“Come on, Candace, what’s it going to be?” He murmurs against my lips.
My breath catches, and I realize the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with a tension I can’t quite name.
I force a smile, hoping it’s enough to mask the chaos inside me. “Dream on, Ryan,” I say, my voice laced with defiance. But the heat in my tone betrays me, exposing the lie in my words. Even I can hear it.
Ryan doesn’t fire back with his usual sarcasm or smart-ass response; he doesn’t let me off with a joke or a quip. Instead, something in him shifts—I can feel it. The air between us thickens as he pulls me closer. Before I can react, he turns so that my back hits the wall, the solid surface jarring me just enough to make my pulse spike. His hands catch my wrists, pinning them above my head with a strength that’s undeniable, but not cruel. His other hand circles my throat—not tight, but enough to hold me in place. His eyes burn into mine, darker and more serious than I’ve ever seen them.
“I’m done playing, Candace,” he growls, his voice low and rough, the vibration of his words humming against my skin. “So, what’s it going to be? You going to try to keep running from this, from us?”
His breath is warm against my face, his body pressed against mine, a line of heat and strength I can’t ignore. A shiver races down my spine, a primal reaction I wasn’t prepared for. The intensity of his grip, his proximity, awakens something deep inside me, something I’ve spent years burying. This moment feels like a crossroads, the line between resisting him and surrendering to everything he ignites in me.
“Fuck or fight, Candace,” he murmurs, his lips so close to mine I can feel the tease of his words. Each syllable brushes against my resolve, threatening to unravel it. “Make up your mind.”
I’m frozen, caught between the pull of the flames and the safety of retreat. My heart races as I stare into his eyes, knowing that whatever choice I make, there’s no turning back.
The tension hangs heavy, a tangible force weaving through the dimly lit room. It’s laced with the scent of his cologne and the faint hum of electricity sparking between us. This is a dangerous dance—a push and pull of desires and fears, of wanting, needing, and denying—all colliding in one heated moment. This is the point of no return, and I don’t know which scares me more: giving in to him or walking away.
A sneer curls on my lips, a scathing retort ready to slice through the suffocating tension. But before I can let the venom drip from my words, his lips crash onto mine, silencing everything I might have said. The smooth, demanding texture of his mouth extinguishes every protest swirling in my head.
His grip on my throat eases, his fingers trailing heat down my neck. They brush over my collarbone, making a mockery of the restraint I’m desperately clinging to. A shiver ripples through my skin as his hand finds the swell of my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, teasing it into a peak of sensitivity. He swallows each gasp that escapes me, kissing me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.
And then, with a roughness that sends adrenaline surging through my veins, he grabs the hem of my sweater and draws it over my head, tossing it aside. My bra meets the same fate, discarded without care, leaving me bare beneath his hungry gaze.
“Damn it, Ryan,” I breathe against his invading mouth, but there’s no fight in my voice anymore—just raw, unfiltered need that matches his own.
I’m starving for him. My body betrays me, every moan vibrating against his lips as I arch into him, desperate for more. Craving the press of his skin against mine, I can’t stop myself.
For the first time in years, I let myself feel.
Feel him.
Feel us.
The storm kicks up in intensity as if it is a reflection of the one brewing between us, but for once, I don’t fight it.
Instead, I let it consume me.
His hips pin me firmly to the wall, the hardness of his cock throbbing against my belly, igniting a fire I’ve fought so hard to keep at bay.
“Let me touch you,” I plead, hating the desperation in my voice but unable to stop myself.
But he doesn’t relent, his hands pinning mine above my head. It’s maddening—the way he controls this dance of dominance and submission, leaving me helpless to do anything but feel. I guess we’d been doing this with each other even before either of us knew anything about the lifestyle. I feel the roughness of his jeans against my inner thighs, the heat of his erection branding my skin, the ache pulsing within me, demanding satisfaction.
“Touch me? Is that what you want?” His voice is a low rumble, laced with dark promises and the threat of surrender. “Because you’ve got to say it, Candace. Tell me you want it.”
My throat tightens around a whimper, my eyes locked on his, caught in the stormy depths of his gaze that threatens to consume me whole. This man—this infuriating, intoxicating man—has stripped me of my top and all my defenses along with it.
“Please,” I whisper. The word is barely audible, but it feels louder than any declaration I’ve ever made.
“Better,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my cheek, scorching skin that’s just been pressed against the cool plaster of the wall. As his hips grind into me again, I wonder if this is what it feels like to teeter on the brink of chaos—terrifying, overwhelming, and utterly exhilarating.
His hand, that masterful artist of desire, slips past the barrier of my yoga pants, delving into the heated silk of my need. The world narrows to the movement of his middle finger, striking a chord deep within me, playing me with a mastery that leaves no room for denial. His palm, a searing brand on my pulsing center, forces my spine to arch involuntarily, my body betraying any last shred of resistance.
"Ryan," I breathe, as his other hand finally releases mine. My arm snakes around his neck, pulling him closer, needing the solid reality of him to anchor me against the whirlwind of sensations his touch sparks to life. My free hand, trembling with a mix of need and rebellion, slides down his taut stomach and beneath the waistband of his pants. The thick, hard length of him presses against my palm, a claim on my breath, a physical reminder of how much he wants me.
He is all tension and heat, a statue of male desire carved just for me.
"Damn you, Ryan," I manage between ragged breaths as he lifts me into his arms. The world tilts, and I cling to him, my sanctuary in the storm he’s unleashed.
The stairs become an obstacle course on the way to the bedroom, but I don’t care. I want him, and I’m done denying it. My hand ventures further into the heat of his pants, earning a stumble from him. With a growl of frustration and lust, he sets me down on the cool wood, my back pressed to the banister. His fingers work at my pants with a frenzy that borders on violent, stripping them and my panties away and leaving me bare, exposed to his hungry gaze.
"You’re going to make me make you come before I can get you into a bed to fuck you properly, aren’t you?" His voice is rough, a low groan that reverberates through the air and settles like fire between my thighs.
"Maybe," I half-moan, half-tease, spreading my legs for him. My right hand slips down, opening myself to him, to the hunger in his eyes. He leans in, and his tongue traces a scorching path up my wetness, stoking the inferno raging within me.
"God, Ryan…" My words dissolve into a gasp as his mouth closes over me, his tongue relentless in its pursuit of my pleasure. Each stroke, each flick, pushes me further into the abyss, a fall I welcome now, one I only want to take with him.
My fingers clutch the cool, polished wood of the stairs beneath me, legs spreading wider as he dips lower, tasting me fully before sliding back up. Ryan’s tongue, sinfully skilled, swirls around my clit, drawing circles of fire that leave me panting, my chest rising and falling with a wild need only he can satisfy. It’s not just his mouth that has me spiraling—it’s the intent behind every calculated movement, the promise that he knows exactly how to unravel me.
"Ryan," I exhale, the word a fragmented surrender. His free hand grazes over my nipples, pinching lightly, sending jolts of electric pleasure coursing through me, amplifying the sensations radiating from where his lips are locked onto me. My gaze drops, and I watch him work between my legs, the sight nearly shattering my control.
I tremble, the coiling heat deep in my belly building to an unbearable peak. But I hold back, biting my lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction just yet—though I know it’s only a matter of time before I can’t resist the release he’s so expertly drawing from me.
With a growl of frustration and lust, he lifts me up and carries me the rest of the way to the bed, tossing me onto it and following me down, unbuttoning his fly as he does so. Spreading my legs, he makes a place for himself between my thighs and then thrusts up inside me.
"More, Ryan," I pant between kisses, the sensation building, threatening to sweep me away.
"Keep up with me, Candace," he grunts, his breath hot against my cheek. It’s not a challenge—it’s a promise of the ecstasy waiting to consume me. And I know, no matter what, this is exactly where I need to be. In his arms. In the hands of a man who makes me forget everything but the raw pleasure of being his and only his.
The world tilts, and Ryan’s voice, a hot, dark whisper against my ear, sends shivers cascading down my spine. "I’ve wanted to fuck you again for so long. I swear the first club we visit you’re going to spend some serious time strapped to a spanking horse."
His words sear into me, sending a surge of need straight to my pussy, an irrevocable claim that unravels the last threads of my resistance. His eyes lock onto mine, drilling into me, as if to etch every word onto my soul.
"I’ve thought about you, fantasized about getting my cock inside you again. God, I’d forgotten how beautiful, how perfect you are, Candace."
As he speaks, my body tenses, the delicious coil in my belly tightening to the point of agony. He doesn’t wait for me to respond with sarcasm or fight. Instead, his rhythm becomes relentless, driving into me with a precision that promises nothing but oblivion.
"Keep fucking me," I gasp, my voice a ragged sound lost in the heavy breathing that fills the bedroom. My nails dig into his shoulders, marking him, branding this moment on both our bodies, a memory of when everything between us changed.
"Oh, I’m going to, baby. Until that hate in your eyes turns into something else," he growls, his breath hot against my sweat-dampened skin as he whispers words meant only for me. "Until you beg me to never stop fucking you."
There’s no time to weigh the meaning of his confession, no space to consider the future he paints with those words. Because just then, his hand snakes between us and finds that spot, the maddening, perfect pressure on my clit, and I shatter. I fall apart beneath him, my cries echoing off the walls as pleasure consumes me, taking every thought, every fear, and leaving only him.
He follows, his release tearing a guttural cry from his lips, my name falling from him like a confession, raw and unfiltered. He finds heaven alongside me, a heaven made of flesh and desire, of two bodies moving in perfect, desperate harmony.
In his arms, I rediscover paradise, a place I fought so hard to resist. One I never thought I’d find again, but Ryan is a siren call I can’t ignore, not when every touch scorches me, not when his presence alone ignites a need I can’t control.
And now? Now he has me, because I never want him to stop. Not now, not with the taste of him still on my tongue, the scent of hot, unbridled sex lingering in the air. In the tangle of limbs and labored breaths, I know I’m lost to him. And it occurs to me I might just be okay with being found.