Chapter 28
Connor
International Business Theory can fuck right off. I’m three chapters behind because of the concussion, and Professor Curto’s making us analyze supply chain disruptions in emerging markets. Like I give a shit about textile manufacturing.
What I need to be doing is figuring out how to destroy my parents’ ability to ever fuck with my husband again. But right now, I can barely focus on this fucking assignment.
I close my eyes, rubbing my temples, and slouching further into the oversized leather chair. Between the large arched windows letting in too much light and the damn chandelier, everything’s still too bright. Looking at the computer screen for the last two hours doesn’t help much either.
But Ryan needs time alone with his friends. And Merci isn’t my biggest fan right now. His fault. He should have just told me what he knew rather than giving me his usual attitude. Still, I shouldn’t have grabbed him.
Zach’s still pissed. He’s not threatening to kill me anymore, just curses me out, and no longer helps me with my contracts class.
Fuck him.
He needs to get over it, especially when he would’ve done the same thing if it were Merci missing.
My phone buzzes against the table.
American Express: Transaction Alert - $847.23 at Sephora.
What the fuck?
Another alert pops up.
Hermès: Transaction Alert- $2,847.19 at Hermès.
Fuck.
Did someone—
Eli sprints past, giggling like he's lost his goddamn mind, his face bright red and blotchy. Merci’s on his heels, shooting me the double bird. They crash through the exit doors and keep running.
Those little fuckers.
I slam my laptop closed and shove it in my bag. Never thought I'd need to lock my fucking desk drawer.
Viktor's coming down the stairs, pet carrier in hand, just as I'm going up. “Nice cologne collection you've got on your dresser.” He shifts the carrier to his other hand, an obnoxious smirk on his face. “Very vintage. Though the lens quality is impressive for something so . . . discreet.”
“Better not have said anything to Ryan.”
“Of course I wouldn’t.” He continues down the stairs, calling back. “And thanks for all the goodies.”
Mother. Fucker.
I take the stairs two at a time, phone still buzzing in my pocket. What the fuck else did they buy?
When I push open the door, Ryan's stretched out on his bed with a bag of Sour Patch Kids. The second he sees me, he jumps up, a few pieces scattering across his blanket.
The tips of his ears go red first, then it spreads down his neck. “Uh, hi?”
My eyes narrow. “That’s all you have to say?”
He turns redder, rubbing the back of his neck. “They found your card.”
My phone buzzes again. I pull it out, jaw clenching at the new alert. “One-thousand-four-hundred dollars for Philip B shampoo!”
The corner of Ryan's mouth quirks up. “Wanted to take better care of my hair.”
“What hair? You buzz cut that shit every two weeks.” I drop my bag onto my desk, then lean against it. “Did you four not think the credit card company wouldn't send alerts?”
He picks up one of the scattered Sour Patch Kids from his blanket. “Tried to stop them. But Merci and Viktor were on a roll.”
Of course those fuckheads teamed up.
“I'll deal with them later.” I push off the desk. “But whatever you bought, keep it.”
He blushes. “But you already paid my tuition.”
“The money doesn't matter. Never has, never will.” I’ve been moving money I receive from various places like birthday gifts, NIL revenue from when EA sports used me in a video game, and even the first third of my trust fund I received last year into accounts my parents can't touch.
“You keep saying that. Like dropping thousands is nothing.”
“Because it is nothing.” I walk over and sit next to him. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugs. “Better. Until the whole shopping fiasco.”
My phone buzzes again. Another alert. “Ten grand on ? You fuckers are ridiculous.”
Ryan picks at a loose thread on his blanket. “That was me. Made some purchases for a few local agencies and nonprofits, all for foster care or group homes. I wanted to do something for the holidays, even if it was early.”
This fucking man.
I lean closer, giving him time to pull away if he needs to. When he doesn't, I brush my lips against his. “Next time, tell me. We'll do double.”
“Really?”
“Anything you want, baby.”
Ryan kisses me, his tongue sliding against mine, hungry and desperate. His hands come up to frame my face, making these soft fucking sounds that go straight to my dick, then he grabs my wrist, pulling my hand up to his face and pressing my palm against his cheek while he sucks on my bottom lip.
I can’t stop the smile from spreading, even if it messes with the kiss. Every time he allows me to touch him somewhere new makes me feel like a goddamn king.
“You buy yourself some new panties?” I ask in between kisses.
“Mhm.” He straddles me, then starts grinding. “Lots of new ones.”
“Fuuuck.” I grip the blanket, my hips moving in sync with his. “So fucking hard right now.”
“Me too.” Ryan's panting, grinding harder as his tongue fucks my mouth. “Want . . . you to . . . fuck me.”
“You sure?”
He nods and I damn near come.
Ryan climbs off me to strip out of his clothes. No hesitation this time. And fuck, his cock's fully hard, thick and leaking. His nipples tight, peaked buds. My eyes drop to those massive fucking thighs I hope to run my hands over one day.
Ryan tilts his head, one eyebrow quirked. “Gonna stare all day or get naked?”
Bossy fucker.
I pop the button on my jeans and yank them off, then my shirt. I grab the base of my dick, squeezing as he reaches for a bottle of lube from his nightstand, then tosses it onto the bed.
He pushes me down until my back hits the mattress, straddles me, then takes both our dicks into his hand and strokes.
My hips punch up. “Fuck!”
Ryan’s eyelids are half-mast, his lips slightly parted. “I want to ride you. Feel you stretch me. Need it so bad.”
“Baby, keep talking like that and I won’t last another minute.”
He strokes slowly, dragging his palm up our shafts, thumb sliding through the precum leaking from our tips. The angle changes when he thrusts, and our dicks slide against each other.
I start fucking into his grip, feeling every ridge and vein of his dick pressed against mine.
“Touch me.” Ryan grabs my wrist with his free hand, prying my fingers from the death grip I've got on the sheets, then placing it on his left hip. “Here. This is okay.”
His skin's hot under my palm. When my thumb brushes over his hip bone his breath hitches—a sharp intake that turns into a low groan.
That chest hitch happens again, the one that means I'm completely fucked over this man. “Fuck, Ryan. You're gonna kill me.”
He starts guiding my hand lower toward his thigh. Toward the scars.
“No.” I yank it back up to where it just was. “Not happening.”
“Please, Connor, I want—”
“I won’t let you push yourself. Or me. Your hip’s fucking perfect right now.” I thrust up harder. “Still gonna fuck you. Still want inside you.”
He moans and speeds up his strokes.
“Get yourself ready for me, baby. Or do you want me to?”
“I got it.” Ryan grabs the lube, pouring it over his fingers. He shifts onto his side, reaching behind himself, and I watch his face change as he pushes his fingers in.
“You've done this before?”
His eyes flutter closed. “Yeah, I’ve . . . played with . . . my ass.”
Ryan's breath gets choppy as he works himself open . . . and fuck, he’s the hottest thing I've ever seen. His dick bobs every time he pushes deeper, precum dripping onto my stomach. His thighs are shaking, those massive fucking legs spreading wider as he opens himself up.
I follow the tremors up his body to his face—eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip caught between his teeth, this little furrow between his brows like he's concentrating so fucking hard. And when his entire body jerks, a grunt punching out of him, I almost come. “How many fingers?”
“Two . . . about to add . . . another.”
“That's it, baby. Get yourself ready.”
After a few minutes, Ryan pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets, then reaching for the lube to pour it onto my dick.
I sit up and grab his wrist. “Wait. Need a condom.”
Ryan looks at me, still panting. “We don't have to—”
“Not happening without one. I haven't been tested in a while.”
His face falls, shoulders dropping. “I . . . I don't have any.”
“I do.” I shift him off me, ignoring the way his expression goes flat. “Two seconds.”
I get up and cross the room to my dresser, yanking open my underwear drawer. Still have a strip from before all this marriage shit started. I tear one off with my teeth and roll it on.
When I walk back over, Ryan's staring at my dick, wrapped tight in latex.
“Get me nice and slick, baby.”
He grabs the lube with shaking hands, pouring it over my length. His fingers wrap around me, stroking root to tip, spreading it everywhere.
I buck hard when he keeps stroking. “Enough. Want you to ride me until you can't fucking walk tomorrow.”
Ryan tosses the bottle of lube onto the floor as I get back on the bed. Then he climbs over me, those massive thighs bracketing my hips. His cock's standing straight out from his body, thick and leaking. When he reaches to grab my dick, lining me up with his hole, my entire body tenses.
“Ride my fucking dick, baby. Make it yours.”
Ryan lowers himself, and the second my head pushes past that tight ring of muscle, he freezes. His thighs are trembling, breath coming in short pants, sweat already beading on his forehead. “Fuck.”
“Take your time.” My fingers dig into the sheets, fighting every instinct to thrust up into his tight heat.
He sinks another inch, then another, working himself onto my length with little rolls of his hips. Every movement has him clenching around me so fucking tight I see stars.
“Jesus Christ, Ryan.”
He gets about halfway, then stops again, chest heaving. “Give me . . . give me a minute.”
“Take however long you need, baby.”