7. Chapter Seven
7
Ryker
As soon as I saw the tears gathering in her eyes, I knew I’d made a mistake. What did I think was going to happen, that she wouldn’t hear me throughout the house or ignore it if she did? I shove the notebook with my lyrics onto the floor and run a hand through my hair in frustration.
Singing has always been a passion of mine, about as much as playing the guitar, which is why I make it a point to do it in my spare time. I’m not the lead singer of our band and that means I don’t get much of a spotlight on my voice. I’d always wondered if it’s because I don’t have what it takes to make something of myself with the voice, but that doesn’t stop me from singing when I’m alone.
The guys don’t even know I do this, especially when it comes to writing.
Which brings me back to the current problem.
Wren was only curious, and I hate that I faulted her for that. The torn look on her face as I was snapping at her is framed perfectly in my mind, showing me exactly how bad my anger rises in unwarranted situations. All I had to do was ask her nicely to let me do this in private, but instead, I had to be rude and scare her off.
I place my guitar back into its case, then lean it against the stand sitting in the middle of the floor and quickly make my way down the hall. There’s no sign of her in here, and my lips tip into a frown – how badly did I scare her away? If she left the property, I would know about it since I’ve got the security cameras set up to detect motion. As soon as her tiny car would pull up to the gate, I’d know that she was leaving.
That means she’s still here, at least.
The relief I feel at knowing that is surprising, but I ignore it and continue my search for her red hair. I’m about to give up when I come back downstairs, but a flash of red from the patio catches my attention, and I saunter over to the sliding glass doors. She’s sitting at the edge of a lounge chair, head in her hands as she bounces her knee up and down frantically with nerves.
I wonder what she’s thinking and if it’s about me.
Before I can chicken out and leave her to her own devices, I push the door open and step out onto the patio with my shoulders slumped in defeat. “Uh, Wren?”
“Yeah?” She asks softly without looking over her shoulder at me.
“Look, I know what I did back there was shitty.”
Wren sighs. “Maybe, but I can understand why you got so upset. It was obviously a personal moment for you, and I interrupted that.” She looks at me, cocking her head to the side, and asks, “Does anyone else know about it?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s only something I do when I’m alone.”
She nods. “Is there a reason why you haven’t opened this door? You’re amazing, you know. I’m sure people would love to hear stuff from you.”
“Singing isn’t something I do,” I say truthfully. “Playing guitar, that’s easy, but letting my voice be heard is entirely different.”
“Do you have fears?”
For the first time since she got here, I don’t fight the question she asks me. “Yeah,” I say softly. “A lot of them.”
“What kind of fears?”
“Brent is the singer. He’s smarter, and the words I write are nothing compared to his. No one would be interested in hearing my stuff.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean people wouldn’t like what you write,” Wren says softly. “You and Brent are two very different people, with different emotions on the inside, you're bound to write differently than one another.”
She shrugs. “Who’s to say someone somewhere isn’t waiting to hear a song that resonates with them? Plenty of people feel the same way as you do, would want to be understood, and you could easily do that for them with a song.”
“It’s too risky,” I say, then shake my head. “Holding the guitar, that’s what I’m meant to be doing.”
“If it helps,” she says. “I’d listen to your music.”
That sends an emotion rolling through me that I don’t quite understand, but now isn’t the time to get into it.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Regardless of my reasons, I should’ve controlled my emotions, so I’m sorry for being so rude to you. I’m not used to someone being around all the time, and it’s going to take getting used to it.” I take tentative steps closer to her and give her a small smile. “Think you can be patient with me?”
She gives me a small smile. “I’m here to be patient with you, Ryker. The only way we get through this time together is if you’re comfortable enough to open up – no matter how long that takes.”
We stare into each other's eyes for a few moments longer than necessary, and the first thought that pops into my head is slamming my lips against hers – that should tell me enough to back away from her.
Yet, that’s not what I do. Instead, I take another step forward and decrease the distance between us. I expect her to back away, silently beg her to do it as we stare into each other’s eyes, but she only takes a deep and ragged breath without moving a single step.
When I take that final step, and her covered breasts brush against my chest, that’s all it takes for me to lean forward and claim her lips with my own. Everything about this kiss makes me feel alive and our surroundings fade around us as I deepen it.
She pushes her tongue into my parted mouth, making me groan low in my throat as I invite her in without a second thought.
We should stop, I know that. I could place my hands against her shoulders and push her away, but it’s not that easy. The way she lifts her hands and twists her fingers through my short hair before tugging on the strands only makes me crave her touch that much more. Her mouth is soft against mine, her body molding into me like the perfect puzzle piece missing in my life.
I tug her closer to me until the only air we’re breathing is each other’s, then gently walk toward the chair behind her. When her knees brush against the edge of the seat, I spin around and pull her onto me so that she’s straddling my lap with her lips still fused to mine.
This is how I get out of my feelings – sex and desire. It’s likely unhealthy, and if I’d give Wren the breathing room, she’d probably pull away and tell me exactly that. I’ve already said more to her than I have anyone else.
She could tell I was a mess this morning. That’s probably why she focused on a new yoga pose today.
I’m concerned that she’s going to manage to find out exactly why I was in a sour mood today.
For the third time this week, I went onto my parents' social media pages. I torture myself with it every now and then to make sure I understand how untrue love is. This time has really messed with me because, as of now, they are on a fancy cruise in Barbados, watching whales or dolphins—pretty much anything other than checking in with their only son.
If only I would’ve gone into med school like they had wanted, then I wouldn’t be in this predicament.
“Ryker,” Wren whispers against my lips before pulling away breathlessly. “We should stop.”
“Or,” I say with a lopsided grin and fingers threading through her unruly curls. “This could be taken to the bedroom, and you’ll let me worship your body like every man should.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and shakes her head with a sigh. “This is unethical, Ryker. It could ruin my career.”
Is she trying to convince herself or me?
As much as I don’t want her to be right, I know that she is.
Yet, as we look into each other’s eyes it doesn’t take longer than a few seconds before we’re clawing at each other’s clothes.
While she discards my flimsy tank and throws it on the ground, I do the same with her sports bra. She pulls away, eyes trailing over the few tattoos I’ve gotten since being in the band – courtesy of Brent because he thought it’d make me look like I belonged next to him and Evan.
My skin heats as she drags a manicured nail over my chest, outlining one tattoo gently before moving to the one on my bicep. Before I can yank her lips back to mine, she leans forward and drags her tongue over the artwork.
Breaking the rules has its perks.
I’ve never felt such a rush with a woman before. It's nothing like I am with Wren right now, and it’s unnerving. It's not enough to make me stop what we’re doing, though. Instead, I reach forward and massage the thick flesh of her breasts before pinching a perked nipple between my fingers. She gasps at the contact and arches her back into my touch as her way of begging me for more without saying the words, and I oblige with another roll between my fingers.
While she outlines the faded ink of my tattoos, I continue this – massage one breast, roll her nipple between my fingers, then move onto the other breast and do the same. By the time she’s gone over every tattoo on my body, she’s pulling away with ragged breaths and nothing but heat flaring in her electric blue eyes.
I dip my hand beneath the waistband of her athletic shorts, pushing past the barrier of her lace panties, and groan as my fingers slip through her arousal. “ Fuck ,” I mutter. “You’re already so wet for me.”
She nods into the crook of my neck, her hips shifting uncontrollably in my lap as she tries desperately to chase that release she’s eager to let take her over. I glance down, watching her hips work against the front of my pants, and nearly come at the sight of her on top of me.
That’s what I need, to come in my pants like a teenager.
Before I make a fool of myself, I grip her hips to steady her movements and rock her slowly into me rather than the frantic way she was doing it before. My cock is aching to be sheathed within her slick heat, but I know that’s not an option today. The only thing I want is to make her cry out in ecstasy and hear my name slip from those beautiful, pouty lips.
Wren gasps as I rub my thumb over her clit eagerly and sinks her teeth into my shoulder before pulling away to look into my eyes. “I need more, Ryker, please?”
I should not like hearing the sound of her begging. It’s like music to my ears. Without saying anything, for fear that I’ll scare her off me before she comes all over my fingers, I gently ease a thick digit into her entrance while still using my thumb to rub over her clit. To add to her pleasure, I lean forward and graze my tongue gently over a nipple as her legs shake against mine.
“Come,” I demand against her skin.
As I had hoped, she cries out into the early afternoon sun, her walls clenching around my fingers and my name pouring from her lips. I drown out her cries with a searing kiss until there’s nothing more left to come out of her, and then I gently remove my hand from the front of her pants. For a moment, we’re stuck like this – her on my lap, breathing raggedly against each other – and it doesn’t take long for that moment to come to a grueling end.
“Oh God,” she mumbles before scrambling off my lap and frantically searching for her discarded shirt with panic evident in her eyes. “This shouldn’t have happened. Shit .”
I’m about to get up and try to ease her mind, but she only shakes her head without another glance in my direction and heads back into the house without bothering to find her shirt.
Did I just screw everything up?