40. June
FORTY
June
I’m not sure whether it was his quasi marriage proposal or the news about my apartment, but Ryan’s been quiet most of the night. He was a little on edge when he walked in and saw the mess Oliver made in the kitchen, but now it seems so much worse.
Not that I can blame him.
After losing his wife so suddenly, I’m sure the thought of being married again is giving him pause. That’s not something you get over quickly, if ever. Putting himself back in that situation is probably scary. And if it was my apartment ... maybe he’s ready for his own space back. Maybe we’ve been here a little too long. He did look a bit horrified when he walked in and saw the lettuce all over the place.
That makes sense. I bet that’s it.
He needs his privacy back. Or at least what he can get. Oliver will still be spending the night here, and me? I’m not sure what “moving back” means.
Will he want me to spend the night? Will he be willing to come to my apartment ?
My gaze flicks to Ryan, sitting on the other side of Oliver’s bed, reading Attack of the Underwear Dragon . His voice has dropped down, his tone soothing, and Oliver is almost asleep. It’s the quiet moments like this that make me so grateful I found Ryan after these past few years.
I’m going to miss this .
There’s a slight ache in the center of my chest, and I resist the urge to rub it. Once we’re back home, everything will change. Ryan will still be involved in our lives, but it won’t be the same. He won’t be there every day to read Oliver his stories, to play dinosaurs. I won’t get to kiss him whenever I want.
I’ve been here such a short time, but I’ve gotten used to being here with him.
“You ready to go back downstairs?” Ryan whispers, interrupting my thoughts.
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at a random spot on the wall for what’s likely been several minutes now. How do I know? The book is already back on the shelf, and Ryan is standing next to the bed, his head cocked to the side as he studies me. Oops.
I nod, give Oliver a quick good-night kiss, and quietly follow Ryan downstairs.
There’s a part of me that wants to slink off to my room—despite not having slept there in days—and hide away. Is that going to help anything? Probably not. But maybe it would delay the inevitable conversation he and I should have about all this change.
“I thought we could have a little date night.” Ryan hands me a super-fluffy teal blanket and rearranges a few of the pillows on one side of the couch.
“Just a little blanket you had lying around?” I hold it up as he continues to move around the space, lighting a few candles and turning on the TV. “Netflix and chill?”
He shrugs, glancing to the ground before meeting my eyes. “I saw it the other day and it made me think of you. You know, we could watch a movie. Your choice, of course.”
“Who knew Ryan Devlin was such a snuggler ...”
“I’ve never been one to snuggle.”
“What changed?”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and the intensity of his gaze increases with every passing second. “You.”
A thrill runs through me, zipping down my spine. My stomach flops and my core clenches. Me. Holy shit—shoot. Could that be any sexier? I’m about to suggest skipping the movie altogether, but when he lies down on the couch, patting the spot in front of him, I can’t resist.
We can talk later. We’ll have plenty of time this week.
I slide in next to him, his arm almost instantly banding around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. He feels so good behind me—big, muscular, and I bite back the moan threatening to break loose. Barely, but I manage.
“Relax, Princess. Let me cuddle you.” His hand splays out across my stomach. It’s so big his fingers brush the underside of my breast, and suddenly every one of my senses are on overdrive.
I can feel every hard ridge of muscle behind me, the weight of his arm as it curls around me, every tiny caress of his fingers. It’s all too much yet not nearly enough. Every touch is a tease, a promise of what’s to come, and I’m so impatient. So needy. I’m not sure I can lie here, his legs tangled with mine, for an entire movie.
“What do you want to watch?” His voice is low, husky.
It really doesn’t matter. I’m not going to be able to pay attention to a second of it. Not with him so close, with this spiced sandalwood scent wrapping around me.
“That looks good.” I say as he highlights Central Intelligence . It’s got Dwayne Johnson and Kevin Hart, so it’s bound to be funny. Maybe they’ll stand a chance at distracting me from Ryan’s light touches, from the rise and fall of his chest, from his mouth nuzzling against my hair.
Doubtful, but still, they have the best odds.
But as the movie starts, those odds dwindle down to nothing. I’m missing all the funny lines, and I can’t pay attention to save my life. I’m grasping at straws here. How am I supposed to watch this entire thing? I’m so freaking distracted as his thumb brushes along my ribs, I can’t even appreciate Dwayne Johnson in a tight unicorn shirt.
This is torture.
I deserve a medal or something.
A plaque.
Ryan laughs behind me, the grit in his voice rolling right down my spine to my clit. Who knew they were connected? His chest rumbles against my back, and it’s like he’s completely oblivious to my plight. He laughs again and I almost whimper. Almost.
If only I could ... I shift, rubbing my legs together, trying anything to get more friction. Really anything to help alleviate this ache between my legs.
At this point I’m desperate.
His hand moves again, the touch casual, the movement slow. Until it travels south. Ah, fuck (I know, I’m sorry). Millimeter by torturous millimeter, his fingers travel lower and lower. He passes my belly button. He’s at the top of my jeans. Dammit. He paused.
I’m not sure if he knows the full meaning of Netflix and chill—heavy emphasis on the chill—but it doesn’t seem like he does.
I shift again, trying to make it seem natural, but I’m not sure it’s working. I’m seconds away from dry humping his hand.
His fingers twitch.
Inside I’m screaming.
Why is he doing this to me?
He laughs a third time, and he’s got to be completely oblivious to my plight. I shouldn’t have picked a comedy.
I’m about to shift again when those fingers move. They pop the button on my jeans, and I could jump up and do a happy dance, but his fingers are so close to my desperate pussy, I won’t. I can’t risk ruining the moment.
“You’re a terrible snuggler.” His low voice rumbles in my ear, his beautiful, beautiful fingers inching inside my panties. Lower and lower they go. “What’s the matter, Princess? Is this greedy pussy of yours desperate for my touch?”
I could cry in relief, but I let out a low groan instead. He touches my clit, and it’s a whisper of a touch, but it has my entire body convulsing. Another touch and I’m already ready to explode.
He lets out a low groan. “You’re already so wet. Fuck. I can’t wait?—”
“Mommy. Daddy. I don’t feel good.” Oliver’s quiet voice carries down the stairs, and the mood is instantly killed.
Both of us let out a curse and we’re up, scrambling to get off the couch and fix our clothes. I might even let out a small curse as I button up my pants. I really wanted to see where the chill part of the evening was going, but there will always be another night.
Oliver comes first, and I bet any money there’s something going around his day care. I should have been more prepared for this. I didn’t even think about all the medicine that likely got thrown away at my apartment.
“Dang it, I don’t have any meds. Or a thermometer. I should have picked up all-new stuff before I moved in. That was so stupid of me.” I’m hustling up the stairs with Ryan hot on my heels.
He pulls out his phone. “Tell me what you need. I can have an entire pharmacy delivered in thirty minutes.”
It’s nice not to be alone, to be the only one having to handle everything.
Too bad I can’t get used to it. Everything will change when I move back to my apartment.