7. Alison #6
“Fuck.” His forehead drops to mine. “Ally. You feel — god. You feel like home.” He kisses me. Soft. Open. “You’re mine,” he whispers against my mouth. “Not his. Not anyone’s. Mine. This body. This baby. This girl who climbed out a window tonight and asked me to wash him off her.”
“Yours,” I manage. “Ryan. Yours.”
He starts to move then — tiny rolls of his hips at first, testing, making sure I can take it like this. Each stroke is shallow and deep at the same time. The water makes everything slicker. My nails dig into the back of his neck.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me take care of you. Let me remind you who you belong to.”
“I know who I belong to. You, Ry."
His next thrust is a little firmer. Still careful. Still slow. “Say it again.”
“You.” I kiss the wet corner of his mouth. “Only you. Always you.” He makes a sound that’s almost a groan and presses his face into my neck, still moving inside me, still holding my leg up like he’ll never let it drop.
“I love you,” he says into my skin. “You’re it. There’s no version of me that doesn’t end with you.”
Every thrust presses me back into the steam and the tile and him.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Taking me so well. Standing in my shower after that motherfucker put his hands on you and still asking for me.” I whimper. He feels it and smiles, small and dark and proud. “You like that?"
“Yes.”
“Good.” His next stroke bottoms out and stays there for a second.
“Because I’m going to keep saying it. You’re mine.
That baby is mine. The only man who gets to touch you like this is me.
” Water sheets down his back. His hand flexes on my thigh, holding my leg exactly where he wants it.
“Look at you,” he says, voice wrecked and worshipful at the same time.
“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Smartest. Bravest. Climbing out windows for me.
Sitting through lunch with a monster and still coming home and opening your legs for me. ”
“Ryan—“
“I know.” He starts moving again, a little harder, still controlled.
“You’re doing so good. Letting me in. That’s all I need from you tonight.
Just this.” The praise lands hotter than the water.
I tighten around him and he groans. “There. That.” His forehead stays against mine.
“I thought about you all day. Every second he had his hand on your knee I was thinking about this.”
“Where?” It comes out wrecked.
“Here.” A deep thrust. “On me. In my house. In my hands.” My nails bite the back of his neck. The pressure is building fast now, thick and low. “I can feel you. You’re close.” His voice drops. “Come on. Give it to me.”
“Ryan — please —“
“Now.”
I break with a sharp cry against his mouth, body clamping down around him, the orgasm ripping through me in hard, shaking waves. He holds my leg up and fucks me through it — slow, deep, relentless.
“That’s it. So fucking mine.” He grinds into me while I pulse around him.
I come until I can’t hold myself up.
He doesn’t last long after that. Ryan’s rhythm stutters, his arm tightening around my back, my leg still hooked around his hip. He buries his face in my wet neck and comes with a low, broken sound — my name first, then something that isn’t even a word.
“Ally — fuck —“
I feel him pulse inside me, heat against the water, his whole body going tight and then shuddering loose. He holds me through it like he’s afraid I’ll slip. When it finally eases he stays inside me, breathing hard against my skin.
“I love you,” he says into my throat. Quiet. Wrecked.
My fingers stroke the back of his wet neck. “I love you too.”
He kisses me once, soft, then carefully lowers my leg and slips out of me. I make a small sound at the loss. He steadies me until both my feet are flat on the tile. “Just stay there.”
He picks the soap back up. This wash is different from the first. Slower. Almost sleepy. He soaps my stomach again, then between my thighs where he’s still leaking out of me, gentle enough that I twitch and he immediately gentles more.
“Sorry. Sensitive.”
A kiss to my shoulder. “Means I did it right.”
He washes himself after, quick and efficient, then rinses both of us until there’s nothing left but hot water and his soap. No restaurant. No cologne. No Victor. Ryan shuts the tap off.
The silence is sudden. Steam hangs in the glass.
He reaches out, grabs a towel, and wraps it around me first — always me first — tucking it in like I’m something he’s putting back together.
He dries my arms without touching the bruises.
Dries my hair enough that it won’t soak the pillow.
Then he wraps a second towel around his waist and opens the door.
Cool air hits my skin. He takes my hand and leads me down the hall to his room.
I don’t look at the window I climbed through.
I don’t think about the two cars that took them to the plane. I just follow him.
By the time I climb into Ryan’s bed, my hair is damp, my skin smells like his soap, and I can finally take a breath without smelling Victor Tremblay.
Ryan comes out of the bathroom a minute later in black boxer briefs beneath a pair of gray shorts, his chest bare while he drags a towel over his hair. I already stole one of his shirts. Apparently neither of us believes in asking permission before I raid his closet anymore.
He kills the bedroom light and climbs in beside me.
Ryan settles against the headboard and pulls me against his side, careful about which arm he touches.
His skin is still warm from the shower, and when I tuck my head beneath his chin, his hand comes down over my stomach automatically. For a minute, neither of us talks.
Then he kisses the top of my head. “Start at the beginning.”
I sigh. “You already know the bad parts.”
“I know your father put his hands on you.” His jaw tightens against my hair. “And I know Tremblay couldn’t keep his fucking hands or mouth to himself. I don’t know how we got there.”
“You’re going to get mad.”
“Ally, I’m currently lying in bed because you asked me not to commit multiple felonies. We’re past pretending I’m handling this well.”
I lift my head. “You are handling it well.”
“I’m handling you well.” The distinction makes me pause. “My thoughts about them are significantly less civilized.”
“Good to know.”
“I came downstairs around ten. He looked me over and said good. Then he made me sit down because apparently my social life required a performance review. He asked about Catherine first. Then Penelope. Then Rebecca.”
Ryan looks down at me. “Full names?”
“Every one. He said their families have attracted a lot of attention this year and I need to be careful about who I associate with.” I stare at the blankets.
“He said graduation isn’t far away and my circumstances will be different afterward.
That school friendships feel permanent when they aren’t.
Then he said Victor has friends and associates with wives of their own, and I’ll meet women through him who are more appropriate for the life I’ll be living. ”
He holds my eyes for another second before nodding. “What happened next?”
“He gave me the rules for lunch.”
Ryan’s expression hardens immediately. “What rules?”
“Be pleasant. Listen when Victor speaks. If he asks my opinion, I can give it respectfully, but I’m not supposed to argue just because I don’t like what he says.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“And I wasn’t supposed to pull away when he touched me.”
Ryan goes completely still. "What?"
“He said Victor shouldn’t have to wonder whether his future wife is happy to see him.” Ryan slowly sits straighter. “And that I couldn’t act like his affection was unwanted. Especially in public.”
“Your father ordered you to let Tremblay touch you.” The words come out frighteningly calm.
“I guess.”
“No.” His eyes find mine. “Don’t make that smaller. He told you before Tremblay even got there that you weren’t allowed to say no with your fucking body.”
My throat tightens. “I know.”
Ryan looks away. His jaw works once. Twice. “Okay.”
“That’s not an okay okay.”
“No.” His hand tightens around mine. “That’s a keep talking before I start trying to figure out where their fucking plane landed okay.”
I settle back against him. “Then we got in the car. He held my hand most of the way.”
Ryan’s fingers tighten around mine before immediately loosening. “Sorry.”
“You’re fine.”
“What did he talk about?”
“School at first. I said I was ready to graduate. He said he was too.”
Ryan’s face changes. “Why?”
“Because he’s been waiting.”
“Waiting.”
“That’s how he said it.” I feel Ryan’s chest expand beneath me. “He told Dad five years was a long time.”
Silence.
“Five years.”
“Yeah.”
“He said that in front of you.”
“Yeah.”
Ryan stares toward the dark wall. “You were thirteen. And they sat there discussing his patience like he waited five years for a fucking table at a restaurant.”
“He told me only a few more months and we could finally start our life.” Ryan’s fingers spread against me. “The hostess knew him by name. He put his hand around my waist and introduced me as his fiancée.”
Ryan closes his eyes. “Motherfucker.”
“Then we sat down, and after we ordered, he started talking about what happens after graduation. He said the transition should be easy because he has staff. I’m not expected to cook or clean.”
“Oh, good. The child bride package comes with housekeeping.”
“Ryan.”
“Sorry. Continue.”
“He said the house will be mine to manage. I’ll oversee staff and entertaining. I’ll go with him to dinners, fundraisers, political things. New York. Washington. Sometimes overseas.”
“And?”
“And if it isn’t appropriate for me to go, I stay home.”
Ryan’s mouth hardens. “Naturally.”