16. Ryan #4
“You take me so well.” I kiss her throat, then her mouth. “Every time I think I know how you feel and then it’s better. Warmer. Tighter. Like you were waiting for me.”
“I was.” She pulls my hair. “I walked across a yard in the dark for this. For you. Don’t make it small.”
“I’m not.” My voice frays. “I think about you all day. Every version. The girl on the dock. The one who yelled at me in the guest house. This one. I want all of them.”
She laughs once, wrecked. “Good. Because you’re stuck with all of them.”
“Lucky me.”
I snap my hips in a little sharper and she moans, loud enough that I swallow it with a kiss. Sweat at her temple. My name again, softer now. Her other hand finds the small of my back and holds me in when I try to ease off.
“Don’t you dare,” she says. “I can take it. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
“Ally.”
“I mean it.” Her eyes are wet and fierce. “If I have to count days, I want this in my body while I do it.”
I groan and give her what she’s asking for — deeper, claiming, still kissing her like she’s the only country I know how to find. One of my hands frames her jaw so she has to look at me.
“You’re mine,” I tell her. Not a threat. A fact. “Not because anybody signed a paper. Because you chose me. Because I chose you. That’s the only contract I care about.”
“Then keep choosing me.” She lifts to meet the next thrust. “Right now. Like this.”
“I am.” I kiss her until we’re both shaking. “I will. Even when it gets ugly. Especially then.”
She nods against my mouth, legs tighter, and I stay in that harder rhythm — sweet and wrecked and all the way inside her — without tipping either of us over yet.
Then I lose the polite version of myself.
Not the careful one — I still keep my weight off her arms, still don’t crush her — but the part that’s been trying to sound reasonable.
There is nothing reasonable about five days.
There is nothing reasonable about her in my bed wearing the shape of another man’s hands.
I drive into her harder and hold her there.
“Mine.” It comes out against her mouth. “Say you hear me.”
“Ryan—“ It’s barely a word. A moan with my name stuck in it.
“Mine.” Another thrust, deep enough that her breath punches out. “This. You. The way you open for me. The way you came across that yard. Mine.”
She nods, frantic, eyes wet. “Y-yes—ah—“
“That’s not enough.” I kiss her through it, messy now. “I need you to understand. I don’t share you. Not with him. Not with a plane. Not with a school in another country. You don’t get taken from me.”
“Please—“ Her nails scrape my back. “Don’t stop—“
“I won’t.” I hook her knee higher and bury myself to the hilt. “Feel that? That’s me. That’s the only man who gets this. The only one who knows how you sound when you break. The only one who gets to put his mouth on you and then slide home like he belongs here.”
A broken moan. “Belong—fuck—Ryan—“
“I do.” My forehead slams to hers. “I belong in you. You belong with me. I can’t lose you. I won’t. Do you understand what that means?”
She shakes her head — not no, overwhelmed. Another high, cracked sound when I snap my hips.
“It means I will burn the map.” I kiss the tear that slips toward her temple. Still sweet. Still her boy. Just done pretending I’m fine. “It means if they put you on that plane, I’m already on the next one. It means there is no version of my life that doesn’t have you in it. Mine. Mine. Mine.”
“Yours—“ It falls apart into a moan. “I’m—yours—please—“
“Good.” I fuck her through the word, steady and claiming. “Tomorrow you’ll still feel me. That’s the point.”
“Ryan—I can’t—“
“You can.” I kiss her mouth, gentler than the way I’m moving. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you. Not once. Not even close. You’re the thing I don’t survive losing.”
She sobs my name. Not sad. Full. Her body clutches around me every time I bottom out.
“Stay,” I whisper, and it’s the softest thing I’ve said since I got inside her. “Stay in this bed. Stay in my hands. Stay mine. I will do the rest. I will do whatever the rest costs.”
“Don’t—leave—“ Broken. Barely speech.
“Never.” I gather her closer, still thrusting, still marking the promise with my body. “You’re mine, Ally O’Toole. Not his. Not the world’s. Mine. And I am not giving you back.”
She breaks beautifully. No scream. Just her whole body pulling tight around me, a shattered sound in her throat, her face tipped up like she’s seeing something I can’t. Tears at the corners of her eyes. Mouth open. My name in pieces.
“Ally—fuck—“ I keep moving, slower now, riding her through it while she pulses around me in long, helpless waves.
She’s gone. Blissed out. Still coming when I can’t hold it anymore.
“I—can’t—Ally—“ I bury myself and follow her.
It knocks the air out of me. I come hard, shaking, face in her neck, one broken groan after another against her skin while she keeps fluttering around me like she isn’t done yet. I hold her through both of us. Don’t talk. Don’t try to make it mean more than the way we’re clinging.
When it finally eases, I stay inside her until she makes a small, tired sound.
Then I kiss her temple, ease out as carefully as I went in, and pull her into me.
She winces anyway. I mutter an apology into her hair, reach for the sheet, pull it over both of us, and roll us until she’s tucked against my chest. Her cheek finds the spot over my heart like it already knew the way.
I drag the blanket higher. Smooth her hair off her face.
Rest my hand on her waist, thumb moving once, then going still so I don’t wake her if she’s already slipping.
The guest house settles. The clock in the other room keeps lying. Ally falls asleep with her head on my chest.
I don’t. Of course I fucking don’t.
The room is dark except for the light coming through the blinds.
Her breathing has evened out. One leg is tangled with mine.
My hand rests over her stomach. Our baby.
Right there. Ally makes a tiny sound in her sleep and shifts closer.
I close my eyes. Hair against my chin. Warm skin beneath my palm.
The weight of her against me. I memorize all of it.
Not because Bella’s right. Not because I think Victor’s going to win. Because for the first time in my life, I understand exactly how much I have to lose.
Four days when we wake up. Arthur gets four days. Our dads get four days. The boys get four days. I stare into the dark. Victor Tremblay gets four days too. Four days to change his fucking mind.
Because Ally is asleep against my chest. My baby is beneath my hand. Tobias is across the yard waiting for somebody to finally keep the promises adults keep making him.
And if the law isn’t ready by Saturday?
I will be.