24. Ryan #5
Not a show. Not a race. Just up, down, that easy slide that makes my fingers dig into her hips so I don’t take over. When she drops she grinds forward, looking for the angle she wants, and I watch her find it. Watch her face change. Watch her use me.
“There you go,” I murmur. “Take it. However you want.”
She does. A slow rise, a slower fall, then that little grind that punches a moan out of both of us. I keep my hands where they are—holding, not steering. Thumbs stroking the soft skin at her hips like I can’t believe I’m allowed to.
“You’re staring,” she says, breathless.
“Yeah.” I don’t look away. “You look like you belong here. On me. In this room. Hair a mess. Taking what you want.”
She flushes and rolls her hips again, deeper. “You like watching.”
“I love watching.” My grip tightens when she sinks down hard. “Fuck. You feel—Ally. You feel like mine.”
“I am yours.” She smiles, shaky, and does it again. Up. Down. Grind. “You’re allowed to look. That’s the whole point now.”
“I know.” It comes out soft and a little wrecked. “I’m looking. I’m not missing it.”
She braces on my chest and finds a rhythm that isn’t hurried and isn’t teasing—just living in it. Every time she bottoms out I groan. Every time she grinds I see her lashes flutter. I squeeze her hips and help her stay balanced, that’s all. Let her have the floor. Let her have me.
“Ryan—”
“I’m here.” I lift my head enough to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Keep going. You’re so pretty like this. Happy. Home. Riding me like we’ve got the rest of the afternoon.”
She laughs on a moan and keeps moving, slow and sure, while I just watch her do it.
She stops lifting. Just stays on me and grinds.
Back. Forth. Small, desperate rolls of her hips while she chases it, mouth open, those little sounds starting in her throat—mewls, broken moans, my name with no consonants left in it.
“That’s it.” I take her hips and help. Move her on me the way her body already wants. “There. Right there. Don’t think. Just take it.”
“Ryan—”
“I know. I’ve got you. Grind on me. Use me. You’re so close I can feel it.”
She nods, wrecked, and does. Back and forth, wet and tight, her hands fisted on my chest. I keep her moving when her rhythm stutters, guiding her hips in that same sweet drag.
“Good girl. Look at you. Falling apart in our baby’s room. Coming home on my cock. That’s mine. That’s yours. Take it.”
She breaks with a high, punched-out sound.
It hits her in waves. She keeps grinding through it, shaking, and then her eyes fly open like she can’t believe it isn’t stopping.
“I can’t—Ryan—I can’t stop—it feels—too good—so good—”
“Then don’t, baby.” I keep her hips moving, slower now, still deep. “Don’t stop. Ride it. I’ve got you. Let it keep going.”
“Too much—oh my god—still—”
“I know. I know. You’re perfect. Keep coming. Come on me. I’m right here.”
She’s still fluttering around me, still grinding because I’m moving her through it, and that’s what does it. The sight of her. The sound. The way she can’t stop.
“Ally—fuck—I’m—”
I come with her.
Hard. Buried. Hands locked on her hips while she moans through the last of it and I spill into her with a broken groan, both of us shaking, both of us still moving because neither of us wants the feeling to end.
She slumps forward onto my chest, still pulsing, still breathing heavily. I wrap my arms around her and hold on, still inside her, still coming down together on the nursery floor.
We're still on the nursery floor a few minutes later. My shirt is somewhere near the crib. One of the blankets we were supposed to organize is pulled over us.
Ally is curled against my chest, tracing lazy shapes over my skin while my hand rests on her stomach.
Neither of us has said anything for a while.
Then she whispers, “This is weird.”
I look down. “Which part?”
She gestures vaguely around us. “The nursery.”
I glance at the boxes. “We should probably finish it before the baby gets here.” She pinches me. “Ow.”
“You know what I mean.” Her fingers flatten over my chest. “I don't have to leave.”
There it is.
I roll toward her. “No.” Her eyes meet mine. “You don't have to leave when we're done.”
Her lips part. I touch her face. “You don't have to sneak upstairs. You don't have to check your phone. You don't have to figure out what you're going to tell anybody.” I kiss her forehead. “You live here.”
Her eyes fill. “Ryan.”
“This is your house.” Another kiss. “Your room.” I look around the half-finished nursery. “Our baby's room.” Her hand covers mine on her stomach. “And when Tobias gets back, he's going to come barreling through that door hopped up on sugar.”
She laughs through the tears. “Probably.”
“He'll probably sleep between us.”
“Definitely.”
“And tomorrow morning, you're still going to be here.” She looks at me. “You're still going to be here, baby.”
Ally moves into me. I wrap both arms around her. And somewhere outside, far enough away that I can barely hear it, children's voices carry down the street.
One of them is Tobias. Laughing. Coming home.
Ally smiles against my chest and doesn't move.