Chapter Three #2
The room on the opposite side of the hall is a larger space with a king bed, a tall dresser, and a shelf displaying vintage shot glasses.
This must be Ryker’s room. He’s been collecting since before we met.
Every new place he’d travel to he’d get a shot glass.
I’d say he has at least thirty now. I make a note to check them out after I get out of this uncomfortable dress.
I pull open the top drawer and tug out the first sweatshirt I see.
A gray football hoodie with a tear on the left sleeve.
I remember the day he snagged this. We were at the diner with Benny for burgers and fries.
The sweatshirt caught on a jutting nail in the booth.
Our waitress gave us free milkshakes once she saw what happened.
She didn’t have to. Ryker didn’t care about the hoodie.
Come to think of it, she was very friendly with him.
Then again, most women are very friendly with Ryker.
I stuff that sweatshirt back in the drawer and pull out another one. This one I have no memory of. It’s plain black with no distinguishing marks at all, though it smells just like him.
I love that it smells just like him. I want every inch of me to smell just like him.
My chest tightens as I toss the shirt onto the bed and fumble with my zipper. I was able to squeeze into the dress with the zipper mostly up. I don’t think I’ll be able to squeeze out the same way.
Why do they put zippers on the back of a dress anyway? Why not up the side?
I’m contorting to reach the hook when I hear heavy footsteps in the hall.
“You need help?” His voice is so low that it sends a buzz straight through me. The kind of buzz that tells me how excited my body is at the thought of him touching me again, even if it’s just to help with a zipper.
“Sure.” I shrug. “Yeah… I guess.” I twist my hair to the side of my shoulder and lower my chin to my chest as I turn away from him and wait.
A second later, the tips of his rough fingers reach the back of my neck, slow and steady. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of him behind me as the zipper slides down slowly.
Oh God! Nothing has happened, but my clit won’t stop throbbing!
A low, subtle grunt exhales from his lips as the back of my dress opens and cool air rushes in.
I stand quiet, trembling and buzzing head to toe, as the weight of his rough hand lingers at the base of my spine.
Please touch me. Please touch me. Please touch me.
I close my eyes and hold steady, repeating the words in my head like a prayer I hope he hears.
God, what’s wrong with me?
The second he touches me, everything changes.
I won’t be able to look Benny in the eye ever again.
The whole town will be talking about us.
I’d be known as the desperate young girl who fell for the hot old dude.
I’d be known as the girl who screwed her brother’s best friend.
I’d be a pariah, and I’m pretty sure no one is going to want to buy fresh eggs and homemade bread from a pariah.
While I’m lost in what-if’s, the rough tips of Ryker’s fingers trail along the seam where my zipper once was. His skin barely touches mine, but that’s almost more erotic.
A chill runs through me, and my clit throbs as my panties soak.
“You like being taken care of, don’t you?” His voice is low and husky.
“What? No.” I swallow hard, his warm breath on the back of my neck. “I’ve actually been saying the opposite of that. I take care of myself.”
“You can be real with me, trouble. I know you love giving up control.” His voice is low and rough as his fingertips rise to the back of my ear, slide down the side of my neck, and push the strap of my dress off my shoulder.
“I feel it in the way your body responds. You like commands. It takes the weight away.”
My heart pounds as he follows the path back up my shoulder, his hand like sandpaper against my skin.
“Pull down the other strap,” he growls slowly as he leans into my ear.
Oh damn!
I glance down to see if I’m leaving a puddle on his pretty pine floors.
Nothing yet, but my panties are drenched.
They’re so soaked that I figure I may as well do as he’s asked and pull the other strap down off my shoulder.
I lower the strap and stand perfectly still as the short red dress drops to the ground and exposes me for the second time today.
His breath is heavy behind me, warm on my skin, and I feel the desperation in his body against mine as the ridge of his hard cock presses against my back.
“Take the sweatshirt off the bed and hand it back to me,” he commands, dark and breathy.
I bend forward slightly, bumping against his rough jeans as I reach for the sweatshirt and hand it back to him, my gaze still ahead.
“Good girl. Now lift your arms up.”
I pause for a second, wondering why this is getting me off. I’m pretty sure one brush against my clit and I’d come right here and now. I’d come, and then I’d spread wide for him and let him give me every inch of what he’s got… for free! I wouldn’t even make him pay for my virginity.
Now I know something’s wrong with me! I really need that money!
Lifting my arms, he slips the sweatshirt into place, his big, rough hands skating down my body, brushing against the sides of my breasts.
“Now go wash up for dinner.” He’s breathing hard and I feel the struggle in his throat as he talks. The shake, the tremble, the desperation in his throat before he stalks out of the room, his body footsteps tight as though he’s angry with himself, as though he can’t look me in the eye.
Truthfully, I’m not sure I can ever look him in the eye again either. I mean, how do I do that? He’s known me forever. I’ve known him forever. We shouldn’t be doing this. He should know better. I should know better… and yet, all I want is for him to touch me again and again.