19. Ryan
Ryan
It’s not bragging to say that I’ve been with a lot of women.
When I first arrived in the city, I was taken with the sheer number and variety, and felt I had to try them all.
Every woman who showed even the slightest interest in me came back to my bedroom.
I reveled in their hips, their curves, the taste of them everywhere.
And yet, somehow, Serena is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I lay her out on my bed, watch her copper hair spread over my pillows like the fanning of sunshine over the horizon.
With the taste of her still on my mouth, I stand at the end of the bed, pull her hips down until they’re flush with the mattress, roll on a condom, and notch the head of my cock into her entrance.
Her eyes—green? Beer bottle brown?—meet mine, heavily lidded. Her chest heaves, rocking her breasts, and her back arches when I push in just a little. I want to watch her expression change, want to see how she takes every inch of me.
Hooking my hands under her knees, I hold her legs up and slowly bury myself in her. I stare at the crease of her hips, the soft spot beneath her chin, how she drops her head back, the way her throat bobs almost erotically in her neck.
I hold back as long as I can, taking her slowly, drawing it out, trying to hold her in my mouth like a fine wine.
But when she reaches up, palming her own breasts and rocking needily into me, I can’t keep tasting. I need to have her.
“So fucking beautiful,” I say, pulling out completely and thrusting into her, watching the bounce of her chest and the flutter of her eyelids. “Jesus fucking Christ, Serena, I want to fuck you for the rest of my life.”
I drop one of her legs and lean in, slanting her hips for a better angle, chasing the high of her sounds—sighs and moans, and finally, my name.
“Ry-an,” she sings, reaching up and grabbing at the sheets, trying to anchor herself so she can meet my hips with her own. “Ryan.”
I can’t stop myself from placing a hand flat on her belly, maybe narcissistically pleased with the feel of myself inside her.
Her eyes fly open and meet mine, and she cries out, squeezing in tight around me, her body writhing.
Where before she was trying to get closer, now she runs from the pleasure.
Grabbing her around the knee, pinning her at the belly, I keep her still, hold her in the moment. “Don’t run from me, Serena.”
“Oh my god,” she rasps, three beats after I finish inside the condom, inside her. “Oh, my god, Ryan.”
I scoop her up into my arms, her body loose and limber for me. “Are you good?”
She laughs, lets her head loll against my chest. “Am I good?”
Moving toward the bathroom, I nod against her, unable to stop smiling. “Yeah. I want to make sure you’re good, Serena.”
She laughs again. “Yes, Ryan, but I don’t think good is the right word for it.”
I step into the shower with her, keeping a hold of her as I turn on all three showerheads. “Good.”
We stand under the water together, bodies getting slick and warm. Quietly, we soap each other, and I watch her enjoy the various streams of water from the sides, and the rain shower from above.
And, even though I just had her, I can’t stop myself from letting my hand drift down, to the spot between her legs. Can’t stop myself from watching in awe as the expression on her face shifts, water dripping from her eyelashes and over her cheeks.
“Ryan,” she says, eventually taking my wrist in her hand. “Can we get back in bed?”
“Yes.” My answer is rough, the water is off, I wrap both of us in a towel, and I’m carrying her back. “Always yes.”
I knew it the first time I saw her, but now it’s confirmed—when it comes to Serena, I’m not going to be able to resist.
When the morning sun slants through the blinds, I don’t even try to stay asleep.
Because this particular morning, Serena MacKenzie is sleeping on my chest.
She’s warm, and loose, and breathing slowly, and I trail my finger gently, only barely touching, up her spine.
Normally, if I woke up with a woman in my bed, and especially if she was cuddled into me, it would be a moment to panic.
I’m always clear about what I want—nothing serious—but waking up together can still send the wrong message.
It’s different now.
Maybe my frontal lobe has finally developed. Or maybe I finally met the right woman. My mother would say if you feel like that, it’s meant to be.
That should scare the shit out of me. Usually, the thought of settling down does scare the shit out of me.
I’ve never thought about a woman like this. As something for the future, rather than a moment of fun in the present.
Slowly, carefully, I slip out of the bed, doing my best not to jostle her so she keeps sleeping. When I’m standing at the side of the bed, a free man, I want nothing more than to crawl back in with her, to curl my body around hers.
But I don’t.
Instead, I go to the kitchen, text my housekeeper not to come, and get to work on the dishes myself.
When the space is reset, I pull out what I need to make her breakfast and espresso.
I want the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh, hot coffee to wake her.
I want to be standing here, cooking, when she comes stumbling out.
Ideally, she’ll grab my t-shirt from the floor and pull it on before she does.
The thought of that sends another shot of lust through me. So this is what it feels like to be gone for someone.
As the espresso machine warms up, I pull out my phone.
Ryan: bad news
Travis: What’s up? It’s the middle of the night.
Ryan: :( shit, sorry. forgot about the time difference
Travis: I’m just giving you grief. Just landed, actually.
Travis: What’s the bad news?
Ryan: i think i’m in love
Travis: New restaurant idea? Just please tell me it’s not bird-themed. I can’t go through that again.
Ryan: she’s here now. i’m making her breakfast
It’s several long minutes before he replies. I set down the phone and start in on breakfast, figuring eggs Benedict will be impressive enough for our first breakfast together. Maybe I’ll go with a croque-madame or monsieur next time.
When I check again, there’s a single notification.
Travis: Poor girl. At least she’ll eat well.
Ryan: stfu, bold words coming from the guy who left the country to hide from a woman
Travis: I’m on a business trip.
Travis: Gotta go, deboarding.
I’m grinning when I set the phone down. The guy might be some sort of business guru, but he’s shit at lying. This has something to do with his cradle-robbed girlfriend. I only hope for her sake that he either comes to his senses or just leaves her alone altogether.
“Good morning.”
When I look up, Serena is standing in the doorway wearing my shirt, and breakfast is done.
“You’re perfect,” I say, watching as she blushes and slides into a seat at the breakfast bar. I give her a plate, let her take a few bites, then suggest, “I’m doing a little tour of my restaurants today. Want to tag along?”
She raises her eyebrows at me, finishes chewing her bite, then says, “Are you assuming I have nothing better to do?’
I blink, “No, I?—”
“I’m fucking with you,” she grins, sucking the sauce off her fork and giving me a flippant look. “That sounds like fun.”
I smile and start working on my own breakfast. I need to keep my hands occupied, or I’ll be skipping work altogether and carrying Serena right back to my bedroom.
When we’re done eating, I call a car, and we swing by Serena’s place so she can change.
After twenty minutes, I start to wonder if I should go in after her, but she finally comes out, shaking her head as several people crowd in the doorway behind her, not even trying to hide the fact that they’re staring at me.
“Do you have a gaggle of kids I don’t know about?” I ask when she slides into the back of the car. Her thigh presses against mine, and I let my hand fall on her knee. Mine.
“Those are my wonderful roommates,” she says through gritted teeth, fumbling with the zipper on her bag to get it shut. “And they don’t know how to mind their own business.”
“Your friends?” I ask. She finally gets the bag shut, flips her hair, and looks at me breathlessly.
Something flickers over her expression too quick for me to catch it. “Yeah. They are. Good friends. But still, annoying sometimes.”
“I get that.” I laugh, thinking of Travis sulking instead of just confronting his commitment issues.
We do the tour of my properties—which I was going to do anyway, but enjoy more now that I have a chance to show off. Each place is distinct and themed. They swallow you when you walk in and spit you out a little different when you leave.
We’re just walking into one of my restaurants in Hell’s Kitchen when the door swings open, and Serena goes walking head-first into one of the customers, sending her clattering to the ground before I can grab her.