8. Rory
CHAPTER EIGHT
RORY
The light in Ryan’s bedroom is the color of pale honey, filtering through the heavy curtains and catching the dust motes dancing in the air. I wake up slowly, anchored by a weight across my waist that feels more right than anything I’ve ever felt before.
I don't move. I don't even think I breathe for a full minute, just cataloging the steady, rhythmic puff of air against the back of my neck. Ryan is still asleep, his body a furnace pressed against my spine. I could get used to waking up tangled in Egyptian cotton with a man who’s built like a Roman gladiator.
His arm is thick with corded muscle. My skin feels sensitized, hyper-aware of the slight friction of his forearm hair against my side.
I shift, just a fraction, and the grip on my waist tightens. He isn't awake, not fully. A low, gravelly sound vibrates through his chest and into my back.
"Stay," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and something that sounds dangerously like need.
"I’m just getting comfortable."
He huffs a laugh, the sound warm against my skin, and buries his face in the crook of my neck. "Good."
I turn in his arms, the sheets rustling between us. His eyes are half-open, a dark, sleep-shadowed blue that makes my stomach do a slow, dizzying roll. He looks different in the early morning light. Softer, more like a normal human being and less like a hockey god.
"You’re staring," he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I’m assessing."
"Assessing," he repeats, his hand sliding from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. "Assess all you want, tiger."
"Tiger?" I lean back and glare at him, but there’s no heat in it. “I’m not sure I like that.”
“Let me know when you decide.” He smiles and leans over to cover my lips with his. As I lose myself in his kiss, I realize the nickname isn’t so bad. Plus, I know it’ll drive my family crazy. Win-freaking-win.
I reach up, my fingers trailing over the stubble on his jaw. It’s rough, grounding. "We need to talk about Saturday."
The air in the room shifts. The soft, honey-colored peace doesn't vanish, but it gains a weight. The Fox family barbecue is not a small thing. It’s a gauntlet. It’s a three-ring circus where the lions are my dad and brother and the ringmaster is my mother.
Ryan’s thumb traces the line of my hip, slow and deliberate. "Don’t worry about it. I can handle whatever your family throws my way."
"You say that now. You haven't met Nonna."
He moves then, propping himself up on one elbow, his chest bare and broad. The sight of him causes my lady bits to wake up and sing.
He reaches out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. His touch is so gentle that it melts my heart. "I’m not worried at all."
He rolls over, pinning me into the mattress. He’s hard against my thigh, his arousal thick and unmistakable. My pussy is already aching, a dull throb of need that starts in my core and radiates outward. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.
"Fuck, Rory," he groans against my jaw, his hands fisting in the sheets on either side of my head. "You drive me crazy."
"Good," I whisper, my breath hitching as his hand slides down my body, finding the wet heat between my legs. "Because you drive me crazy, too."
He finds my clit with his thumb, circling it with a precision that makes my back arch off the bed. I’m soaked, my folds slick and swollen for him. He watches my face as he works me, his eyes dark with desire.
"You're so wet for me," he mutters, his voice a low growl. "So tight."
He slides two fingers inside me, and I gasp, my internal muscles clenching around him. He’s thick, even just his fingers, stretching me in a way that I feel all the way to the soles of my feet. He pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb never leaving my clit, and I can feel the orgasm building.
I need him inside me. I need the weight and the depth and the absolute certainty of him. I reach between us, finding the hard, pulsing length of his cock. He’s hot to the touch, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
I stroke him, my thumb grazing the head, and he lets out a strangled sound, his head falling back.
"Rory." His cock jumps in my hold, and he pulls back. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.” He lines his erection up with my opening and slowly presses forward. I stretch to accommodate him, my pussy gripping him with a desperation that surprises me. He’s so thick, so deep, hitting a spot that makes my toes curl and my vision blur at the edges.
I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as he begins to move.
It’s not fast, not at first. He’s methodical, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back home, each stroke driving me higher.
I can feel him pulsing inside me, the friction of skin on skin creating a heat that feels like it’s going to ignite the sheets.
Every time he bottoms out, a jolt of electricity shoots through my spine.
"Look at me," he commands, and I do. He’s looking down at where we’re joined, his face tight with a beautiful, raw kind of agony. "You feel fucking incredible. So soft. So warm."
He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. I meet him blow for blow, my hips rising to meet his, my nails raking down his back. I’m lost in the sensation, in the way he fills me so completely that I can't remember where I end and he begins.
"I’m going to make you come," he pants, his teeth grazing my earlobe. "I’m going to make you scream my name, Rory."
He shifts his angle, grinding his pelvis against mine with every thrust, and the pressure on my clit becomes unbearable. I’m right there, balanced on the edge of the world. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and I can feel the first tremors of my release starting deep in my belly.
"Ryan... please…"
"Come for me, baby. Do it."
He slams into me one last time, pinning my wrists above my head, and I shatter.
My pussy clamps down on his cock in rhythmic waves, a tight, pulsing squeeze that has him groaning my name into my neck.
I scream, the sound muffled against his skin, as the orgasm tears through me, leaving me shaking and boneless.
He doesn't stop. He thrusts three more times, fast and deep, before he stiffens. His back arches, his muscles locking, and I feel the hot spurts of his cum filling me, wave after wave of heat that makes me feel like I’m being branded from the inside out.
He collapses onto me, his breath hitching, his heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird.
We lie there for a long time, the only sound the fading race of our breathing.
The honey-light has moved across the floor, the world outside continuing its march toward Saturday, toward the barbecue, toward the potential end of everything we’ve built.
But here, in the quiet of his room, the lie feels a thousand miles away.
Ryan pulls back slightly, brushing a damp curl from my forehead. He looks exhausted and satisfied and entirely too permanent. "We’re going to be fine on Saturday, Rory. I won’t let anything come between us."
Taking a deep breath, I decide to jump in with both feet. I reach out, tracing the line of his collarbone. “I’ve fallen for you, you know. It’s highly inconvenient.”
He stills. The playful light vanishes, replaced by something much deeper, something that makes my breath catch.
"Good," he whispers. "Because I fell in love with you the first time I laid eyes on you."
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” I close my eyes and drift back toward sleep, settled and content for the first time in forever.