17. Ryan #3
I reached back and caught her wrist. She let me turn, and I pulled her so she was in front of me, her knees on either side of my thighs, her hands resting on my shoulders, her face close.
Her eyes were doing the careful thing. Choosing, measuring, and I knew this look well enough to know she was at the edge of a feeling she wasn’t sure she wanted to say.
I didn’t push her. I brushed my thumb along her jaw and she leaned into it slightly, guard gone, her whole face soft for a second and then softer, and I pulled her in and kissed her slow and unhurried, my hands in her hair.
She made a quiet sound and kissed me back and that was the end of the conversation about the road trip for a while.
When we finally surfaced, she had her forehead against my jaw and her hands in my shirt.
“I’m going to make sure you don’t forget me,” I said quietly, into her hair.
She pulled back enough to look at me. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and held her gaze and let her see I meant it.
She studied me for a moment, her expression going soft in a way she didn’t try to stop. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to.”
She watched me for another moment, then kissed me again, brief and warm and deliberate, and stood up, pulling me to my feet. “Come to bed,” she said. “You have an early morning.”
I followed her down the hall.
She reached for the lamp and I caught her wrist and turned it off myself, and then I took my time with her in the dark. I had made her a promise at her kitchen table and I intended to keep it.
I undressed her slowly enough that she said my name twice before I got her shorts off, and I did not hurry for either one. I put my mouth on her collarbone, the soft skin under her breasts, and when she reached for me, I caught her hand and put it back on the mattress.
“Stay still and let me enjoy,” I said.
"Ryan."
"Nine days," I said against her hip. "Let me."
I put my tongue on her clit and she made a sound that reverberated through me.
Low, surprised, like she hadn't planned on it.
I worked her open with my tongue, unhurried, until I found the spot just left of center that made her hips come off the mattress, and then I stayed on it.
Slipped a finger in, then a second. Flat tongue, same pressure, same rhythm, over and over until her voice climbed and cracked and I was so hard it hurt.
I stayed there until she stopped shaking. I quickly put a condom on then climbed up over her and pushed inside her tight, wet, heat. She made a sound against my mouth that I was going to be hearing in my fantasies for the rest of my life.
I went slow. She tried to push me faster, her heels at the back of my thighs, and I did not let her.
"You're doing this on purpose."
"I am."
"Please fuck me, Ryan. Harder. Faster."
"Okay, solsken."
I gave her exactly what we both wanted, and when she came apart under me, groaning my name, I met her there, thrusting into her the way she liked, letting myself go at the same time.
After cleaning up, I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.
She fell asleep with her hand flat on my stomach and my hand on top of hers, rubbing slow circles until I drifted off.
I woke at three with my hand already on her hip.
The room was dark except for the strip of streetlight coming through where the blinds didn't quite meet. She'd turned in her sleep and put her back to me at some point and I'd followed her without waking up, my hand under her shirt, my knee between hers, my face in her hair.
I had two hours and fifteen minutes left.
I moved my hand up her ribs and she made a small noise, not awake yet, and pushed her ass against me, rubbing against my cock.
I put my mouth on the back of her neck and slid my hand up higher, massaging her breast before gently pinching her nipple.
She moaned and reached behind her, gripping me with one hand.
"Are you leaving?" she asked. Her voice was thick with sleep.
"Not yet."
She let go and turned toward me, then without announcing it, slid her panties off and sat up on her knees.
She grabbed the waistband of my boxer briefs and dragged them down my legs and tossed them somewhere.
Quickly, I grabbed another condom and covered myself while she climbed on top of me. I liked this side of her.
She settled over my cock and as she slid down, adjusting to the stretch of me, said, “You feel so fucking good, baby.” She pulled her shirt off over her head and I watched as her tits bounced just the slightest bit while she took all of me.
I fucking love when she calls me baby.
She started to move. Slow, unhurried, taking it at exactly the pace she wanted and not one bit faster no matter what I did with my hips.
I let her have it. I would have let her have anything.
She was so wet, and so tight, I had to hold back my release as I watched her ride me, memorizing every detail of her beautiful body while she slid up and down my cock.
Min.
It came up in Swedish before it came up in English, the way things did when I stopped thinking about them.
Mine.
When she sat up and touched herself, pinching her hard nipples and moaning, I fucked up into her harder and moved my thumb over her clit, sending her over the edge. She pulsated around me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer, filling the condom with my own release and moaning.
“Fuuuuuck, Maren,” I ground out as she leaned over me, breathless.
“That was so good, baby,” she whispered in my ear.
I let out a small chuckle, because she wasn’t fucking wrong. God, what was I going to do without her?
She rolled off me, and after I took care of the condom and cleaned her up, we settled back into bed. She got her leg over mine and her face against my throat.
"Solsken."
"Mm."
"Nothing." I pressed my mouth to the top of her head. "Go back to sleep."
She was out in under a minute. I lay there with the clock running and let myself count the hours instead of pretending I wasn't going to.
My alarm went off at five-fifteen.
I silenced it before the second pulse and lay still for a moment in the dark of her room, taking inventory.
She was on her side facing away from me, one hand curled loosely under her cheek, her breathing slow and even.
The blinds filtered the desert pre-dawn into pale gray lines across the bed.
Her hair was spread across the pillow and her shoulder was warm where it pressed against my arm and I lay there for about thirty seconds longer than I needed to, storing it.
I dressed in the dark. Found my shoes by the door. Came back and sat at the edge of the bed and put my hand lightly on her shoulder.
She stirred. Turned her head, eyes still closed. “Ryan.”
“Go back to sleep. I’m heading out.”
She made a sound that might have been acknowledgment and burrowed slightly deeper into the pillow. I watched her for a moment. The line of her, the easy trust of how she slept, and the clear, steady weight of it settled through me again, the same way it had been settling since last night.
I pressed my lips to her shoulder.
“Call me,” she murmured, still mostly under, “if you have time. You don’t have to—”
“I’ll call you from Calgary.” I smoothed her hair back. “I always have time for you, solsken.”
She was already sliding back under, my name leaving her on a breath so quiet I almost missed it.
I let myself out quietly. The morning hit me full. Still dark, the air carrying the faint dry mineral smell of desert before sunrise, the city not yet awake, everything still and flat and mine.
Jag saknar dig redan.
I miss you already.
I’d said it the day before in the hallway at the arena and heard her reach for her phone before I’d even cleared the room, knew she’d been trying to spell it phonetically ever since and getting absolutely nowhere.
The thought of her hunched over Google Translate typing something like yag sak-nar and getting a suggestion for a Swedish meatball recipe was delightful.
I smiled, started the car, and pulled out toward the highway.
She’d figure it out eventually.