Chapter 15 #2
Before I can think better of it, I’m launching myself at him, my arms wrapping around his neck and my lips crashing against his. I distantly register the sound of my kitchen chair tipping over as Rylie stumbles into it, but he steadies us, his hands at my hips.
The need that swells through me is terrifying, and I cling to him harder.
One of his palms lands between my shoulder blades, the other at the curve of my lower back, gathering me to him like he needs me too.
His kiss is sunlight, dazzling me, warming me, sending brightness through my veins.
His hand slides up, cradling the back of my neck, fingers gently kneading until I let out a gasp of relief at how fucking good it feels to be touched like this.
I do realize that it’s a bit pathetic that I’m undone this thoroughly by a bunch of pasta, but I’ve never claimed to have high standards.
“I’m not done talking to you,” he says against my mouth, dragging his lips to my throat, tracing down to my collarbone. I thread my fingers in his hair, holding him to me.
“Can we do the talking later? Maybe tomorrow? We kind of talk a lot as is.” I press my mouth to his temple, nibble at his earlobe. He lets out a hungry moan, burrowing his face against my chest. His hands curl around my hips, fingertips digging in. I hope he leaves a mark.
But with an anguished noise, he’s pushing me away, arms outstretched and holding me upright as I sway toward him.
“This is important,” he says, mouth swollen and hair wrecked. He reflexively pulls me toward him again, but he drops his hands and takes a few steps back. “Last night, before you fled the scene like chicken with its head cut off—”
“I think I had a bit more tact and poise than that.”
“You didn’t. You said this didn’t mean anything to either of us. That neither of us care.” His steel eyes hold mine, locking me in, holding me hostage.
I try to swallow past my dry throat, then shrug. “Yeah? So?”
“ I fucking care,” he says, slamming a hand to his chest. “I care more than I can even put into words. I care about you . I care about how you’re feeling. What you’re thinking. What you like. What you hate. How your day was. How you’ll find new and absurd ways to torture me. I care .”
I stare at him, slack-jawed, my heart pounding so hard against my rib cage I know he can probably see it, feel it, the vibrations traveling the space between our bodies like ripples in a pond.
“This means something to me,” he continues.
“ You mean something to me. You did back then, and you do now. I was too cowardly before to tell you that simple truth, but I’m not going to let you go another day believing anything but the facts.
I like you. I care about you. I’ve lost my goddamn mind over you, Eva, and I’ll repeat it over and over again until you are able to trust it. Trust me.”
I blink hard, breath coming in tight little gasps.
His expression is so open, need rolling off him like thunder, heat crackling between us.
His attention curls around me, cradles me into terrifying vulnerability.
There’s tension in his shoulders, a bracing like he’s preparing for me to turn him away again and it will hit him like a physical blow.
The confession is glued to my tongue. I want to say it, step out onto that tightrope with him, be vulnerable, even if for a moment.
But it’s so terrifying, the fall from such an extreme height.
But what good will hiding do me? I’m already a wreck, I might as well tell him the truth about it.
This bizarre man slipped past my walls and burrowed under my skin, taking up a permanent residence in my heart.
I’d be furious if I didn’t adore him so damn much.
I let every emotion play out across my usually placid face. I watch Rylie see it all, every piece of me, and his lips part as he takes a step toward me. He reaches out, tucking my hair behind my ear before settling his cool palm on my flushed cheek. I let out a shaky sigh at the pure relief of it.
“I… I care about you too,” I whisper, voice a rasp across the charged air between us.
He stares at me, devastated like I’ve ripped the heart right from his chest, elated like he couldn’t be happier for me to hold it.
“I care about you a lot, actually,” I say, finding momentum even as my voice cracks. “I think that’s the problem: I always have.”
His eyes are quicksilver, melting at the edges. His other hand moves to my jaw, and he frames my face.
“I’m scared, though,” I admit, more breath than voice. “I’m scared of being hurt again. I’m scared of screwing this up. I’m not sure I even like myself half the time; how could I expect someone else to like me enough to stick around?”
“I like you more than enough to stick around,” Rylie says. “Just let me in, Eva. Let me prove it to you.”
“We argue a lot,” I say, trying to pop holes in every bubble that’s lifting me higher and higher to the clouds. “You said it yourself, I’m headstrong and contrarian and I’m not sure I can change much of that.”
Rylie’s smile is so bright it makes my eyes water. Tears slip down my cheeks, and he lets out a soft chuckle as he brushes them away with his thumbs. “Kitten, I’d rather spend every day getting in a pointless argument with you for sport than be bored and complacent with anyone else.”
“I’m also pretty mean,” I say, more adamant this time. I need him to see it all, every flaw. I need him to not let me feel this much for him, then leave me when he realizes I won’t change. “I don’t bring much to the table besides a bad attitude and incredible style.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he says, his smile growing wider. “Your tits are easily in my top five favorite things.”
My chin wobbles, and I make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff of outrage. I try to pull back, but Rylie holds me tighter, teasing the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. I open to him on a sigh. “Your bite is one of my favorite things about you; I’d never want you to go easy on me.”
Okay, now he’s just being absurd. “Well, actually, I’m—”
Rylie cuts me off with a searing kiss, stealing the air from my lungs as he loves on my mouth. His tongue tangles with mine between light nibbles at my lips, like he’s trying to soothe me to the point where I can’t talk… It might work.
When breathing becomes an alarming necessity, we both pull back.
Rylie’s glasses are crooked, but he doesn’t let go of me, instead fixing me with that boyish smile.
“Eva, I’m an idiot with an alarmingly extensive ironic crewneck collection and a denim comforter.
There is literally nothing you could say that would drop you down to my league.
I want you contrarian and difficult and keeping me on my toes.
I want your sour moods just as much as I want your sunny ones.
I’m not asking you to change. You can call me any name you want, as long as I can call you mine. ”
I’m crying in earnest now, shoulders shaking with my sobs and sniffling like it can do my nose any good. I’m an absolute mess.
Rylie looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?” Rylie says back, voice lifting.
I nod, his hands still at my splotchy cheeks. “You made a pretty compelling point with the jomforter situation.”
My gasp harmonizes with Rylie’s laugh as he presses his smile to my lips and kisses me again.
We’re slow and reverent at first, a hesitant tenderness like we’re testing the reality of everything we just said.
Every brush of his lips against mine feels like a promise, a declaration of adoration.
I return each vow, my walls being laid to waste as we pull each other closer, kiss each other harder, a growing franticness that shifts the energy to something rawer.
“I need you,” I whisper in his ear before tracing the shell of it with my tongue. Rylie’s groan is low and thick, igniting a hot flame in my stomach.
I’m still in my pajamas, a silky black set with a button shirt and flouncy shorts.
He fumbles with the tiny pearl buttons, but I’m too impatient for his care, and I swat his hands away, giving a quick tug at the edges of the top.
The buttons clattering to the floor punctuate the pop of his dimple as he looks at me, eyes fixed on my bare chest.
He shakes his head slowly, dragging his knuckles across his lips. “God, you’re unreal. So absurdly beautiful.”
My smile is obscene, entire body flushing at his praise. I pounce on him again, kissing him like my life depends on it.
I back us up, his palms cupping my breasts, my fingers twisted in his shirt.
“Bed,” I moan against his lips, then bite the lower.
We only make it as far as the couch, the world tipping and my heart swooping as he follows me down onto the cushions.
I claw at his clothes, transforming into a wild, needy animal whose only focus is to feel his skin against mine.
Rylie props himself up on one palm, grabbing both my wrists in his other hand and pinning them above my head.
He wraps my fingers around the cool metal bar of my end table.
“Hold on to this for me, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, voice like velvet. I grip the bar with everything I have.
Rylie tries to hide his chuckle, and I glare at him but his smile doesn’t flicker.
He reaches behind himself, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
My arms flinch with the need to touch him, but he shoots me a warning glance, eyes dragging from my flushed face to the grip of my hands. “Good girl.”