Chapter 21
The next couple hours go by in a blur. Aida and I make a few loops of the room, creating intricate backstories of people in attendance while taking diligent advantage of Ray’s amazing food and the open bar.
Rylie keeps returning to me like a magnet, his hand at the small of my back, lips at my ear as he whispers an endearment or a dirty joke.
He dragged me into a few small-talk sessions Lilith orchestrated, but when he realized how much more I’d rather be bullshitting with Aida than feigning interest in palm greasing, he sent me to her with a smile and a promise to find me as soon as Lilith was a little less high-strung.
Feet aching from my unforgivingly gorgeous heels, I’m parked at a table in the back of the banquet hall, alternating between people-watching and spying as Aida hits it off with some guy who works for EI a few tables over.
“Excuse me, everyone.” Lilith’s voice echoes through a microphone, the live band gracefully quieting.
She smiles, a radiant, proud smile that I hope she wears every day from here on out.
“On behalf of Euphoric Identity, I want to thank you all so much for being here. Your support and advocacy for queer youth is making a generation of difference for the young people of this city, particularly for minorities who have so often been overlooked and underserved at a disproportionate rate. We would not be making the impact we are if it weren’t for your continued generosity and philanthropy.
With that being said, it’s about time for the grand event of the evening.
The auction will be starting shortly, and entrees will be served, so if you’d all take your seats, we can begin momentarily.
” She makes a gracious exit from the stage as we all cheer for her.
I crane my neck as I clap, trying to catch sight of Rylie so I can sit with him for dinner. My phone vibrates with a text.
Care for a graveyard smash tonight, my queen?
I slap a hand over my mouth to hide my scream as a link comes through for a playlist titled “M0n$teR FuqKing.” The only song is “Monster Mash”… added sixty-nine times.
I have to bite down hard on my tongue so I don’t alarm anyone with the quiet laughter making my entire body shake.
I do a quick Google search of the song’s lyrics—because I am a normal person and don’t have them all committed to memory—then fire back with: you can come to the master bedroom where the vampires feast [on this pussy]
Rylie’s reply is obnoxiously fast: Eva, please. We’re at a charity event for children. That’s so inappropriate.
Another text pops up a few seconds later: meet me at the elevators in thirty seconds or face *monster* consequences
I’m giggling like a fool, already darting toward the exit as I respond: for the love of god this joke needs to DIE
I pass by Aida’s seat, giving her a quick excuse and a kiss on the head. She’s so invested in the guy she’s talking to she essentially shoves me away.
I slip off my heels, feet slapping the glossy marble floor as I sprint toward the elevators, recklessness fizzing through my veins.
I come to a halt at the meeting spot, realizing I beat him there. In a futile attempt to collect myself, I fuss with my hair, trying to get my breathing under control. It’s no use, I don’t think I’ve breathed right since this ridiculous man entered my life.
A few seconds later, Rylie rounds the corner.
He stops a few feet away from me, his cheeks flushed and eyes already hooded as he appraises me for half a beat.
I register the quickest twitch of his lips into his signature smile before he’s on me in three long strides, pressing his mouth to mine, hands cradling my jaw and fingers diving into my hair.
My back makes contact with the wall, and I fumble for the elevator call button with one hand, whacking him in the back with my shoes with the other as I throw my arm around his neck and kiss him even harder.
There’s a momentary delay, and then the elevator doors slide open, Rylie’s hands slipping to my waist as he walks me in.
A raw mix of amusement and longing flood my sensitive system as I watch Rylie impatiently fuss with his room key and our floor button, his hands shaking and gaze returning to me every half a second like it’s killing him to not be touching me right now.
We finally shoot up, my stomach swooping low as his hands are back on me.
It could be two seconds or twenty minutes, and we’re tripping out the doors and down our hallway, a punch-drunk tangle of need.
With a growl of frustration over our slow progress to our room, Rylie picks me up, hitching my long skirt up my thighs and wrapping my legs around his waist, his nose pressed to the base of my neck as he breathes me in, carries me home.
With more deftness using the keycard than in the elevator, he gets us inside the room, kicking the door closed behind him.
We make it as far as the bathroom, Rylie sliding my body down his until I’m leaning against the doorframe, one of his thighs wedging tightly between mine, my hips instantly nudging for friction.
And I don’t know why but we’re giggling. Then panting and touching in such a blur my head spins. Everything with Rylie is a blur, a glimmer of golden energy that creates an unbearable warmth in my chest.
“I’m furious that ‘Monster Mash’ line worked,” I gasp as his head drops to my breasts, the wet heat of his tongue working against the white silk of my top until it’s soaked and I’m whimpering for more.
“Really?” he says, pulling back with his eyes fixed on my tight, aching nipples he can see the outline of through the fabric.
He ghosts a touch over them with his thumbs, and a small shiver rushes through me.
His eyes snap to mine as he pinches the tight peak, making me gasp.
He gives me a lazy smile. “Because I couldn’t be happier. ”
He ducks his head again, devouring my breasts, biting and sucking and murmuring how fucking good I am as I continue to writhe against his thigh, fisting his hair, pulling him closer, needing every molecule of space to be obliterated.
With a groan, Rylie pulls his mouth away, glasses askew as he looks at me.
Gently, reverently, I reach out and slide them from his face, and his smile carves a tattoo of happiness across my heart.
Moving us again, Rylie grips my hips, stepping us fully into the bathroom as he lifts me a few inches, seating me on the edge of the counter.
“This dress has been driving me wild all fucking night,” he mutters, eyes staring murderously at the sheer material draped over my legs. He drags his hands through the gossamer fabric as he kisses my neck, placing a bite at my collarbone, then licking the spot.
“Well, actually it’s not a dress. It’s matching separates,” I explain through a gasp. “Bustier and a skirt.”
Rylie pauses, forcing his lust-hazed eyes into a bland look, muscles coiled with tension and his lips wet and swollen from kissing me.
“Eva,” he says evenly, but there’s a warning charge to his voice, his patience a fraying thread. “I adore you, but I cannot tell you how little I give a shit about the specifics of this outfit right now.”
I laugh at the deep frustration in his voice. Rylie catches my amusement, and there’s a hunger so desperate and wild in his expression, the laughter dies in my throat, all air leaving me on a fractured sigh.
Rylie fists the skirt, dragging it up my thighs. “Hold whatever this is,” he says gruffly, taking one of my hands and curling my fingers around the balled-up fabric.
“It’s chiffon, it’ll wrinkle,” I protest weakly out of habit. Because I know he loves it.
“Shut up, Eva,” he growls, pinning my hand holding the fabric against my stomach.
He drops to his knees, ripping my thong down my legs and leaving it tangled at my ankles.
I hear a seam rip as he jerks open my thighs, and I honestly couldn’t care less because Rylie’s fingers tighten into the skin of my hips, his breathing jagged and lips parted as he stares at the center of me.
Pink crests his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, his hair wrecked from my relentless grip moments ago, and I feel my pulse in every inch of my body.
After what feels like a lifetime, he drags his gaze up my body like he wants to memorize every piece of me, until his eyes finally lock with mine.
The only sound in the room is our ragged breathing.
Then, with a smile that destroys me, he whispers, “God, you’re fucking pretty,” and presses that wicked mouth against my aching pussy.
I arch, the back of my head hitting the mirror, fingers clawing for purchase on the marble countertop, anything that can anchor me so I can press closer against that perfect mouth. Without lifting his head, he hooks my legs and drapes them over his shoulders, my feet resting on his back.
With two sure, clever fingers, Rylie presses into me, rubbing and caressing against a spot that makes me see stars, forget my own name, scream out his.
It doesn’t take long until I’m crying and begging and being way too loud but I don’t fucking care because Rylie has me. Rylie wants me. He wants me messy and lost and needy and telling him exactly what I want.
He tells me in the grunts against my aching clit, the grip of his free hand around my thigh, the rough, elated sound from low in his chest when he feels me clench around his fingers.
Desire is like the turn of a screw, burrowing deeper and deeper into every cell of my body until I’m bucking against his mouth, wave after wave of pleasure capsizing my body.
With something almost like worship, Rylie kisses my throbbing, pulsing center through the aftershocks, nuzzling his cheek against my thigh as I slump against the bathroom mirror, boneless and satisfied to an unholy degree.
He kisses his way up my leg, then arm, neck, jaw, until he’s sipping at my lips with gently coaxing kisses.
“Let me take care of you,” I say, somehow finding the strength in my woozy state to reach for him.
I don’t miss the fresh flush of pink across Rylie’s cheeks. “That’s okay, Kitten,” he whispers, intercepting my hand and lacing our fingers together. He lifts my arm so it’s wrapped around the back of his neck.
I frown at him, old insecurities of past relationships dying hard.
Does he… Did he just give me one of the best orgasms of my life and not want me enough to get off himself?
Rylie must read some of the panic in my face, because his eyes flash wide, his mouth crashing against mine in a messy, dirty kiss like he wants to embed his need on my skin.
“Believe me, I always fucking want you,” he rasps against my lips.
“So have me,” I say, voice wobbly.
He pulls back an inch, dropping his forehead to mine and closing his eyes. He lets out a rough, sheepish chuckle. “I, uh, wanted you a little too much during all that.”
I blink at him for a moment, our eyes so close together mine cross as I try to process what he said. With a start, I rear back, focus bouncing with delight to his crotch, the outline of his softening erection still visible in his fitted slacks, a dark stain confirming his statement.
Sweet Jesus. Rylie Cooper gets off just from eating pussy.
I grab his face, kissing him hard, and we both start giggling into it.
With infinite care, Rylie slides me from the counter, taking his time to undress me, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin.
I turn in his arms, doing the same for him.
He reaches around me, turning on the shower and letting it warm up, a thick fog hugging around us as we step in.
We hold each other under the hot water, his hands coasting over me in gentle circuits as he murmurs soft, lovely words into my ear, my cheek pressed to his chest as I memorize his heartbeat.
We wash like we’re one being, never getting further apart than necessary.
Only when the water starts to get cold do we reluctantly get out and dry off.
We’re in sweatpants in no time, and I covertly steal one of Rylie’s crewneck sweatshirts.
He stares at me for a moment in his clothes, lips parted, eyes glinting. I can’t read everything in his expression because he turns coy, dragging his knuckles across his mouth, hiding a delighted smile.
“Get over yourself,” I say, pushing him toward the bed.
He falls into the sheets without a fight, pulling me down with him.
Settling me so I’m leaning against the headboard, he lays his head on my lap, and I luxuriate in the simple pleasure of playing with the thick locks of his hair, the drag of them through the sensitive skin between my fingers.
Without having to ask, Rylie turns on the TV and pulls up where we left off on my favorite true-crime show.
It’s all so simple. So easy. So perfect.
Part of me wants to cry with a sudden, jolting fear that I’ll lose this undemanding sense of peace I’ve found with Rylie like I’ve lost it with everyone else. Then again, I’ve never actually had it with anyone else…
I refuse to let that fear win. Rylie came back to me.
I can’t live in fear I’ll lose him a second time and miss these perfect moments in that worry.
So I hold him closer, pick up his hand and kiss the tip of each finger, then the center of his palm, then place it over my heart, and let the quiet comfort of the TV lull me to sleep with his arms wrapped around me.