Whatever calm I might have mustered lasts all of two seconds because then he’s opening the door looking like sex on a stick and my heart stops. It just fucking stops. There’s nothing really special about the way he’s dressed, just a black Deftones T-shirt and jeans, but damn, the way that shirt stretches across his torso, so the outline of his muscular chest is plainly visible, is enough to make even the most jaded girl swoon.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a little gravelly and so freaking sexy; I feel it rumbling in my core. There is no way I’m making it through this night without jumping his bones.
“Hey,” I reply, stupidly. What else do I say? Nice to see you. Please stick your dick in me now. Probably not the classiest move.
We’ve both gone quiet. Warmth pools in my center at Ryan’s not-so-subtle perusal of my body, his hooded gaze both lustful and longing, like a starving man facing down a meal he’s not allowed to eat. Jesus, he hasn’t even touched me and I’m already uncomfortably wet. His eyes zero in on my mouth where I’monly now realizing I’m biting my lower lip. I quickly release it, but his gaze lingers.
I stand there watching him and waiting, hoping, needing him to kiss me. He doesn’t. Instead, after what seems like forever but was probably closer to thirty seconds, Ryan snaps out of his stupor and steps away from the door to let me in.
I try to look around the house, but I’m so hyperaware of his body behind mine, it’s hard to focus on much else. “This place is great,” I say, though I couldn’t tell you what type of floor I’m walking on or the color they’ve painted the walls.
“Thanks.” He takes my hand in his and starts across the room. Every time he holds my hand, he strokes it with his thumb and every time it sends little shock waves into my belly. His fingers are rough and calloused, and I like that. I like that he’s someone who works with his hands and isn’t all pampered like so many guys I meet. “The house is actually Dave’s,” he says. “I just rent a room.” He laces our fingers together as he walks me into a cute little kitchen, with white painted cabinets and black appliances, where the delectable scent of garlic and herbs hits me like a hundred-ton block. It’s a testament to how much Ryan distracts me, that I didn’t notice the smell before. I wasn’t hungry when I got here, but one whiff of that deliciousness and I’m salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs. “That smells amazing,” I tell him.
Pulling a glass baking dish, filled to the brim with red sauce, from an older model oven, he sets it on the wanna-be-marble Formica countertop and gives me a tentative smile. “I hope you like Chicken Parmesan.”
“Are you kidding? I’m down with anything Italian. Like, those are my people.”
Ryan chuckles and his shoulders visibly relax. It gives me the warm fuzzies to see how much he cares that I like his food. I don’t think I’ve ever dated a boy so genuinely concerned with my happiness. “We don’t have a kitchen table, so we’ll have to eat atthe coffee table. I hope that’s okay. You can sit down. I’ll bring it out.”
“You sure?”
Ryan nods. “Yeah. Go ahead.” He gestures back into the living room. “I’ll be right out.” Then he turns around and starts pulling dishes from the cabinets. I head back into the living room, as requested, and without Ryan as a sexy distraction, I can see that it really is a pretty great place. The floors are too perfect to be original but they’re still a gorgeous mahogany that goes well with the wood doors and trim. It’s a typical bachelor pad in that there’s minimal furniture and decor except for a giant flat-screen TV because—priorities. And though everything has that wornfound on the side of the roadlook about it, it’s all surprisingly clean and well maintained for a house shared by three guys.
The leather couch makes creaky, farty noises as I sit down and scooch back. Excellent. What guy doesn’t love a girl who makes farting noises while she eats? I only have a moment to contemplate that before Ryan steps out of the kitchen carrying two plates. I hop up and take one from him, because I’m helpful like that, then immediately plop down on the fart couch and listen with mortification as it slowly sinks with a long, drawn outPFFFFFT.
Oh my god. Kill me now.
“Oh shit,” Ryan starts then busts out laughing—not little chuckles either—full-blown guffaws that make me want to chuck my fork at him. “I’m so sorry,” he begins then is overcome with another round of laughter.
Yeah, I’m going to go now.
“Alright. Well good knowing you,” I say and scramble for the door.
“No. Charlie, wait.” He drops his dish on the table, with a thump, and races after me. I’m almost at the door when Ryancuts me off and lays his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says, still giggling.
Crossing my arms, I give him my best, “No shit, asshole,” glare.
“Really,” he says, wiping the tears running down his cheeks from laughing so hard. “I should have warned you. It’s the fart couch. That happens to everyone. I’m sorry. It was just your face.” And again, the laughter. “It was fucking priceless.”
I press my lips together, trying to stop the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, and bow my head.
“Hey.” Ryan tips my head up by the chin. Though he’s still smiling, this time when he speaks the words are serious. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a running joke around here. We’ve all done it a million times. I promise. Okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, though I’m still having a hard time looking him in the eyes.
He runs the back of his fingers along my jaw and threads them into my hair. “Charlotte?” he says, his voice soft and husky. My eyes snap up at his use of my full name. He isn’t smiling anymore. “I want to kiss you.”
“Then kiss me.”
We crash together, a frenzy of lips and tongue and teeth that sends my stomach into a flurry of somersaults. Any lingering embarrassment I might have felt dissolves with the first slide of his tongue against mine. All that’s left is me and Ryan and this overwhelming need to taste and touch and feel him. I slip my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, imagining our bodies are pressed skin to skin. It feels like I’m on fire. I need him so fucking bad. I’m shamelessly rubbing my breasts against his chest. His hands move down my back and grip my ass, tipping my pelvis toward his until I feel his thick erection pressed against my belly.
I gasp.
“Fuck, Charlie,” he says, tearing his lips from mine. “This isn’t…” I cut him off, kissing him over and over, not allowing him to regain control of himself, because I am beyond the point of caring. “I didn’t…” he says between kisses. “I don’t want you to think…” He’s practically panting the words. “That I only brought you here for sex.”
I pull away, place my hands on either side of his face and look him square in the eyes. “Do you want me?” I ask.
“Of course.”
