I lean back against the counter and watch him, this man I once believed couldn’t stand me, and try not to get emotional about the fact that he’s pouring me a glass of wine so we can talk about our day like the most normal fucking couple. Like our future was never in doubt.
He sets the glass in front of me and I take a sip, the wine warming my throat.
When I look up, he’s watching me with a familiar heat in his eyes.
“You know,” he says in a low voice, “the house feels wrong when you’re not here.”
“I was only gone one night,” I say, but my voice has softened too.
“I know.” He steps closer. “But it felt like forever.”
I let a small smile tug at the corner of my lips. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Mm.” He smiles and takes a sip of his wine, never taking his eyes off of mine. “And did you have a good night?”
“Yes,” I answer, giving him a small, purposely veiled smile.
I’m not sure if he’ll ask anything about it. How much he wants to know. But I know that every time I spend the night at Wyatt’s, or Jake and Damian’s, Ryder needs to claim me when I come back, like he’s marking his territory. I see that hunger in his eyes now.
“You know, it’s funny. Sharing you isn’t easy for me. There’s always a part of me that wants to chase you over there and pull you back.” His voice lowers. “But I was also hard as a rock all night thinking about you fucking Wyatt. About your helpless moans as he stretched you open with that big cock.”
He takes another sip of the wine and then puts the glass down and stands directly in front of me, crowding me against the counter.
“I think about him making you come, about your tight little pussy squeezing him, and I get about as turned on as I can ever be.”
My breath gets high and tight, his words making my heart pound. I can barely speak as he reaches for my glass and takes it out of my hand, placing it down near his. He leans forward, speaking softly in my ear.
“And that makes me realize that I love thinking about you with him, how hot it gets me. How hot it gets you. And how much I love when you come back to me. Because right now, you’re not his. You’re mine.”
“I’m always yours, Ryder,” I whisper.
He makes a low, deep sound and raises his hand to my throat, circling it lightly. “That’s fucking right you are,” he breathes in my ear. Then his hand moves up to my jaw, tilting my face up, looking at me like he’s drinking me in. His thumbs rubs softly over my bottom lip. “God, I can’t think straight when I’m around you.”
He threads his fingers into my hair, pulling slightly, and kisses me—hunger, heat and longing all wrapped up in it.
I kiss him back with all the same desperation, my hands running up over the huge breadth of his shoulders, into the loose lengths of his hair.
His hands find my zipper and tug it down, then he’s pushing the rough canvas fabric of my coveralls over my shoulders and down over my hips.
“Jesus Christ, woman,” he growls, discovering that I’m naked underneath.
I kick the coveralls off and he finds my hips and hoists me up onto the counter in one, smooth motion. His mouth crashes into mine again, hands moving over my shoulders and arms, down to my breasts.
The urgency in him has my blood thrumming. No careful preamble, just the press of his hands, the rough scrape of his beard. He fumbles with his zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough, and steps between my legs, his mouth never leaving mine—kissing, nipping, and breathing me in. The head of his cock pushes against me. I can feel how hard he is, how needy. His lips drag down my neck, biting just enough to leave a mark. He pulls me to the very edge of the counter, hands firm on either side of my ass, and lines himself up. One hard thrust and he’s inside me, stretching me so suddenly I gasp, legs tightening around his waist. The world goes white-hot.
“God, Max,” he growls, voice wrecked. “God, you feel so fucking good.”
He sets a brutal pace right from the start, thrusting hard, the counter cold underneath me, his body burning between my thighs. His hands dig into my ass, holding me in place as he slams into me. My head falls back, a cry ripping out of me, my legs clamping tight around his hips, and he fucks me harder, deeper, until pleasure is snapping through me, pulsing out from where we’re joined, my cries muffled against his mouth as he kisses me through it.
He groans, long and low, as I clench around him.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” he chokes out. “That’s my girl.”
His hips stutter, every muscle taut, and with a final, desperate thrust he buries himself deep and lets go. He grips my ass so hard I’ll feel it tomorrow, panting as he comes, his face buried in my neck. I feel his release, the heat of it, the way his whole body trembles as he rides out every last pulse.
He stays there for a second, both of us shaking, breath coming in harsh pants. His hands soften, sliding up my sides, grounding me, holding me as we come down together. He presses a kiss to my temple, then my lips, softer now.
As the intensity of the moment passes, he blows out a long breath and then looks around the counter. He reaches for the paper towel and pulls off two sheets, handing me one to clean myself up as he slowly pulls out.
