Which is something I can totally do. I am well versed in noncommittal sex. It’s in the bag.
Never mind that afterward, he laid me down, whispering sweet nothings and scattering gentle kisses on my sensitive skin. Pulled the covers over me when goosebumps rose on my arms and thighs, smoothing the material delicately with his strong hands. Went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and came back with a glass of water for me. Never mind the tender, thoughtful Ryan that rose to the surface like a buoy on stormy waters.
He’s not the first man to treat me that way after fucking mybrains out. Just because I can’t remember anyone else off the top of my head doesn’t mean they haven’t existed. Ididjust get my brains fucked out, after all.
I move to get up and feel warm fingers close around my hand. Ryan’s.
I’m so used to waking up alone that I completely forgot we didn’t get around to saying goodbye last night. Instead, we lay in bed for a while, talking, and kissing, and touching, and then Ryan rolled me onto my back and pressed his ready member against me again, and well. I wasn’t exactly going to ask him to leave.
I peek at his profile. The prominent line of his nose, the pout of his lips. The shadow along his jaw, the fan of his lashes. So peaceful. Relaxed in a way I’ve never seen him.
He’s still sleeping. Does he even realize that he’s grasping my hand? Or is it something he’s doing unconsciously?
It feels…nice.
Too nice.
I start to rise again, but I’m stopped when I hear him rumble, “Stay.”
So he is awake.
“We should get up,” I say.
“I have a better idea,” he says. His voice is deeper from sleep, radiating from him like a cat’s purr. “We stay here.”
That does not sound unappealing. “What time do we need to get to the studio for filming?” I have an interview withSan Fran Livethis morning.
“Not till ten.” He looks at the bedside clock. “We have plenty of time. My alarm’ll go off when we need to get up.” He pulls me closer by the waist, and I don’t resist.
“You set your alarm last night?” I ask.
“I set it in the morning.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“You set your alarm for the next morning, the previous morning?”
“Yeah,” he says again. “Right after it goes off, I set it for the next day.”
I am bewildered. “Why?”
“Because it’s efficient. A task completed. And no chance I’ll forget.”
There is something so Ryan about this maniacally responsible practice that it makes my legs feel heavy, rooted to the mattress. “That is serial killer behavior.”
“If we’d left it up to you, we might have slept in.”
“Nah, Maral will be knocking on my door within an hour. She comes to my room every morning.”
“You know your phone has an alarm on it,” he says.
“It’s not a live wake-up call, I’m always up. It’s just a routine, how we start our days while traveling. And often at home. After my workout, she comes over and we talk while I shower and dress.”
“Damn,” he says. “Is that an open position? How do I apply?”
My pulse gallops as he pulls me in for a kiss. Morning breath be damned, the soft heat of his mouth right now rivals coffee for the best thing to wake up to. Just like every other kiss we’ve shared, it intensifies at warp speed, as though the world is ending and we’ll never get another chance at human contact again. The answering tug between my legs is acute. He responds automatically, as though his brain is connected to my body by a circuit, sensing what I need and zeroing in on fulfilling it. He kisses down my chest, my belly, and disappears beneath the sheets. I sweep the white material away so I can watch him in action, working such masterful magic on me that it takes only a handful of seconds for me to plummet to my little death.
