The low grunts in my ear and erratic jerks of his hips tell me he’s found his high, too.
And then, as frantic as this experience was, everything stops. My chest rises and falls, every breath delivering enough oxygenthat I balance on the verge of consciousness. Ryder’s still on me, still inside me, our bodies molded together.
“Hey.” He drags his mouth up my cheek then across my forehead. “How are you doing, Summer?”
My heart swells three sizes.
No longerWinter.
No longer a cold, heartless bitch.
“I think I died and went to heaven...” I admit, then after a beat I add, “Or hell... I’m not sure.”
He chuckles, stamping a kiss on the tip of my nose. He rolls away, and gathers me to his chest, draping the bed sheets over us.
I feel his lips in my hair, small soothing kisses that go perfectly with his fingertips, ghosting the length of my spine. The smell of sex, sweat, his cologne, and my coconut lotion mixes on his skin. I bury my nose into his chest, inhaling the heady scent.
My eyelids grow heavy, sleep pulling me under. I can’t remember the last time I was this spent. Not even sleepless nights at Noretto’s mansion drained my anger this satisfactorily.
The cocoon Ryder weaves around me now, that undeniable safety he surrounds me with, relaxes every muscle in my body. Not that many were still tense after that wild ride.
The last thing I’m aware of are more of Ryder’s kisses.
27
Ryder
Bianca’s sleeping like the dead.
It’s nine in the morning, and I’ve already done my workout, even though I probably don’t need to after last night. I’m showered, dressed, and brewing coffee in the kitchen. Music seeps from the ceiling-mounted speakers, filling my condo with “Gasoline” by Måneskin.
And Bianca’s still in bed.
I checked in on her ten minutes ago, standing in the doorway and wondering whether I should wake her. We’re not leaving for Cleveland today, so she can sleep however long it takes her to recover from the five or six orgasms I wrung out of her last night. As soon as she wakes, I’ll want five more, so she needs the rest.
That’s if the tough-girl act has been dropped for good...
A bitter-sweet sensation fills me up when I sit down with my coffee at the breakfast bar.
I don’t regret last night. I’d be lying if the thought of having her again hadn’t crossed my mind a thousand times this pastweek. In all honesty, that first time shouldn’t even count given how robotic it was. Cold, detached, emotionless.
Last night was how I’ve imagined sex with Bianca since I saw her for the first time. She dropped her mask, submitted to my dominance, and she was absolutely fucking perfect, but...
Yeah, there’s always abut.
While she was perfect, a part of me dreads the moment she comes to her senses and slips back into her cold-bitch attitude.
After what she told me last night, I know it’s a defense mechanism. She’s hiding, protecting her heart.
Fuck, there’s so much hurt in that girl. She told me she’d been let down numerous times before, that she has trust issues, but nothing hit me harder than“It feels like I’m falling.”
How much hurt did she live through if allowing herself to feel makes her this vulnerable?
A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. Koby stands in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, a white paper bag with the logo of my favorite bagel place in Columbus in one hand. In the other, a bouquet of pink peonies.
“Breakfast.” He steps around me, heading straight for the kitchen and turns to wave the flowers in my face. “A gift from a secret admirer. Where’s your girl?”
“Asleep. You have three—”
