“Or we could stay here.” Ryan pulls me back and moves his mouth to the curve of my neck, hot and insistent. I turn my head to the side to offer more. To feel more.
Through the haze that’s becoming more intense by the second, I look around for Duke. I don’t spot him anywhere, so he must still be asleep in the bathroom. How Ryan managed to end up with the world’s most discreet wingman of a dog, I’ll never know.
I feel bolder knowing we’re alone and start to shift towards the couch. Ryan stops me again.
“Not there. Here.” He looks down at the reading chair and a mischievous thrill shoots through me at the prospect.
“I’ve never done that in my reading chair.”
The tips of his ears turn red and he looks at me with a hungry sort of smile. “I like having your firsts.”
It feels like my whole body breaks out in a blush. He steps into me slowly, brushing my chest with his in his lethal ratio of desperation and devotion. Our mouths fuse together and I twist a hand into the back of his hair. His kisses start out tender but then turn frantic. He pushes a knee between my legs, grinding against me and forcing a needy whine from the depths of my throat.
He breaks away at the sound and begins to step backwards, pulling me with him until his legs hit the ottoman. He nudges it away with his foot and then there’s nothing between him and the front of the chair. I tear at his apron and shirt and he makes quick work of my top and bra. Dragging him down for another searing kiss, I pull his tongue into my mouth and drink him in until I have my fill.
How can this be life now?
His hands drift down to undo the button of my pants and I move away the slightest bit, pulling them down myself along with my panties. Ryan digs a condom out of his back pocket and soon he’s fumbling with his belt, tearing it open, and pushing his shorts and boxers to the floor. I’m pulled back flush against him a second later and his hands cup my bottom as I gasp and arch my back. Ryan sits in the chair, holding my hand and gazing up at me with lust-filled eyes.
Whenever we’re both standing, he’s so much taller—forever towering over me by at least half a foot. I’ve always liked our height difference, and I’ve always secretly liked the idea that he could toss me against the wall and have his wicked way with me if we ever felt so inclined. But now, looking down at him, I’m wondering if this way is better. He’s staring up at me like I could tell him to do anything in this moment and he’d do it. It’s a powerful realization.
Riding my newfound high, I crawl into his lap and straddle him in the chair, adjusting myself until we’re lined up perfectly. I ease myself down little by little until he’s fully inside and his head falls back with a groan. I’m never going to be able to read in this chair the same away again.
“Damn, Sullivan,” he sighs, sounding breathless and drunk as I continue to slide myself steadily up and down. “How is it this good? How can you always feel this good?”
His words stoke a fire in the pit of my stomach, building it up to an almost unbearable level. My hands grip the back of the chair for leverage as I move faster and a little bit harder. Our bodies soon turn slick with sweat and his hand shifts from my chest to my center that’s already starting to flutter. I keep my pace as his fingers go right where I need them, rubbing and pressing, and blood roars in my ears as I cry out. Ryan’s free hand flies to the back of my neck and pulls me down, kissing me deeply and swallowing my every whimper. He thrusts himself up into me once, twice, three more times until he’s the one moaning intomymouth, his eyes clenching shut as his arms tighten around me to keep us pinned in place.
We float along in silence after that as we struggle to recover. He leans back to look at me, his hair tousled and his breathing still heavy. I have the primitive urge to keep him this way for the foreseeable future.
“I’m never going to stop wanting this,” he says. I can feel his heart pounding between us as we stay locked together. “It’s not like this with anyone else.”
I let go of the back of the chair to drape my arms around his neck. “No,” I agree. “Not for me either.”
“What do you think that means?”
We search each other’s eyes for the answer until I lean down, hiding my face in the curve of his shoulder. “I wish I knew,” I answer honestly. “I really wish I knew.”
15
The next morning, we’re in my bedroom after gorging on a breakfast of whole wheat toast, scrambled eggs and non-incinerated bacon. Ryan got me a scone but I’m saving it for later. He’s sitting back against the headboard on the bed now, wearing boxers and nothing else as I sport one of his oversize T-shirts with a sweatshirt on top. I’m staging a novel for Instagram, a contemporary romance with soft but striking cover art. So far, I have the book lying on my windowsill and framed with twinkle lights. My curtains run along the edge of the photo and vintage book pages that I ordered online are scattered underneath. I look through the camera on my phone to check the lighting but there’s still too much empty space.
“Are you excited for the rehearsal dinner tonight?” I ask, shifting around to check the room for something else to add to the picture.
“I guess,” Ryan says, flipping on the TV. “I never understood the purpose of rehearsal dinners. I want to meet the first person who said, ‘You know what, I’m nervous about this whole wedding dinner situation—we better do a walk-through the night before.’”
I grab my open laptop from off the bed and add it to the corner of the shot. “We’re obviously not rehearsing eating. If they were getting married in a church, we would rehearse going down the aisle in order and things like that, but since they’re getting married at the venue, we get to skip the work and just have dinner.”
“Well, I think it’s overkill.”
“What?” I ask dramatically. “You have a strong opinion about something? That’s so out of character for you.”
“And if I didn’t know for a fact that you love arguing with me, I would probably rein myself in until I knew I had you hooked. But, seeing as that isn’t the case, I’m going to let my inner weirdo run free with the wind in his hair.”
“Your weird inner self has long flowing hair?”
“Yours doesn’t?”
I shake my head and turn back around to the novel. I can feel Ryan adjusting his seat on the bed to check my progress.
