“Terrified,” I admit. “I haven’t done this in six years. And the last time I let someone in, she left. So yeah, I’m scared as hell.”
“We’re a mess,” Faye says, but she’s smiling.
“That’s perfect.”
She chuckles. “Really? How?”
“I’ve wanted to get messy with you for a while now.”
“Yeah?” Her voice turns husky.
“Yeah.” I grin and tug her ponytail.
Her lips part on a gasp.
“I’ve been waiting weeks,” I murmur, my mouth hovering above hers. “Thinking about you. Dreaming about you.”
“Then stop talking,” she whispers.
I cradle her jaw with my other hand. She makes a small sound of surprise, or impatience; maybe both.
I lean in slowly. Give her time to change her mind. To pull back.
Instead, she meets me halfway.
24
FAYE
The first brush of his lips is careful, like he’s asking a question I’ve been dying to answer. A whisper of touch. But my entire body tilts toward it anyway.
I pull back to look at him, to check this is real. His eyes are still closed, lashes dark against his skin.
When he blinks, the blue of his irises burns even more toward violet; it churns, smoky, focused, alive.
“Okay?” he murmurs, thumb ghosting over my cheekbone.
“More than okay.”
That’s all it takes. His mouth claims mine again, deeper this time, and my brain stops keeping up. His hand wraps around my waist, anchoring me to his side. But it’s not enough. I want more. I shift, lips never leaving his, until he scoots backward on the dock and I’m able to straddle his lap. My arms find his shoulders, my fingers his hair. I tug. The soft pull earns me a guttural growl that shoots heat through me.
Ryder repays me in kind, using my ponytail to angle my head backward and gain better access to my neck. He bites me before driving me insane with open-mouthed kisses. He works his way up my jaw, back to my mouth. Ryder pulls my lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it. When I moan, he swallows the sound, chases it with his tongue, and I open for him without restraint. He tastes of spearmint and secrets I was always meant to learn.
The kiss turns hungry, fire with no logic, every place we touch feeding the next spark. His hand is steady on my lower back. My thighs hook over his. The air feels too thin to breathe.
I’ve kissed before. But never like this. Never like falling and landing at the same time. Kissing Ryder is like learning a new language from the inside out, all sensation and reflex and no translation required. His lips are soft, but the grip of his hand on my ponytail is anything but gentle. It’s a battle, and it’s a ceasefire. It’s too much and not enough.
I lean into him harder, chasing the pull, the pulse that won’t settle. The shift throws our balance. We topple, half-laughing, half-kissing, landing with a thud against the wood with me sprawled ungraciously over him. For a heartbeat, we stare at each other, both stunned and grinning. Then his hands find my hips, firm and unhurried, and the grin fades. He shifts, muscles tightening beneath me, and before I process the change, the world tilts again as Ryder flips me over and gets on top of me. His weight pins me to the dock, his knee braced between my legs and his elbows caging my head. The hard planks press into my back, the night air prickles my skin, but every neuron I have is occupied by the heat of his kiss. He’s not careful anymore—his lips crash into mine, hungry and sure, as if he’s been holding back for years, not weeks, and now refuses to wait another second. His stubble roughens up my jaw, a scrape that sends a thrill all the way to my toes.
I hook my ankle behind his knee, holding him where I want him, as he gives up pretenses and devours me. I arch up to meet him, needing every inch of contact. My hair is coming loose from the ponytail, the dock creaks beneath us, the lake laps at the beams, but we’re the center of the universe and nothing else matters.
I lose track of time. I lose track of everything except the way his body fits over mine, how his hands move from my waist to my ribcage to my cheek, repeating the pattern, always so desperate, eager, and careful. My lungs burn for air, but he’s my oxygen. When we break apart, we’re both breathless. He looks so undone, I only want to kiss him again. We push up, sitting without separating, ending up face to face, knees bent, thighs overlapping, legs entangled.
“That was…” I start, but words feel too clumsy.
“Yeah,” he says.
“We can definitely check the heat box.”
