“That’s my good fucking girl,” he said with a grin. “Come for me, beautiful. Let it all go.”
He didn’t have to tell me. I was already coming. Ryan dropped down, resting his weight on his forearms, pressing his forehead to mine as he let sharp, staccato breaths slip from his lips.
I tipped my chin up and whispered against his mouth. “Come inside me. Fill me up.” I placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Please.”
His breath was shoddy and sparse. Animalistic grunts echoed from his chest as he let whispered profanities slip like sacred prayers.
I was fucked.
It wasn’t the act that we had just committed.
It was the weighted, inescapable look in his eyes.
28
RYAN
DADDY ISSUES
Willow was sleeping soundly as I pressed a kiss to her temple and eased out from under the covers. I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t stir. It had been a late night for the two of us after we made love under the willow tree. I carried her inside, forced her to eat something, and promised that—if she ate—we could have round two and three in bed.
Which we did.
Still, no amount of physical exertion could leach the rage out of my system.
I left a note on the kitchen counter next to the coffee maker, grabbed her keys, and silently slipped out the door.
The Ritual Salon was in a strip of renovated brick buildings that also housed a coffee shop, a record store, and a florist. The plate glass windows sported cleverly crafted vinyl decals that said “Hey, Good Lookin’” on one side of the door, and “Good Hair Days Start Here” on the other.
The space was decorated with black and white checkerboard floors, pale pink walls, and vintage photos of Marilyn Monroe, Ella Fitzgerald, Dorothy Dandridge, and Eartha Kitt. Lively music played through the speakers.
Two women sat under hooded dryers with rollers in their hair. Two more were being shampooed in the bowls. Three stylists had their chairs full as they snipped and trimmed.
Smack-dab in the middle of the chaos, Cynthia Hart stood behind a salon chair, chatting away with Amber as she painted bleach onto sections of her hair.
I didn’t expect to kill two birds with one stone, but I took both of them being here as a good sign from the universe.
“Good morning,” the receptionist said as I stepped past the entryway. “How can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Cynthia,” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
The receptionist smiled. “She’s with a client at the moment. I can take a message.”
“Don’t worry about it. I need to speak to herclienttoo.” And with that, I waltzed past the front desk, into the belly of the salon.
“Ms. Hart!” the receptionist hollered as she scrambled out from behind the desk, chasing after me.
Cynthia looked up from the foil in her hand, brows lifting in surprise. “Ryan.”
“I’m so sorry,” the receptionist blurted out. “I tried to tell him that you were with a client.”
Cynthia must have seen the ire in my eyes, because she momentarily froze, then calmly resumed painting on the bleach and folding the foil. “It’s all right, Taylor. This is Autumn’s boyfriend, Ryan.”
Taylor scurried back to the front while Amber rocketed up from where she had been slumped over in the salon chair. She whipped her head around to look at me, ripping the section of hair out of her mom’s hand. “What areyoudoing here?”
“Stupid isn’t a good look on you, Amber,” I clipped as I crossed my arms.
Her mouth gaped open, and her chewing gum fell out and dropped onto the cape.
