Page 50 of No Good Fight

Not gently.

Not the way a man kisses his best friend’s little sister after years of behaving himself.

Ryder kisses me like restraint has been killing him and I just put my mouth on the wound. His hand slides into my hair, careful for one breath, then firm enough to tilt my head exactly where he wants it. His other arm wraps around my waist and pulls me against him until there is no cold air left between us.

I gasp into his mouth.

He takes it like permission.

The brick presses against my back. Ryder’s body covers mine, broad and hot and shaking with the effort of not taking more than I’m giving. He tastes like rain and mint and something that feels dangerously close to home. My hands grip the front of his jacket, because standing has become complicated and apparently my knees have decided this is their resignation letter.

Ryder breaks the kiss first.

Barely.

His forehead rests against mine, his breathing harsh enough that I feel it against my lips.

“Alex,” he says, and this time my name sounds like a warning.

I pull him back down anyway.

He swears against my mouth and kisses me again, slower now, deeper in a way that makes my whole body go soft and restless at the same time. His thumb strokes once beneath my jaw. The gentleness of it nearly ruins me more than the hunger.

When he pulls back again, he doesn’t let go.

Neither do I.

Rain slides down his temple. His eyes search mine, dark and blown wide, with years of things neither of us has been brave enough to say.

“I don’t want to be afraid of wanting you,” I whisper.

Ryder closes his eyes for one second, like the words hurt.

When he opens them, his hand tightens in my hair. “Then don’t be. You’re worth it, Alex. You’re worth everything. Every. Fucking. Thing.”

And then he kisses me again.

8

RYDER

Alex is wrecked when I pull back from the kiss.

Not regretful. That would be easier to survive.

Her face is flushed, lips damp from mine, eyes wide and unfocused in the dim spill of light from Lucy’s windows. Condensation beads in her lashes. One hand is still fisted in the front of my jacket, and the other is curled against her chest like she forgot what to do with it after I let go.

I should step away.

Instead, I keep my hand in her hair because I’m a selfish bastard and I’ve wanted this woman for so long that the shape of her against me feels less like a shock and more like finding the missing piece of my own goddamn body.

“You’re shaking,” I tell her.

Alex blinks, then looks down as if the tremor in her hands is news. “That seems like a fair assessment.”

A laugh scrapes out of me, rough and useless. I want to kiss her again. I want to take her home. I want to go back inside Lucy’s, drag Preston out by his throat, and make sure he understands down to the bone that touching her was the last mistake he’ll ever get the chance to make.

Alex glances at the door behind me. That kills the heat fast.