“You’re not good for me,” she said, trying to stay strong. She put down the spoon, but he picked it up again.
“Too much sugar?” he asked, and brought a gooey spoonful of cake to her mouth.
Her lips left a smear of chocolate on the spoon. “You always tasted so good,” he said, flicking his tongue to lick it clean.
Heat rocketed through her. This time yesterday Ryan Thomas was a distant memory. Never completely gone, but no longer with her. The past staying where it should be: behind her.
Now she was thinking about having Ryan Thomas behind her…but in a whole different way.
She knew she should leave. Just stand up and walk out the door. She could sit this close to him, eat dessert with him, flirt like she hadn’t in years. She could smother him with chocolate and lick every last smear from his body, and yes, she could love every second.
But that didn’t change their history. It didn’t make the past go away or hurt any less. It didn’t make it any less of a bad idea to bring him into Maya’s life. He was still heading back to Chicago the first chance he got.
But it was exactly the reminder that he was leaving that made something loosen up inside her. Fun. Why couldn’t she let him give her just a little?
If she walked away now, she’d always wonder. Not what might have been—she knew there was no future here. But how he tasted now. How it felt to have his hands on her again. She always had to be so damn responsible, keeping it together every second of the day. If she could let go for just a few hours, not even for a night…
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
She took a sip of coffee to buy herself time. “Nothing important.”
“Of course it’s important.”
She shook her head.
His arm slid around her shoulder, massaging her with one hand. “You’re so wound up. Would it be so bad to just tell me?”
But it wasn’t what she wanted to say. It was what she wanted to do, without having to talk, or plan, or think about anything at all.
His hand tilted her chin toward him. “Tell me,” he said, his voice a husky whisper that made her thighs clench.
He must have seen it, the way her body still responded to him, because he didn’t wait for the answer she couldn’t give. He kissed her, hard and deep and soft all at once so that she felt her body opening to him immediately, her lips parting, drawing in his tongue. He tasted like coffee and chocolate and something so much sweeter, so much more indulgent than anything she’d just eaten.
She may not have been sure what the hell she was doing, but there was nothing tentative about his mouth on her. She was shot right back to that night when she was twenty, fake ID burning in her back pocket, Ryan pulling her into a back alleyway to press her against the brick in a way she’d never been pressed before.
She would have said she was well beyond the capacity to be shocked, to be so taken. She wasn’t that twenty-year-old girl anymore.
But Ryan’s kiss shocked her—that she could be so flooded by just one touch.
His hands came to her jaw, sliding around to cup her neck, and then one reached around and traced down to her lower back. He was covering all the places he knew she was the most sensitive—her neck, her back, the soft skin of her ear.
She pressed her leg against him, wanting more, frustrated by the clothing between them, the publicness of the place, even as she was grateful for them. There was still some sense of decorum, a line she couldn’t cross. This was a small town, and while no one she saw in the restaurant was a client, the odds were good that at some point they might be.
It was the reminder she needed. His hand began to inch up the hem of her dress, but she pulled away.
“We can’t do this,” she panted, even as his eyes raked over her and she was aware that her swollen lips and glassy eyes didn’t exactly scream stop.
“Upstairs,” he said, his voice a growl.
“I can’t.”
He brought his fingers to her chin again and raised it up a notch so her eyes met his. “If you want to, baby, then you can.”
She bit her lip. But she didn’t move away, didn’t put a single inch between them.
“It’s different now,” she said quietly. “I have responsibilities. I can’t just do whatever I want.”
He came so close she felt the scratch of his jaw against her cheek when he whispered, “You can when you’re with me.”
She thought he was going to kiss her again. But instead, he pulled away, sinking back into that soft black sofa as though they were two proper adults who weren’t right this second stacking dynamite that would blow up their lives.
Just feeling the sudden distance between them made her ache all the more for his touch. She gave a small nod, unable to stop herself, and he raised a finger, signaling to the waitress for the check. It took no time at all for him to sign it to his room, and then he was leading her by the hand across the restaurant, through the lobby, over to the elevators, and her feet were following. She was really doing this; she was really going upstairs with him. She’d spend one night with him and one night only before he went home.
If she didn’t, she’d never get over him again. She’d never stop thinking about the way it felt when he kissed her. How all she’d wanted was to feel him one last time.
She’d keep replaying this instant, this moment as the elevator doors opened and he motioned for her to step inside. She could leave now and go home to Maya, to her real life, but then she’d always be stepping into that elevator in her mind, replaying the moment, wondering what if.
This way, she’d know. She’d do it once, for old time’s sake. Then she’d remember why she left him in the first place, why she couldn’t be with him for real. He’d go back to Chicago, and she’d think of him fondly, look him up from time to time, Google him to see how his music career was going.
When Maya was older—eighteen, say—they could finally have The Talk, and she’d tell her who her father was. Not that he’d once come to town, not that she’d slept with him one last time, not that just the press of his hand on the small of her back still managed to turn her knees weak. Just the facts. Then Maya could make her own decision, could get on a bus and visit him, could wish her mom had been cool enough to stay with her awesome rock-star father, while also knowing, in her heart of hearts as she got older, how grateful she was for the stability Claire had chosen instead.
She felt bold. Reckless. Completely out of her mind. When he followed her into the elevator, she allowed him to push her against the back wall. Work, responsibilities, everything waiting for her at home—all of that vanished as soon as he parted her thighs, right as the doors closed, and kissed her.
“Fuck me, Ryan,” she moaned as he reached under her dress to palm her ass.
She wasn’t twenty anymore, and there was only so long she could hold out.
He brought his hand around, pushing the thin cotton of her underwear to the side, and slid his finger where she was already slick. She thought he was going to tease her there, play with her until she was out of her mind.
But he plunged his finger inside her so deeply she gasped.
“Darling,” he murmured, moving with excruciating slowness inside her. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter Eight
Ryan couldn’t believe he was touching Claire Collins again.
A lot of shit had happened in his life that he honest-to-God struggled to wrap his mind around.
His dad had never been there for him, except for when he’d occasionally sober up and act like he gave a damn before disappearing again. But whenever he promised to be at Ryan’s birthday party, his baseball game, his school concert, Ryan fell for it every damn time. How had he ever been that naive?
And what on earth made him so convinced he’d never grow up to be like the guy, when of course he turned right into him anyway?
More mind-boggling was how he’d actually managed to make some kind of living playing
music. How he’d done it, he’d made it, he’d climbed so close to the top—and then fallen all the way down.
The fact that he was a father—well, that completely blew his mind.
But this, right now, was the craziest thing he could have imagined. He’d thought she was gone for good. Only here they were, in the elevator, his hand between her thighs as he kissed her with everything he was worth.
He was supposed to be spending the night convincing her to let him meet Maya. That was it. He just wanted the smiling girl in the photograph to be more than a picture to him—and for him to not be a total stranger to her.
But sitting so close to Claire in the candlelight, kissing the chocolate off her lips, had turned his mind to jelly—while other parts of him were painfully stiff. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her, whether he’d earned her lips or not.
He never should have convinced her to move to New York. She should have finished school. He should have taken his time building his career instead of trying to catapult himself up. He should have been more careful not to hurt her.
The tattoo on his forearm was there to remind him of what he had lost, so he’d never make the same mistake again. Now he looked down at that same arm, those same rings inked into his flesh, and saw the muscles flex as his wrist worked, pushing one finger and then another inside her, stroking the velvet softness as she ground against his palm.
“You going to come for me in the elevator?” he said, pushing deeper.
“Depends on what floor you’re on,” she panted.
He was disappointed when the elevator slowed and dinged at their stop.
But not too disappointed. Because that just meant he was kissing Claire in the hallway, pressing her up against the wall, fumbling to get the key from his pocket as he slid his hands over her body and lifted her into the room.
They didn’t even make it to the bed before he had her up against the wall.
“Where were we?” he said, sliding his hand to her thigh again.
“Ryan, do you think we should stop? Should I go home before…before we get—”
Quickly he spun her so she was facing the wall and he could get to the zipper on the back of her dress.
“Carried away?” But her breath hitched, and the end of her half-hearted protest melted into a moan as he slid the zipper down.
He pulled the dress off her shoulders, kissing across her bare skin, pressing into her hard enough that she could feel exactly how carried away he already was.
Carried away was exactly what he wanted. He couldn’t stop to worry about whether this was a good idea or not. Right now, nothing mattered except his drive to be inside her.
“Too much thinking,” he said as he slid the dress over her hips and kicked it to the floor. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
Her palms spread out, pressing against the wall as he pulled her hips back into him. His hand slipped around and beneath her underwear. Two fingers parted her while the middle found what he was looking for.
“That’s it,” he exhaled, teeth tugging on her earlobe as he felt her spread her legs and relax into him, giving him more space to circle her clit.
She let her head fall back against him, her eyes closed, hair tumbling over her shoulders, her chest rising and falling as she struggled for breath.
“Is this how you want to come?” he whispered in her ear.
Her eyes flew open as soon as he said the word, but he spun her around again before she could start in with that whole thinking business. He’d let her down in so many ways, but he was going to give her what she needed tonight. Cupping her under the ass, he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him, her hands threading through his hair.
“Or maybe you need something more,” he said with a thrust that pinned her to the wall.
He could come just from pressing against her through his jeans. But he wasn’t some kid obsessed with his own dick, which was straining against his fly so hard that it hurt. He knew now what he didn’t back then: that he should have always put her first.
Even if it was just for a night. Even if nothing would ever make up for what he’d done.
He gripped her tightly and carried her over to the bed. When he lowered her down, she tried to push up onto her elbows. But he covered her with his body, kissing his way over her soft skin, biting her nipples through her bra, pulling down the fabric to flick the hard pearls with his tongue.
She moaned, thrusting her hips up to him, and he kissed his way slowly down her stomach. His lips paused when he reached a small half moon scar over her abdomen. He looked up.
“C-section,” she panted, still squirming. “Does that bother you?”
There it was. Her thinking again. As if anything could make him keep his hands off her now.
He kissed the scar, the edge of her panties, pressed his face to the cotton between her thighs and then yanked the underwear down, kicking it to the side.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded.
She looked at him.
“Do it,” he said, and she let her head fall back on the bed.
He knew he’d been the first person Claire had had sex with, the first to go down on her, the first to make her come. He wasn’t so arrogant as to think she hadn’t been with anyone else since then, but he was determined to be the best she’d had, no matter what. He relished the memory of her first screaming orgasm as he kneeled on the floor and spread her legs over the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?” she groaned, raising her head again.
He laughed. “What does it look like? But only if you promise to close your eyes long enough to enjoy it.”
“Someone’s demanding.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “And you know what my first order is.”
“Keep my eyes shut?”
“After that.”
“Keep quiet?”
“Just the opposite, darling.”
He gave one full, steady lick up the soft, sweet seam, enough to make her groan.
“Oh,” she panted.
“Everyone on this hall is going to know my name by the time I’m done with you. If we don’t get noise complaints, I’ll know I let you down.”
Whatever smart retort she had dissolved into whimpers as he buried his face between her legs again, circling her clit so she wouldn’t forget how badly she wanted to be here right now. With him.
He remembered when she’d felt shy about this, wanting the lights off, not wanting him to look at her. But he needed to stop comparing past and present because that was a different woman. This one closed her eyes and let her breath come fast, her thighs trembling around his face, holding on.
He couldn’t get enough.
“Come on my tongue,” he said when he knew she was close. “Just let go and come.”
There was no question when she did. Her legs tightened. Her back arched. He’d had his hands on her stomach, her breasts, tweaking her nipples as he licked her clit until she clasped his arm by the wrist and held him as her body shuddered.
When she was completely spent, he got up from the floor, and she sat up, using her legs to trap him and pull him forward so he was leaning over her. He still had all his clothes on, and she reached up to yank off his belt.
“We have to fix this,” she said, going for his zipper. He didn’t know which of them groaned louder when she felt how hard he was.
She tore off his shirt, his pants, his boxers. He’d wanted her to stop thinking so much, stop worrying about every little detail, and he’d gotten his wish. She was pure need—a need he sure as hell was determined to fulfill.
He went to get a condom from his suitcase and slid it on. Claire scooted back toward the pillows, and he moved on top of her, parting her legs. She was ready. She was so fucking ready, and he couldn’t wait another second to be inside her.
But suddenly she used her hip to tilt him, and he paused, following her motion until he was the one on his back and she was over him, kissing him, arching her hips
over his cock standing straight up at attention.
She gripped his shaft in her hands, making his breath catch, and slid him over the slick warmth of her opening, back and forth, teasing the head of his cock until he was practically bucking up to be inside her.
Then, when he thought he couldn’t take it another second longer, she lowered herself down.
Her eyes were closed, but he watched her face, that wince of both pleasure and something new as she stretched to accommodate him. She opened her eyes and saw him drinking her in, her gorgeous breasts and the curve of her shoulders, the soft lines of her body over him.
“Take it,” he whispered, and she leaned down so her body was spread over him, her face in the crook of his neck.
“Take everything you need,” he said, running his hands through her hair, clasping her close to him as her body began to rock.
She moved her hips forward and back, grinding her clit against him, and then up and down, drawing him deeper, harder, faster inside her. Her breath came fast, panting in his ear, her body slick with sweat, her own sweetness coating him. He wanted to remember if it had ever been like this, with Claire taking everything she wanted.
But he couldn’t think, and anyway, it didn’t matter. If this was what he could give her, let her have it. He closed his eyes and thrust hard up into her, matching his speed to hers as he felt her tightening, tightening.
And then the release, her breathless cries, the pressure all the way down his shaft, making his balls ache.
“Fuck,” she cried.
“Don’t stop.” His voice came out like a grimace, his body so close to the edge his whole world felt like it had narrowed to this one moment, this one sensation, her body edging him closer, closer, riding him up and down until with a cry he thrust hard and spilled inside her. She collapsed on top of him, panting, until every last wave was done.
When she finally got up to go to the bathroom, he threw the condom away. He got under the covers, still naked, and when she came back, he turned down the comforter so she could crawl in next to him.
Make Me Yours (Men of Gold Mountain) Page 5