Want (Ryder Brothers Book 2)

by Kayti McGee

  I was worried about the pain, before, concerned I needed some kind of safeword but now the brief second of pain doesn’t even matter. It increases the pleasure. I rub my nipples and slip a finger inside myself but them the thought of Richard Thurgood swoops into my mind, killing my high. I need to push that out of the way, need to focus like Jake is able to focus.

  I think about the way he rolled us over so fast, the sheer force of his body maneuvering mine and good enough, I’m there already, and I’m singing out, my head thrown back. It’s not as much fun with no one here to hear me.

  Now that I’m coming regularly I notice that colors look more vibrant just after and so I take a moment to look around the room, the soft breeze coming in through the purple gossamer curtain, the light collecting on my grandma’s prism lamp and dancing rainbows on the wall. When my phone rings I feel a leap in my heart thinking that maybe it’s Jake to finish where we left off with his voice. But when I look at the phone’s screen I see Richard’s name and that leaping feeling is replaced with dread.

  “Well, hello there, girly. How’s my favorite rising star?” His voice is as slick and gross as his face. Why didn’t I notice that before?

  “Just doing some work to get ready,” I say because I have no poker face unless I’m telling a joke, and this part is technically true.

  “Don’t work too hard. You don’t want to burn yourself out before we even start rehearsing.”

  Can’t imagine burning myself out on this, I think, but try to get my head focused and back on the conversation.

  “I hear you’ve really been making your way around the city. A few friends called me to tell me about this fabulous talent they met at Arizona Amo’s new restaurant and I was hardly surprised that they were talking about you. Quite a buzz going already. Who is the mystery girl that appeared with Jake Ryder? Everyone wants to know.” There’s maybe a slight edge of jealousy or it could just be amusement to his voice and I go with that.

  “My roommate’s been really taking me under his wing,” I say, again not lying. “I feel like I’m really getting to know the city and just starting to have a handle on… things in general.”

  “This is a tough town and it’s important to have a guide. LA has its own kind of underworld, Marlee. There’s a lot that I’ll be able to show you too. Speaking of,” he says and he pauses for a moment, waiting for me to bring up the contract but I feel frozen with nerves and decide to wait him out.

  “The contract,” he finally says. “Do you have any questions about it or have you signed it already?”

  “It’s right here next to me actually,” I say, which is again, true. It sits underneath my alarm clock, the first thing I think about each morning after wondering what Jake is going to teach me next.

  “Any questions that I can answer for you?”

  Why did this seem like a good idea?

  Have I made an awful mistake?

  Is it too late?

  “No,” I lie, then lower my voice like I do for Jake before I tell him the dirty things he likes to hear.

  “I’m really looking forward to my time with you.”

  He lets out a pleased laugh and I can tell from his breathing that he’s hard, just like I can tell from Jake’s breathing. But Richard’s breaths are shorter, more urgent. More smug. I can hear in Jake’s voice how he wants to tease me, how my pleasure is part of the fun. There’s something way more transactional with Richard.

  Before, this arrangement felt like an open door, now it’s more like a trapdoor.

  It feels impossible not to compare their voices but I need to stop, because I won’t be able to stop comparing and thinking and I can’t do that if I want to make this work.

  “As you should be,” he said. “I think we will both get a lot out of it. There are a lot of women who can express how pleased they are from similar previous arrangements.”

  “Oh? I would love a testimonial. And of course some tips on how to please you.” I say because I’ll have to know anyway and it feels safer to know that over the phone and also I really would love to know who else sold their souls and what they got out of it.

  All of this was just so different when sex was an abstraction, something I read about, a fantasy.

  “If I can be frank, girly, I’m not predicting any trouble in that department. You are a beautiful young woman, and you’ll be available to me any time and in any way I choose. Any girlfriend of mine quickly learns that a nightcap from behind is about as simple as I get. The more you give, the more you get. I’m certain you’ll grow to enjoy my other preferences. They all do.”

  “Preferences?” I ask. Please, please let that mean top-shelf liquor or early bedtimes.

  “Breath-play, ropes. Parties involving other parties.”

  I try not to let on that I am honestly shocked. This was not what I was led to believe would happen from reading billionaire books. Shopping and sex, the occasional spanking in a special room, sure, but this? This was not explicitly laid out in my contract. There’s an article that alludes to “special scenarios” but I assumed those were Oscar parties. Goddamnit.

  “Totally. Just what I was expecting,” I tell him blandly, in my best Jake-is-blank voice. See, he’s taught me so much.

  “I’m excited to show you my homes all over the world and I know you’ll really benefit from the people you’ll meet. Especially if you show them just how… generous we can be. This isn’t just national notoriety, girly. International barely touches it.”

  I’m frozen. Generosity was supposed to mean something benevolent. Notoriety is exactly what this seems like it will get me. Will having my pick of choice parts be worth what people will whisper about me at parties? And what the hell does parties with other parties mean, anyway?

  He tells me no rush with the contract. That he’s headed for a film shoot in Madrid and will be gone a for a few weeks.

  “We’ll touch base when I get back and get everything sorted. In the meantime, break a leg with rehearsals.”

  It takes a moment after we get off the phone for me to understand that what I’m feeling is something like imposter syndrome. Talking to Richard, I feel like I’m in someone else’s romance book. Some girl, some young midwestern talent, maybe even from Missouri, would find this all desperately exciting. She’d take what he offers, and fix whatever is clearly broken inside him along the way.

  But in the book I’m in, I can only picture Jake as my hero.

  Because I cannot imagine caring for Richard enough to want to change him. If that even happens in real life.

  I can’t let myself think that way, though. This isn’t a novel. Richard Thurgood is the one who offered me an #andalso and even though I feel like an imposter for getting the part in the show, for getting offered this opportunity, I know that I can work hard and prove to everyone that I’m worth every opportunity I got.

  I know I can suck it up and get through this. I could pay off all my student loans, I could get my own place. Stop checking my bank balance before every night out. My parents could retire early and their second mortgage would just—disappear.

  All I need is the chance to show the movers and shakers what I can do.

  What if Jake was the hero, though? That would be like winning the lottery. And not a little one, the billion-dollar kind. The kind that changes your life forever.

  But Jake isn’t the kind of guy to trade sex for notoriety. He sure as hell doesn’t need to and I don’t think I would like him if he did. I love how he’s forceful with me and the whole teacher thing is incredibly hot, but he also knows what he’s doing.

  He’s more than just an act. He works hard like I do and I can see it in those smiles he gives me that are incredibly tender. That tenderness is a part of him that I get to touch when I’m on my knees for him. There’s so much more to him than just sex, like how he listens to me talk about my family, is genuinely interested in what it was like for me to grow up in the Midwest and he’s never teased me or asked me if I had running water, not onc
e. Maybe in some ways I did win the lottery just for having him be the one to walk me through this, to give me access to my sexuality, to my body in a way I never thought was possible.

  Even if it was ultimately just a favor for a friend, as far as he’s concerned.

  I hear the front door open and close and get myself up and pull my clothes together. I’m excited he’s finally home and want to pick up where we left off with my new sexting skills but it also feels like Richard is in the room now and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get rid of that feeling. When I hear Jake’s knuckles rap on the door I try to cheer myself up.

  Fuck. He has this serious look on his face, almost like he’s thinking about ending our relationship. Our mentorship. Or whatever this is. The dread that fills me is far more intense than it should be, because this is just a favor. Just a good friend doing a good deed.

  Why on earth would I feel so anxious?

  Unless I was right with my very first premonition, right after we made out for the first time on his bed.

  Unless I’ve confused friendship for love.

  No, I don’t want to consider that. It would mean I’ve ruined my entire life, and that cannot possibly be true because I have worked my entire life. For this. For here. For the chance to make my dreams come true. Not for him. I just like him, is all.

  “How was the studio?” I ask cheerfully, just in case he’s looking serious because he thinks I’m looking serious. But nothing shifts on his face and I realize he’s being Jake serious.

  “Do you have time to chat?”

  “Sure,” I say but my stomach has already dropped into the pit of horror. He motions to my bed.

  “Can I sit down?” I nod, but it’s freaking me out. Why is he asking if he can sit down? My ex asked if he could sit down on his own couch before he finally told me he was gay, that he was in love and not with me. He told me that he could see that I legitimately wanted him but he didn’t legitimately want me.

  So I’m certain that’s what is happening here. Jake sees that look in my eyes, and he knows that I’m confused. He can tell I’m having doubts about Richard, and he doesn’t want to be to blame for me breaking my deal.

  Frankly, right about now all I want in the world is to break this deal. I’m in over my head. But if I do that, I lose this time with Jake. And even though I’m confused about everything, and I need a year to sort out my thoughts, he’s the one thing I know for certain I need.

  I know I can’t hide what I feel, I’m too honest, but I want to make my own decision about how this goes and when to stop.

  I don’t need him to tell me that we have to slow down because he can tell I’m falling for him. If anything, we need to speed things up.

  As soon as he sits down, I grab his arm. It’s preemption time, bitch.

  “Jake, I’m not ready.”

  “Oh,” he says.

  “I’m so not ready for Richard. There’s so much more to do. I’m really nervous. I talked to him today. He’s been with a million women and half the things he said he liked I didn’t even know what he meant. I barely understood how to move when I was on top the other night and I mean, what do I do with a ‘vanilla nightcap from behind’? What does that mean? My only nightcaps are tequila shots or pink shit. No one told me I have to bartend. Jake, I have to learn faster. We have to do it in all the ways. All the ways.”

  Its as close to lying as I can get, and just like with Richard, I only need to leave words out to let someone think something else. It’s Jake I want in all the ways.

  I can’t tell him that. But I don’t want this to stop.

  I want what Richard will offer me, but I know that it won’t involve multiple orgasms and that gorgeous grin he gives me after I come, after I make him come.

  He exhales and shakes his head like I just said the wrong thing. I watch his jaw clench. It’s weird because I’m offering him my body with no strings attached. Isn’t this the kind of arrangement that guys like him dream of? Friends with benefits are supposed to be unicorns.

  I slide my hand down his thigh toward his dick when he grabs me roughly and flips me around so that my back is to him. His arms wrap around me and his fingers grip roughly onto my ribs. He’s holding me so tight I can hardly breathe, but I can feel his breath hot and heavy on my neck. He moves his hands up onto my breasts and rubs them back and forth. I try to turn around to kiss him but he snaps me back. He’s in total control. With one arm wrapped around my breasts he slides the other one to my hip and presses his pelvis onto my ass. I feel how hard he is and melt against his body.

  “Pull your leggings down,” he says. “Now.” I try to turn around again but his arms lock me into place. Weird, but real goddamn hot, so okay.

  “Stay facing this way,” he commands. His body separates from mine just enough so that I can move freely. Just as I slide my leggings down over my ass I feel him on me again, lifting me onto the bed so that I’ve landed on all fours. His hand slips into my slit and I hear him groan slightly when his fingers come away drenched. I want him back inside me and I almost say so when I hear his belt unbuckle and his pants unzip.

  I go to turn my head but he pushes my face back around. I feel his cock playing at my opening as he slides the head up and down. I start to wriggle backwards, I want him so badly but he holds me steady with a hand on my lower back, teasing himself in and out. Then with both hands on my hips he enters me with one fast deep thrust. I moan and feel like I could come already. He holds me for a moment until it passes. I can wait, but I feel filled with him like he’s reaching beyond, like he’s as deep as he can possibly get.

  This time he doesn’t ask how I’m doing and he starts to thrust against me, sliding in and out, his balls slapping against the back of my thighs in a way that feels purely for his pleasure. How can his pleasure and mine coincide so perfectly? I want to feel that as much as possible for as long as I can.

  He runs his hand up the back of my neck and grabs onto a fistful of my hair, pulling me towards him so that my back arches.

  “You like this?” he asks, his voice gruff with effort and lust. His hand gripping in my hair and pulling is the perfect mix of pleasure and pain and I pull my head away a little to tease him into tugging harder.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I think you can take me deeper. Don’t you?” I try to nod my head but my hair pulls more, which makes me gasp. He pushes my head down toward the pillow so my ass lifts even higher and I feel him thrust even deeper into me in forceful strokes that shake my whole body. I moan with pleasure into the pillow until he lifts me up again.

  “I want to hear you,” he says.

  As I groan and cry out for him I know that I can give him what he wants, I can hit the notes he needs and he can hit all of mine. I feel him chasing after everything he wants in my body and it’s fair, considering he’s helping me chase after everything I’ve ever wanted in life. For a moment this eases me and helps me focus just on the power of his body behind me and the pleasure radiating up through my body. We are at our best when we’re both getting something out of it. As he rides me deeper I know that’s best for him too.

  Surely we both want this.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jake

  It’s convenient that that what she wanted to learn next, what Thurgood basically requested, is all I can give her right now. Slamming her ass against me and watching her tits shake with each thrust is something I used to think about before she moved out here and I want to experience every part of her like this especially now, feeling how her tight pussy grips my dick as I slide in and out.

  But this is the only way I could have fucked after hearing that she only wants me as a teacher and not given too much away on my face. She’s not doing any of this for me. I know that. She doesn’t want me and I feel pathetic for thinking she could. Because it’s not about me.

  It’s never been about me.

  I’ve been eyeing these dimples on either side of her spine, places I adore, and now that I’m behind he
r they are perfect place holders for my thumbs. I wrap the rest of my hands around her hips and she’s groaning and grinding her pelvis back into me in perfect rhythm. She tries turning her head again.

  “I want to feel you come,” she says. Her eyes half open and I can feel that I’m moving through her like a drug.

  “Oh, I will,” I say, and I turn her face back and let her take my fingers into her mouth. She sucks on them hungrily and what’s turning me on is that she isn’t practicing technique, she’s just being honest and expressive. I can feel her teeth scraping on my fingers and I start to thrust faster. I look down the length of my torso as my stomach muscles contract frantically and take in the view of my dick thrusting in and out of her.

  Her thighs are firmly pressed against mine and I hold my hand in place in her mouth and she’s latched on like it’s a bit. I plan on coming but I want to make her come first and to do that will make me come immediately and I’m not ready for that. Since everything started it seems like the only way I can think clearly is when I’m inside her and I need more time in this place.

  She wants my body. She wants my come, wants me to make her come, but she doesn’t want me. She wants a career. That’s reasonable, but I’ve already made it and I know that it’s not always what you think you’re getting. I can look to the other things I want because I’ve already lived my dream.

  And what kind of dreams can I offer her?

  I can’t give her connections. I can’t offer her a starring role, the chance at an Oscar or a Tony. I have money and a big dick and I can make her come faster than she can inhale again.

  That’s fun, but its not her life’s dream. I was stupid to think she might give all that up for me.

  Maybe all the songs I sang as a teenager got into my blood. On stage with my brothers, all those lights shining down on us, thousands of those girls screaming in front of us as we sang songs about giving everything up for love or about girls doing anything to have us.

  I know that those were written for us by anonymous writers and half the time I didn’t even understand what I was singing about, but even though I shut down, maybe part of me wanted to believe that the sentiments were possible. When we kissed on the bed that first time, I was certain I felt all that emotion between us from both sides, but they were just the feelings that I discovered. Since Nick and I started writing together, I’ve sung the same things. I’ve sung songs about giving up everything to be with each other. I watched him do it, and that’s why I believed it.