by RC Boldt
His mouth curves up in a sly smile. “Why, Mags. Are you asking me to come home with you?” Smile widening, he leans in. “You little hussy, you.”
Shoving at his chest playfully, I roll my eyes, looking up at the ceiling. “Why me, Lord? Why did I get stuck with the cocky roommate?”
“Not everyone can be so blessed, my child.”
“You’d make one hell of a priest.”
Ry stares at me in mock horror. “As if I could manage to abstain from sex for eternity.”
“Mmm, minor complication.”
He looks at his crotch as if it’s going to chime in the conversation. “Not minor at all.”
Covering my face with my hands, I groan with a little laugh. “Ryyyyy.”
Snagging my wrist, he presses a kiss to the inside, over where my pulse is beating wildly. “Let’s go home.” Pulling out some cash, he tosses it onto the table.
“Wait.” Laying my hand on his arm, his eyes meet mine, a mixture of disappointment and apprehension in them. “Before we go.” I smile, sliding one of the napkins in front of me before reaching in my small purse for a pen.
His features relax, and he watches me as I write.
I want to be someone’s everything.
Sliding the napkin closer to him, I hand him the pen. His expression is unreadable as he stares down at my words. Appearing to ponder what to write for a moment, he glances over at me before focusing on the napkin, using an arm to shield my view of what he’s writing.
“Hey!” I protest, trying fruitlessly to make his arm budge so I can see.
He drops his arm, handing my pen back. One large palm splays over the writing, a cryptic smile playing on his lips.
“Let’s go.” Giving up, I slide out of the booth with him behind me. Helping me back into my coat, Ry fastens the belt, and tightening his fingers over the lapels, he tugs me close to press a swift kiss to my lips. He tucks something in my right hand, closing my fingers around it.
The napkin.
The entire walk to the exit doors, I feel the heat from Ry’s palm at the base of my back, the possessive gesture fueling my anticipation. But that isn’t what makes me stumble. It’s the moment I look down at what he’d written on the napkin in my hand.
You already are.
* * *
We’re walking hand in hand along the sidewalk, crossing over Division Street on our way back to the apartment when I see him.
“Wait.” I tug on Ry’s hand, cocking my head in the direction of a man sitting on the lone bench beneath the streetlight a mere three feet away from the Adirondack Bank building.
No one knows his name, but he’s evidently homeless. He always has a shopping cart full of things—bags of cans and bottles that he’s planning to exchange for the redeemable deposit fees and bags containing who knows what else. Whenever I run errands for work, and I see him on what most of the locals deem “his bench,” I’ll stop in the local bakery and grab a bottle of water, a hot cocoa, and a few muffins for him. On days he’s not there, I worry about him but always end up seeing him pushing that cart down another street.
He’s not clean and usually smells pretty ripe, but I’ve never seen him with any liquor or anything else, so I don’t think he’s on the streets due to addiction. The man always avoids meeting anyone’s eyes, and the times I offer him food and drink, he’ll shy away from me, leaving me to set the items I bring him in his cart or on the other end of the bench where he sits.
“I don’t have anything to give him except maybe money.” The bakery has long since closed for the day. Pursing my lips in thought, I peer up at Ry.
“Let me check on something real quick.” Steering me to stand beneath the streetlight at the corner of the sidewalk as numerous couples and groups of people walk past, enjoying the cool, crisp Friday evening, he steps away, walking over to approach the man on the bench. Ry nears him, stopping just a few feet away, speaking quietly in a hushed tone. A moment later, Ry returns to me, grasping my hand and leading me back in the direction from which we started.
“Where—”
“He’s in the mood for wings. Apparently, people give him pizza all the time.” I notice Ry’s lips are curved up slightly. “So I told him we’d get him some wings real quick.”
Stopping at the nearby pub, we slip inside and weave through the crowded establishment until we’re at the end of the bar. Ry’s hand is at my back, leaning in to place a to-go order with the bartender, and I find myself glancing around taking in the others on dates or together as couples or friends.
My eyes focus on one couple in particular who appear so at ease with one another, the affection they feel toward one another so obvious.
“Hey.” Ry’s husky voice in my ear makes me turn, and he’s watching me expectantly, one eyebrow cocked.
“Twice in one night? Wouldn’t we be jinxing things?” I tease, eyeing the napkin he has beneath one hand.
“Nope. You’ll see.” He extends his palm, waiting for me to hand him a pen. Once I do so, he hurriedly writes:
I want a beautiful woman who trusts me to please her … and to maybe take her against the door because I might not be able to wait to have her.
I roll my lips inward to try to hide my smile at his words. Accepting the pen, I slide the napkin closer to me.
I want a handsome man to make it so that I can’t wait to be taken against that door.
With a wide, satisfied grin, I slide the napkin over for Ry to see and can tell the moment he reads it, his eyes instantly darkening with intent. Dipping his head, he places his lips to my ear, and the hand at my back drifts down ever so slightly, his palm grazing my ass.
“I can’t wait either, Mags.” His teeth discreetly nip at my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine. “I can’t wait to feel how wet you are.” His fingers tighten on my ass before releasing me once the bartender sets a plastic bag on the lacquered wooden bar top, and Ry whips out his card to pay. Within a moment, we’re exiting with a large order of wings, napkins, and two bottles of water in hand.
Bringing it back to the homeless man, we carefully approach. Ry stops me a few feet away from the bench, asking me to wait. He then walks over and sets the bag on the far end of the bench where the man’s still sitting. They have a brief, quiet exchange, and within a moment, Ry returns to me, fingers linking through mine as we resume our walk home.
“Thank you for that.” I gaze up at his profile.
I see and feel his shrug. “No big deal.”
“But it is. It’s huge. For that man, especially.” I focus on the crowded sidewalk ahead of us.
“No more than you do.”
His response makes me falter. “What do you mean?”
He glances at me before refocusing ahead. “I know that you bring him hot cocoa and baked goods. Michelle at Sweets N Treats always talks about how you do that when you spot him on that bench. How you never mention anything about it, but she watches through the storefront window. Says it always makes her day when you do that for him.”
If it were possible to be a human firestarter, that would be me right now; my cheeks are flaming with such intense heat because I don’t do any of that for attention. I do it because it’s the right thing to do.
Because if, by some random chance, that man were me, with a gesture like that—setting all pride aside—I would feel somewhat human, somewhat more worthy.
“I don’t do it bec—”
Ry stops, steering me out of the way of oncoming pedestrians to beneath an awning of a boutique that’s now closed. Skimming a thumb across my cheekbone, his gaze is watchful, intense.
“I know, Mags.” His eyes briefly flicker down to my lips. “It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
So what you’re saying is you love me? But do you love me-love me?
Seriously, people. Could I be more juvenile? Maybe I should just start crimping my hair and obnoxiously chew a massive wad of bubble gum, too? And insert a bunch of likes into my speech? Cue the eye rollin
g.
Hello, my name is Maggie Finegan, and I’m mega lame.
Do they even have support groups for that? People who are mega lame? Because they should. I could be the leader. Obviously.
“So you love that about me, huh?”
His eyes lighten. “Are you fishing for compliments?”
With an expression of faux dismay, I gasp. “Me? Never. But really. What else do you love about me?”
He throws his head back on a laugh; the cords of his neck become more visible, and I swear I get the urge to sink my teeth into it. Weird, right? Like maybe I’ve watched those Twilight movies one too many times or something. Not that I’d take it that far. No way. I’m not a fan of blood.
At all.
But still. Something about his neck makes me want to nip at it.
“Whatever you’re thinking, yes. Let’s do that at home.” My eyes dart up to meet his, which are dark and hazy with intent.
Oh, yeah. It’s go-time, people.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ry
When Maggie grabs my hand and tugs me, starting to walk—rush, really—down the sidewalk, I can’t help my laughter.
“In a hurry?”
“Yes.” That’s her answer. Simple. To the point. Her steps are hurried as if she doesn’t want to waste any time getting back home.
“It’s go-time, people.”
I turn my head at her mumbled words, amused. “Go-time? Really, Mags?”
Her face takes on a sheepish expression as if she didn’t mean to say that aloud. But then she decides to own it.
“Yep.” We’re a foot away from the doors to our building. “I’m going to rock your world, buddy.” She turns, grinning cockily, but her smile slips when she notices the way I’m watching her. I wonder if she can see the combination of love and heated lust in my gaze. Wonder which of those gives her pause.
“Ry?”
Shaking it off, I wink, reaching out to grab the door and open it for her. “After you.” Turning to head inside, I give her a swift smack on the ass just as she crosses the threshold.
“Ryland James!” Her tone is admonishing but also laced with amusement.
Slinging an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close to my side, I lower my voice. “I love it when you go into full name mode on me.”
“Good evening, you two.” Startled, I had forgotten about Mr. Charlie at the desk.
“Hey, Mr. Charlie.”
His gaze is assessing, but kind, as it darts back and forth between us. “You two kids have fun.” There’s a brief pause. “Be safe.”
Be safe? My head cocks to the side at his words. His eyes are trained on me, and it takes me a moment to understand where he’s going with this.
Ah. Safe. Got it.
“Always,” I say with a firm nod. We bid him good night and walk over to the bank of elevators.
Leading Maggie into one, she slides over against the back wall, and I can feel her eyes tracking my movements as I press the button for our floor.
“God, even your hands are sexy.”
Surprise etching my features, I turn to face her, and she’s now covering her face with her hands as if embarrassed, continuing to mutter under her breath.
“Look at me. I’m lusting over a guy’s hands now. I’ve got it bad.” Dropping her hands from her face, she looks up at me. “But seriously. Some guys have chubby fingers or knuckles that appear swollen, like they’ve cracked them too many times or something. Your fingers are just … manly and long, and heck, they even look muscular.”
Grateful it’s only the two of us alone in the elevator, my thoughts turn naughty. Thoughts of those movies where the guy shoves the woman against the elevator wall, their kiss one of those that’s basically two people making love with their mouths. And then, he lifts her up to have her wrap her legs around his waist, and they practically fuck with their clothes on.
Closing the distance between us, I flatten my hands on either side of her against the wall and lean in. “When you look at me like that,” I brush my lips against her cheek, “it makes it difficult not to tear off those sexy jeans and shove deep inside you.”
I jerk when she palms the front of my pants over my hardening cock, and I can’t resist rocking against her hand. Fuck. She’s the one woman who can push me to the edge with just one touch.
“Mags.” I speak her name through gritted teeth, eyes closed in a near wince as I attempt some vestige of control.
She glides her hand up and down over where I’m tenting my pants, and I feel the combination of disgust and relief when the elevator dings to announce we’ve arrived on our floor.
“Ry.” Her voice is husky, and when my eyes open, she’s gazing up at me, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.
Swiftly turning, my hand grasps hers, and I practically drag her out of the elevator, stalking to our door. Reaching into my pocket, I gingerly attempt to remove my keys from my pocket without unmanning myself, and then I shove the key into the lock with no finesse whatsoever.
When Maggie gives a light tug on our joined hands as soon as I twist the knob, I pause, turning to rest my eyes on her in question.
“Are you still planning to,” she pauses, her lips curving into a sly grin, “shove me against the door?”
Without answering, I push open the door, tugging her inside with me. Removing my key from the door, I toss them toward the kitchen counter, not caring when they miss their target and, instead, hit the hardwood floor.
Kicking the door closed and hurriedly locking it, I walk her body back against the door, my mouth finding hers in a hungry, hot kiss. My fingers make quick work of her coat, tugging it off her before pulling up the hem of her sweater. I lift it over her head before carelessly tossing it to the floor. My palms glide down from her shoulders to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her camisole, her hardening nipples visible through her bra.
“Ry.” My name slips from her lips on a breath, and that combined with a flash in her eyes slows my movements. That flash of something—a part of me wants so badly for it to be more than just lust—sends a sliver of insecurity through me.
This is the moment where I wrestle with being Ry, a hot-blooded guy about to have what I already know will be mind-blowing sex, and Ry, the guy who’s head over heels in love with a woman whom he’s lied to and made believe that he’s gay.
“What’s wrong?” Maggie asks when I stop, gently dropping my forehead to her shoulder to hide my face. I hear the uncertainty in her tone. With a tinge of rejection.
She thinks I’m rejecting her. I can’t have her thinking that. Not for a single minute.
Lifting my head, I meet her eyes, and the wariness in her gaze unsettles me. “Mags, I have something to tell you.” Inhaling a deep breath, I prepare to disclose everything. But her finger pressed to my lips stops me.
“The only thing I want you to tell me right now is,” she pauses, as if attempting to remain confident, and rises to her tiptoes to press an open-mouthed kiss against the side of my neck, “that you can’t wait to be inside me, making me cry out your name.” Her whispered words are punctuated with the tip of her tongue darting out to taste me before gently nipping at my flesh with her teeth.
“But Mags—”
“Shh.” Her thumb brushes against my bottom lip, and I can’t resist wrapping my lips around it. Sucking it deeper into my mouth, I watch her eyes darken with heat as I taste her. Even if that’s not the part of her I want to taste.
When her other hand slides down over the ridge of my cock, stroking me through my pants, I lose all train of conscious thought about coming clean—of confessing. Instead, all that’s going through my head are thoughts of how fast I can push inside her, how wet she’ll be, and how badly I want to taste her and make her come undone with my tongue, my fingers, and my cock.
My hands fly to grip her hips, lifting her, her legs wrapping around my waist so that I’m nestled between her thighs. Rocking into her, I hear her breath catch. Our
lips meet, our mouths frantic as if we’re both unable to get enough, to taste deep enough, our tongues sliding against one another. Her fingers grip my shoulders as her tiny moans urge me on.
My arms secure around her, I walk us back to my bedroom. She dusts kisses along my jawline before her teeth tug gently on my earlobe. My words come out guttural with lust.
“Just so we’re clear, you’re not leaving my bed anytime soon.”
Leaning back slightly to meet my eyes, I see a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I slowly lower her to her feet. She kicks off her heels, and my fingers are hard at work, unfastening her jeans. Working them down over her hips, my movement draws to a sudden stop.
“Mags?” My eyes dart up to find her watching me. “Are these …” For me? I silently finish, but I’m too chicken-shit to ask outright. Because if they’re not, then …
“I wore them for you.” Her gaze lowers briefly before raising back up to mine. “Only you.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe out, my thumbs grazing the fabric of her panties with reverence. The front is an artwork of lace with a smattering of tiny, delicate bows. The moment my hands glide around to see if the back consists of the same is when all breath leaves my lungs.
The back is bare, with only a thin strip of fabric separating the globes of her luscious ass. My eyes fall closed at the feel of her silky soft skin, and I lean forward, pressing my lips against her core, her scent emanating. Hearing her sharp inhale is music to my ears as my fingers wrap around the thin, flimsy sides of her panties and tug them down until they pool at her ankles.
My eyes rise. “Take off everything else.” Watching as she removes her thin camisole before unfastening her bra, dropping both to the floor, I nudge her legs apart, widening her stance for me.
“I want you to touch your breasts for me. Play with those gorgeous nipples.” Slipping one long finger inside her, I find it impossible to stifle my groan at the feel of her wetness coating my finger. Our gazes are locked as I work my finger in and out of her with aching slowness while her fingers toy with her nipples. Witnessing them pucker, I admire her beautiful dusty pink areolas; her nipples are like ripe raspberries, making my mouth water while imagining wrapping my lips around them.