The thought of it brought a smile to his face now—just as it had that morning. They’d fucked all week long, too many times to count, and his body was feeling deliciously used in all the right places. But last night—Jesus, last night had nearly killed him.
He’d run a hand through his hair, still smiling when he’d said, “Naw, no butchering will be necessary. And since when did you become such a pit bull?”
“Since my oldest best friend started sleeping with my newest best friend and she’s—” Hannah’s voice had trailed uncomfortably off into silence.
“She’s what?” Ryan had asked distractedly, trying to snag a look at Shea’s kitchen clock, anxious to get over to the court house and file his latest report on Spalding so it wouldn’t take up too much of his day. He and Derek had an important meeting this morning with the D.A,’s office about the case, and the sooner Spalding’s ass got convicted and put behind bars for a good long while, the better.
And he’d figured the sooner he got back home, the more time he’d have to spend with Shea tonight. Then tomorrow. Then the day after that—and the rest of his life.
Funny, but that thought no longer made him clench up with fear the way it had a week ago.
Hannah had been silent for a moment, then taken a deep breath and muttered, “Never mind. You’re going to have to figure this one out on your own, Ry.”
That conversation had played through his mind all damn day, and she’d apparently called back to get out whatever it was she’d wanted to say, because the first words out of her mouth this time were, “Okay, have you told her how you feel yet?”
“Ah…no,” he muttered, hating that he was feeling kinda tongue-tied about the subject, and wondering just what in the hell Hannah was getting at.
There was a pause—one in which his heart began beating like a friggin’ bass drum—and then she said in a rush, as if she had to force the words out quickly, “Shea’s probably going to kill me for this, but if I don’t help you out here, you’re going to completely screw this up. So…what I’m trying to say is…well, I think you should know she’s in love with you. It’s not just lust for her, Ry. She’s madly, totally in love with you—the head over heels, happily ever after kind. So don’t even think about breaking her heart or hurting her, because if you do, I promise I’ll make you sorry.”
Ryan blinked in surprise, his heart one shockingly hard, resounding beat in his chest. “Huh?” he muttered stupidly, his blown brainwaves unable to come up with anything more intelligent or insightful to say. Finally, he managed to grunt, “Well, if that’s true, she sure as hell hasn’t mentioned it to me.”
“Gee, I wonder why? She already believes you’re going to break her heart when you’re through with her. And she isn’t an idiot. She’s smart and beautiful and full of life. She’ll protect herself, and that means she’ll keep her feelings to herself, no matter how much of a temptation you might be.”
“And how the hell would you know?”
There was silence, and then, in a low voice, Hannah said, “I know it’s hard for you to remember at times, Ry, but I am a woman. I may not believe in fairy tales anymore, but I know when I see true love. I know when I see something that’s real. And this woman is my best friend, so I’d like to think I’ve got a good understanding of her.”
For the first time in their entire friendship, Ryan heard a real thread of fury in Hannah’s husky voice. “I’d really been holding out hope that you wouldn’t let her get away, but if all you’re looking for is a good fuck, then stay the hell away from her. She doesn’t deserve to be used and tossed aside. She’s something special. She deserves someone who can give her more.”
“And if that person’s me?” he grunted, suddenly no longer caring if he made a fool out of himself.
More silence, and then a soft, almost inaudible sigh. “Jesus, you’re serious, aren’t you? She’s really gotten to you, hasn’t she? I mean—you actually want her for more than just some raunchy time between the sheets, don’t you?”
Ryan snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, Hannah. I want the raunchy sex, no two ways about it. I want to nail her more than I’ve ever wanted anything—anything in my entire life.” His eyes closed as he laid his head back on the headrest and took a slow, deep breath. “But it’s more than that. I want her,” he muttered, unable to stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth. “I want to live with her and sleep with her and take care of her. I want to own her and I want everyone to know it, and I want her to own me. I want to be responsible for her, Hannah. I want it all. I want everything.”
Even though she couldn’t see him, he felt his face go hot, uncomfortable and unsure, but refused to be embarrassed about revealing so much of himself. God knew she’d unloaded her female troubles on him enough times over the years. Hell, it was only fair that he get a turn.
Hannah laughed—a soft, happy sound—and he knew that it was for him, that she was honestly happy for him, which made him a pretty lucky bastard to have such an incredible friend in his life. Too bad he had to be a miserable, broken-hearted bastard as well—if it turned out that Shea didn’t feel the same way about him. “You’ve actually done it, honey. You’ve finally let that bitch Kelly stop ruining your life and fallen in love.”
“Yeah, well,” he grumbled. “I wouldn’t go celebrating just yet. She hasn’t admitted jack shit about how she feels to me, remember? Maybe you’re wrong.”
“Stop being such a chicken shit and go tell her how you feel, you big oaf. That woman’s loved you since the moment she first set eyes on you.”
And with that heart-jolting statement, the line disconnected. Ryan didn’t know how long he sat there trembling with the biggest, goofiest grin splitting his face, feeling like an idiot but too happy to give a damn. Shea loved him? No, wait—Hannah had said Shea was madly in love with him!!!
Holy shit!
But what if she was wrong? His heart kept pounding like a son-of-a-bitch while he tried to sort it out. Had she meant the words that had almost tumbled from her mouth that first night, before he’d swallowed them with his kiss, cutting off whatever it was she would’ve said?
If she’d said she was in love with him, would it have been the truth?
And he knew it didn’t have to do with finally letting go of the past. It was Shea. He could’ve spent the last fifteen years searching for love, and it wouldn’t have mattered, because he wouldn’t have had her.
And now he did.
Memories of the week crashed over him: her smiles, her laughter, their combustible physical chemistry—the mind-blowing hours they’d spent grinding against one another, sapping their bodies of strength as orgasm after orgasm had pounded through their systems.
But one of the sweetest of all—his favorite—was waking at odd hours to find her propped up beside him, her little book light set on dim while she read her school texts, obviously trying to get in her studying hours whenever she could, since he had staked such a monopoly on her evenings. He loved the way her sexy curls fell around her pretty face, her expression serious as she read about God only knew what. Her intelligence was so much a part of her, and he felt a strange, foreign pride in his chest at all she’d accomplished—all that she would. She was one hell of a woman, and he would lie there beside her, his body pressed to her side, arm wrapped possessively around her waist, pretending to sleep while watching her beneath his lashes, unable to take his eyes off of her.
Yeah, he was a lovesick ass, all right. The one thing he’d sworn he’d never, ever be.
And God help him, he no longer fucking cared.
All he cared about was going and getting his hands on his woman, and keeping them there forever.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Ryan threw open his front door, he was nervous and shaking and damn near terrified. Finding Shea sitting on his sofa, reading a thick book on Alexander the Great, was nearly enough to do his knees in with relief.
He’d tried her cell phone five times on the way home, but
she hadn’t answered, and he’d already been to her apartment and nearly gone out of his mind when she was nowhere to be found.
And she’d been here all along, waiting for him.
God, he felt sick. Sick and scared and fucking furious that he’d waited so long to have this conversation.
He couldn’t wait anymore.
He was going to explain a few things before screwing her senseless again. He’d start with the fact that he was in love with her, followed closely by the fact that he wanted to marry her. Considering they were two things he had sworn to never do again, he was nervous as hell about it.
No, he qualified with a hoarse groan, petrified was more like it, which had frustration surging through him all over again. Shit, she was tying him in knots without even trying. He felt like a flame springing to life in a room full of explosives. One wrong move and everything would be lost. And damn it, he’d already made enough wrong moves.
He’d screwed up, he knew it, by being such a jackass and not coming right out and telling her how he felt before now. He’d tried to play it cool and safe, just like some pitiful coward, hoping she’d open up and reveal her feelings first. He’d let fear and his dumb-ass pride control his actions, and it could’ve cost him big time.
If he waited any longer, he might lose her—and that was something he simply wasn’t willing to accept.
A part of him, the part that had locked up his emotions for so damn long, felt like he was setting himself up for a huge emotional letdown here, but he couldn’t backpedal fast enough to stop his heart from tumbling forward. Damn it, he couldn’t be wrong this time. Not about this. Not about them. No way in hell.
He was willing to bet his fucking life on it—on her.
And she looked so beautiful sitting there that he just wanted to fall all over her. She looked like a gypsy…a poet…an ancient siren luring him to his doom all too easily. Damn, she didn’t even have to try. One word, one look, and he’d be on his knees in front of her, drooling like a dog for a chance to push those silky thighs wide and feast on her sticky sweet little pussy until he was so full of her she was a part of him.
The air surrounding her was charmed with innocence, cloaking her in protection. Ryan gritted his teeth against the savage need to rip it down, shattering her resistance until she was wide open and vulnerable, reduced to the same gnawing need that ate at him from within. He wanted her wild and hungry and ready to fuck, and he wanted her now.
He wanted her forever.
But first he had to tell her how he felt, damn it—and he didn’t know how the hell to do it.
Shea looked up to see him towering in the doorway. He hadn’t bothered to knock, but then this was his home, and he’d obviously forgotten his umbrella, because his clothes dripped water onto the floor where he stood. His rain-soaked hair was plastered to his head, dripping water into his narrowed eyes. And his handsome face wore a thunderous look of equal parts outrage and what looked strangely like fear.
It was impossible to tell which storm was worse, the one raging outside the walls of his apartment or the one standing in the doorway. “Hello, Ryan,” she said lamely, not a clue what to do. Damn, he was so beautiful it knocked the air right out of her and she drew a complete blank. Then her plan came back to her in a spark of intensity, and she closed the book, set it beside her, stood up and headed for his bedroom.
He followed her, feeling like an explosive ready to blow, the seconds to detonation ticking by faster and faster. “What are you doing here, Shea? Do you know how worried I was when I couldn’t get you on your phone and you weren’t at your place? How the hell did you even get in here?”
She shrugged casually, toeing off her sneakers and tossing them out of the way. “My phone’s in my apartment, so I didn’t hear it. As for how I got in here, I’ve got a key to Hannah’s place, and Hannah’s got a key to yours. Do you mind that I let myself in?” she asked huskily, her graceful fingers slowly unzipping her jeans, showing him she wore nothing underneath.
Ryan swallowed the growing lump of lust in his throat and felt his damn body clench in need, wanting to devour her whole. But he was trying to talk to her, damn it, not screw her! At least not yet. “What’s this all about, Shea? You sound pissed.”
“That’s a stupid question, Ry. You said all you had to offer was sex, so I’m here to get it.”
Well, shit. He didn’t know what to make of her in this kind of mood, but his instincts were clueing in real quick to the fact that something here wasn’t right. He needed to concentrate or he’d have her heels behind her ears, her pussy spread open and penetrated beneath him, before he knew what hit him.
He opened his mouth to ask what the hell she was talking about, but the sight of her tiny T-shirt being tossed over her head temporarily distracted him. By the time her jeans were clearing her ankles and her beautiful, naked little body was moving sinuously toward him, he’d completely forgotten they were even having a conversation. Well, at least he’d been trying to have one. Shea’s only intent seemed to be getting into his pants, if the attention she was paying his fly was any indication.
Hell, it worked for him, and it definitely worked for his dick, which seemed to think it needed to set new records every time she was near. Her eyes were still dark, her cheeks flushed, the tasty flesh of her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she started ripping the buttons of his fly open. His hands quickly lowered to join her own, his cock eager to get out and play. The last metal button slipped free, his dick poking through the open seam in his cotton boxers, huge and hard, ready to fuck, the tip already wet and ready. He reached for her, only to find himself falling backwards against his bed.
She’d pushed him—and the look in her eyes told him she planned on doing a hell of a lot more than that. Wondering if the expression on his face looked as stupid as it felt, Ry watched as she wrenched his jeans just over the swell of his hips, and then he couldn’t see anything because his eyes rolled back in his head as she crawled over his legs and swallowed half his cock down her throat.
“Jesus Christ,” he heard himself shout, his jaw grinding as her wet little tongue stroked him, her mouth moving up and down, cheeks hollowing out as she sucked him strong and sure, her hand coming up to gently cradle his balls, rolling the sacs in her palm. “Shea—oh, shit—I’m gonna come!”
It was a little embarrassing to be losing control so quickly, but Ryan didn’t know how he was supposed to have any left when she sucked him as if she wanted to swallow him whole. His dick was pumping, warning him he didn’t have long, but then her hand was squeezing tightly around the root of his cock, cutting off the flow, and she pulled off of him with one long, sensuous lick, making him want to beg for the finish. “Shea, what the fuck are you doing?”
And where the hell had she learned this little trick with her fingers to keep him from coming?
As if she read the question in his eyes, she licked her lips and said, “I read about it in a book. And just in case you were wondering, I’m not ready for you to come yet.”
Then she crawled up him some more, planting her knees at his hips, and rubbed her warm, wet pussy across the tip of his cock, her hand still wrapped tight around its thick base. He made a rough, sharp choking sound, watching the way his head moved between the pussy-pink lips of her cunt, drenching him with cream, and she arched her back, tilting her hips forward to give him a better view.
“You like what you see, Ry?”
His eyes snapped to hers, hating the cold, calculating look he saw there. “Yeah,” he growled. “I like it. I’d like to fuck it even more.”
She smiled, looking like a cat, all feral and cool and distant. “Sorry, big guy, but it’s your turn to get fucked today.” Then she relaxed her thighs and dropped down on him, letting her weight impale her on him, her cunt opening hungrily to suck him in.
Shea threw back her head and cried out at the thick penetration, loving the way he filled her to the point of blackness, and she hadn’t even taken all of him. Intent
on doing just that, she braced her hands on his hipbones and pushed, forcing the whole of his cock into her, and then she began to move. There was no gentle roll of her hips, no slow seduction. She simply braced herself and began to ride the hell out of him, fucking him in a pounding rhythm that had him shaking and swearing and arching beneath her, his eyes holding hers the entire time.
He didn’t try to take control, not yet anyway, but his big hands found her breasts, fingers gripping her nipples, twisting and pulling until she could feel each little manipulation in the core of her pussy, sucking him like a clamp.
“You are so fucking sexy,” he groaned, the rough sound rumbling up from his chest. One hand left her breast to dip between her legs, wetting his fingers with her cream, and then he lifted his fingers to her mouth, rubbing her juices into her lips. Before he could pull away, she gripped them in her teeth, sucking his fingers to the same rhythm with which she was riding his cock.
It was too much. Before she could fight him, he had his hands gripping her hips, pinning her to him as he rolled their bodies. She stared up at him in outrage, clearly not liking having her show overrun, but he just pulled her to the edge of the mattress, planted his feet on the floor, and rammed into her hard enough to jerk a startled cry from her throat.
His eyes were wild and full of emotion, confusing her with their desires when she knew he needed nothing more from her than this. The only thing he wanted was fucking, when she’d wanted to give him everything.
But why was he staring down at her, his beautiful blue eyes liquid and bright, suddenly looking as if he wanted so much more?
He pulled out, then crammed it all back in, every beautiful inch of that brutal cock that was quickly hammering her into submission. She panicked and closed her eyes, breaking the connection.
“Open your eyes.” The words were guttural and raw, as if torn from his throat.
She screwed them tighter, but his next thrust plowed so deep, it was as if he hit a switch inside her head, as if the head of his cock nudged against the back of her lids, and they popped open against her will. Ryan snared her gaze and this time, she couldn’t look away. She was trapped, and the bastard knew it, because he gave her a slow smile, his lips pulling back over his teeth.
Against the Wall Page 17