The motion of the bed woke me. I found Ryan sitting next to me, dressed in a light brown flannel shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans.
"What happened to the orange jumpsuit?" I kidded.
"My cap and hoodie go on when I step into the lobby."
"Damn, Ryan, you look good in anything." I teased. "Isn't that what you said to me when I got out of my dirty sweats from our afternoon in Pismo?"
"Your humor is stronger than ever." Excitement filled his voice. "You are feeling better. Well that's very good news! Maybe tonight, I'll be your doctor. I can um . . . give you a full exam." He kissed me on the forehead.
He's ready at any moment. Maybe I could be ready, too? He's so fun to tease and I love it when he teases me. I wonder how much is too much for him. Is there such a thing? How do we know when to stop? Do we automatically go to the next step?
"Don't go to any trouble, I can eat more of that granola," I offered.
"I'll pick up some snacks so you'll have something to munch on during the day." He put his arms around me. "You're going to let me take care of you now, aren't you?"
"Yes."
We embraced.
I lay on his chest.
I felt as if his strong and yet giving body absorbed me.
"I'll be back shortly." He kissed me again and then left the apartment.
Chapter 32
An Interesting Closet
While Ryan was out buying breakfast, I decided to take my shower. I took off my nightgown and placed it on the bed. I petted and stroked the soft flannel, folded it neatly, straightened the material and smoothed the wrinkles. I hadn't noticed when Ryan put it on me that it was patterned with little daisies.
How sweet. I wonder if he picked out the pattern because of the daisy he found for me on my birthday? Probably a coincidence. Still . . . maybe . . .
I touched the material one more time.
Brought it to my nose.
Caressed my cheek with it.
Put it back on the bed.
Lovely.
I cautiously stepped into the shower. Ran my hands along the big squares of grey slate tile on the walls. Followed its crescent curve to a built-in bench. Played with a dozen jets and nozzles on the wall. Changed them from pulsating, soft, and finally a constant flow. All the sensations were pleasurable as the water hit my back. A big showerhead designed to create the experience of warm rainfall, didn't fail in its promise.
Wow! I love the inside of his oversized shower. It's so masculine—so Ryan. What a spoiled boy to have a shower like this. Maybe I can come over just to use it once in a while.
I reluctantly turned off the water and wrapped myself in a big bath sheet.
Hmmm . . . maybe I'll investigate Ryan's closet.
Knowing that I'd have plenty of time to explore after he left for his game, I still couldn't resist taking a peek at his clothes while he was at the market. To be among his suits, shirts, slacks, shoes and belts, felt sexy. For one of the first times in my life I wanted to indulge in those feelings. I lifted one of his suits from the closet rod and lay it on the bed. I put on each piece, the pants, vest and jacket, and fastened the belt as tightly as I could.
I imagined how Ryan felt as he dressed in the beautifully tailored suit. I could see how he entered a room, so handsome, working the event, adored and sought after by fans and prominent people around the city. Thinking about him as he confidently mingled among society, his masculine aura wafting throughout the room, made my body stir. I reached inside the pants to touch myself. I stroked the hair on my vulva, pretending it was Ryan's genital area, and wondered how it would be to pull out a penis and put it into another person.
I thought about his testicles and the way they hung between his legs. Didn't they get in the way? How did the whole contraption fit into a jock strap? Did it cover his tender package completely or did he slide only his penis in some kind of tube? I made a mental note to look it up online and find out.
Stroking my pubic hair a few more times, I felt the little pillows it protected, and then slipped my finger through the moist tissue covering my clitoris. I played in long, slow strokes. God, wearing his clothes makes me so excited! I better not. My blood pressure and all . . . I unbuckled his belt and let the pants fall to the floor.
Wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly I wanted to fulfill my fantasy of wearing only his jacket. A full-length mirror was in the corner of the bathroom. I stood in front of it, turned from side to side and looked over my shoulder. It fell below my behind.
What a plan! To come out in front of Ryan in only his jacket someday, with all the confidence I could muster and no shirt or panties on underneath. I'll have to tuck that thought away for a future play date.
I took off the jacket, prepared to put it back on the hanger, but then nasty feelings drizzled through me. I rubbed the inside of his pants on my vagina, as if I were a female marking her man—her territory. When satisfied, I hung all three pieces neatly in the closet with the others.
I'm browsing in a man's closet—or am I hallucinating, still in the medical office at the ballpark?
His closet was as big as my bedroom. Built-in shelves and drawers stood floor to ceiling.
Damn he's got a lot of clothes and accessories.
I ran my hands over the wooden and padded hangers. Every item had its place, neatly hung and in perfect order. He seemed to have a theme—the clothes were lighter in color and the fabric less heavy, arranged in a left to right fashion as if matching the seasons.
I wonder if he got rid of those women's clothes.
As I turned the corner, my heart dropped.
There were an entire section of dresses, T-shirts, sweater tops, blouses, and women's jeans.
Oh crap . . . here's the stash. They're hung so neatly . . . well, at least he took them out of the box. I told him to fuck off, so I really have no right to expect anything. Right? Well? Right? Damn, there's tons of stuff in here. How long has it been since Jeanne took care of it?
I pulled the hangers apart. I wanted to look at the clothes he'd asked me to sort through on my last visit. There were no low tops or formfitting dresses. The blouses buttoned to the neck, and the sweaters were loose.
Wait—they're all new, no size zero . . . they're my size. Oh, God. Are these for me?
The blood whooshed in my head.
I saw the perfect shorts and hiker's shirt for a spontaneous walk at some remote location. Or maybe I'd wear a whimsical skirt with a lacy white blouse, ideal for a magical evening together. Entranced, I ran my hands on the denim, cashmere, and silk items.
How did a jock figure out what a woman likes to wear? On the other hand, why am I surprised? He's just . . . I'm so impressed.
I ran my hands over a Calvin Klein black dress with a V-neck and flowing skirt. Shiny black beads were sewn around the shoulders and a thin, delicate, black cashmere cardigan was paired with it. An embroidering of small, silver-colored flowers lined the ribbing and curved around the back. The fabric was luxurious.
How would I look in this?
Unable to resist, I lifted the hanger and held the dress against my naked skin. The plush sweater brushed across my breasts.
Well, I simply have to try this on. What other choice do I have?
Once again, I stepped out of the closet to the full-length mirror. I twirled and posed, and wrapped my arms around myself, pretending they were Ryan's arms. I blew kisses to someone in the mirror, even winking at the woman's reflection that had changed overnight. Back to the closet. I took off the beautiful dress and returned it to its hanger. I looked at the brands of jeans—True Religion, Michael Kors, NYDC and others. Boots, flat shoes, and cross trainers were placed in a shoe rack that obviously went with the clothes, as well as a dozen jackets, both formal and informal.
Continuing my exploration through his built-in shelves and drawers, his crazy socks made me laugh out loud. He had pink, striped, checkered, neon colors and the more traditional back and white. I scrunched his briefs in my hands and held a
few of his T-shirts to my face.
I found one T-shirt that had Be Gentle With Me written on it.
Rubbed it on my breasts.
Imagined his chest against mine.
Put it on and looked at myself in the mirror.
"Who are you?" my Evil Twin murmured.
I don't know, Evil Twin, I'm morphing. In fact, I don't know if I can even think of you as my rebellious, Evil Twin any longer.
Ah . . . now we're getting somewhere, Nicky.
Posing again, I tossed my hair, stuck out my butt and imagined I was one of Ryan’s model girlfriends putting on a show for him. Next, I rolled up the sleeves and tied the extra material around my stomach. Threw my hips to one side.
This is so loose . . . he couldn't possibly have fit into the T-shirt he gave me to wear last time I was here. What a sneaky boyfriend.
I decided to keep the shirt as a memory of Ryan, my first love. I put it aside to tuck into my backpack after he left for his game.
The last item I had to wear was one of his long-sleeved dress shirts. I pulled it from its wooden hanger and slipped it on. Leaving the front open, one final time I looked at myself in the mirror. The material was crisp. The creases in the sleeves were defined and stiff. The shirttail fell just below my bottom. Enjoying the feel of being a powerful, masculine male dominating my sport, I pretended to pitch a ball. I tugged on the cotton fabric and pressed it against my breasts. I held each breast and squeezed them, pulling the shirt as wide open as I could until the nipple area was barely covered. I fastened a button at my belly, rolled up the sleeves and then unrolled them.
"Now there's a vision I could get used to." Ryan's sultry voice slid down my chest and between my legs.
I fractured into pieces immediately. Caught in the act, I was completely embarrassed. Going through his belongings. Trying on his clothes . . . posing in front of the mirror, for God's sake. Oh no. Chest hurting, throat closing . . .
Although it felt like all the breath flew out of me, I felt lust surging and cascading down to the throbbing in the deep V of my legs.
I spun around in shock.
The vision of Ryan leaning against the doorframe with his wry smile and hungry eyes was unbearable. He rested on one elbow and held my nightgown by a finger, dangling it, waving it back and forth, teasing and taunting me.
How long had he been standing there?
He'd caught me going through his closet, okay, but catching me put on a show as I tossed my body side to side and fondled my breasts? Oh my God! I couldn't look at him.
"Ryan, I . . . I didn't . . . oh, I . . ." I stared at the tile floor. "I didn't hear you come in." My rapid-fire nervous ranting began. "I'm sorry, I was just fooling around. How long have you been standing there? Let me just, I'll take this off . . . just give me a minute. I wasn't trying to snoop. Well yes, I was, but not in a bad way. I mean, well, because you told me to just go ahead and look through"—I cleared my throat—"I saw all your clothes. Damn, you have quite a wardrobe. And all those new things! So I just . . . I mean . . . took a few seconds to . . ."
I spoke in short breaths and choppy sentences.
Tossing my nightgown to the bed, he took long, confident strides toward me.
My vagina clenched.
Ryan lifted my chin, kissed my cheek, and looked me up and down.
I'm whipped butter—soft, melting, churning . . . spreadable . . .
"There's nothing sexier than looking at the woman I love dressed in my shirt. The way you've got it buttoned or . . . mmm, baby . . . now that I look at you, unbuttoned in the front." The dangerous look he wore caused my body to hum. "Oh, Nicky, what I want to do to you."
His fingertips touched the base of my neck.
My breasts were barely covered and I felt utterly exposed. I was sure his eyes had lit the tiny flames surging through my body.
"I didn't know you were back," I gasped. His expression was the very definition of desire. "So, you um . . . you promised to behave yourself. Remember?"
He stepped forward, closing any pockets of air between us. His breath scorched me. His tongue touched my ear. I felt slippery wet. Offering me a wicked laugh, he reached around my belly and held my lower back.
"That was last night." His answer moved up my body with each swell rising inside me. His hands lifted my shirt and rested on my hips, bringing my body to a snug fit against his. We pressed together. "You're not wearing any panties."
Oh God.
A thunderstorm of wanton need moistened my inner thighs.
Oh, please don't put your hands on the back of my legs.
My body howled in protest as if saying out loud, "please do touch me . . . anywhere, everywhere!" I physically succumbed to the warmth, like melted candle wax inching down my body. It felt hot and creamy. Ryan looked in the mirror, staring at my more-than-ample behind. The shirt had ridden up just enough to show each of my plump cheeks.
"Ryan! Don't look there." I lowered my head into his chest, frantically pulling on the shirttails so they'd fall below my butt.
"What are you doing?" His voice burned through me.
"I'm . . . I'm trying to—"
"I'm not letting you hide your beautiful ass." He captured my hands in his. I knew my flesh was slowly being prepared for his lion's feast. I buried my face deeper into his flannel shirt. I knew if I looked into his sensual eyes, they would slay me. "Why shouldn't I look at it? I've seen it before. Just let me admire the view. And what a view it is. Holy God, it's, mmm, it's . . . delectable. I could . . . All. Night. Long.”
"What about breakfast?" I tried to speak intelligently, still hiding in his chest. "You know I'm weak and need nutrition. You're supposed to keep me calm. Doctor's orders."
"You can be breakfast."
Sometimes he brings me to my knees.
He lifted my chin. I didn't want to look in his eyes, but of course, couldn't resist. I was so ready for . . . something. He lovingly brought his lips to mine. With each kiss, he moaned, the sound almost desperate as if he'd been starving. There was no denying it—he was ready for me to open my body to him. His hand lifted my shirt, his shirt, and felt along the curve of my back. My skin was hot for his touch. I was sure it might peel off when his burning fingertips made contact with me.
His lips moved to my neck where his tongue flicked back and forth like a snake. At the same time, he massaged my bottom. The chills seemed to be in the millions, rising and rushing up and down the length of my body. He made my vagina ache into her depths, as if hot drums from a tribal rhythm . . . my rhythm—our rhythm—played inside me.
It was impossible for me to keep up.
I gave myself over to him even more.
Big bear hugs and squeezes from his muscular arms rocked me from side to side, his chest pressed against mine, making me weaker than I'd ever been.
"Nicky?"
"Mmm." I couldn't talk.
"I'm ready for you. I'm ready to love you and to be loved." His body continued swelling with mine. I felt as if a brilliant light had passed from Ryan to me and back to Ryan. Our new connection was forming. "Baby." His lips were on my ear. "I feel your body pushing out to me. Whenever you're ready . . ."
Then with another squeeze, he suddenly broke our embrace and walked into his closet. He came out with a new pair of women's sweatpants; they were quite feminine, lavender in color and trimmed in lace.
"Your continual need for clothes when you're at my place . . . it's become quite an intriguing problem." He handed them to me. "I'll get our brunch ready. Oh, and you can keep that shirt on. I'll take it off later."
Why did he stop? But it was fine that he stopped. That's what I wanted, right? Well, right?
As he turned away, I was afraid I could no longer stand on my own. My body had turned to quivering Jell-O. To make it even more difficult, just as I caught my breath, Ryan walked back in with that look.
"By the way, that T-shirt you tried on? The way you tied it so that your belly showed?"
"Yeah?" Cover
your ears, Nick, here it comes.
"Uh-huh." His voice was laden with spice.
Did he see everything I did in his bathroom? How long had he been watching? My face must be bright red.
My nerve endings were alive and ready to fire. I knew why he stopped his embrace. He wanted me to understand how wonderful it felt to be with each other in a sensual way. All he did was leave me uncertain, questioning myself and trying to keep away my wicked thoughts—which I supposed was the whole purpose.
I finally managed to step into the sweat pants. The material was rich and the fit was loose. Perfect! I buttoned his shirt all the way to my neck, and walked into the kitchen, ready for brunch.
Chapter 33
Brunch
While Ryan worked in the kitchen, I took another opportunity to watch the way his broad back and shoulders moved and the bulge flex in his muscular arms.
Nice.
Each time I thought he might turn to look at me, I quickly looked away so I could continue viewing his body without him noticing. The careful way he prepared our meal, used several seasonings from his spice rack and reached for the right utensil was endearing. Whoa! When I surveyed his living room, I realized several art pieces were missing.
Oh God. I'm the cause of it.
"Ryan, I didn't notice last night, but . . . where did your art go?"
"Gone." His back was turned to me.
"Jesse's pieces?" I almost choked when I asked the question.
"Yes."
I didn't want to discuss it any further, nor did I want to make him any more uncomfortable about the issue. It was bound to open a can of worms. Giving away something he enjoyed and at one time meant he had shown his support by purchasing them must have been difficult. I let it go the way he had—with no discussion.
"I'm ready for you to feed me." I approached the island/breakfast bar ready to talk about anything other than removing Jesse's art from his home.
"I'll make sure you're full." He turned around.
Don't look at him.
"I have to say," he hesitated. "I like my shirt better unbuttoned. I can help you adjust that later."
AMAZING HEART (Broken Bottles Series Book 4) Page 22