Fall in Love

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Fall in Love Page 284

by Anthology


  Ryan? I grip Lara’s arm. “Lara, I think it’s Ryan. I’m going to run up and see.”

  I sprint through the snow, arms crossed over my chest because I’m so cold. Oh God, it is Ryan. He swings his long leg over the motorcycle. “Mia!”

  He runs to me, and lifts me off the ground, sweeping me into his arms. He spins me under the falling snow, his arms wrapped tight around me. I smell the leather of his coat, the sweet Ryan-ness of his skin and the clean sexiness of his laundry soap. He bends down to me and I surge up and press my mouth to his.

  I kiss him hungrily. It’s been so long and I’ve fantasized about this so much. This is going to be the best kiss ever. I coax his mouth to open and I wriggle my tongue inside to play with his. Ryan tastes of coffee. My tongue runs over his smooth teeth to find his tongue and duel with it. Our tongues tangle, and go back and forth, from his mouth to mine. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed him that I want to savor this. Though I’m getting eager for the main event.

  Wait, we’re standing outside the dorm in a snowstorm.

  Softly, Ryan moans into my mouth as he lowers me gently to my feet. I stay on my tiptoes, my arms wrapped around his strong neck. I run my fingers over the warm skin of his throat. His stubble teases my fingertips.

  Snowflakes melt to water on him and me. I should draw back from the kiss, but when I try, he cups my face and kisses me with a slow, languorous motion that makes me want to dissolve.

  Oh God.

  He breaks the kiss first and he buries his face into my neck. He kisses me there, at the base of my jaw, and erotic tremors rush through me.

  My knees almost collapse.

  “You shouldn’t be here. How can you be here?” I whisper. “You’re supposed to be at school. Not here, on a motorcycle…what am I saying? I just want to kiss you.”

  But he doesn’t kiss me. He tips up my face to look at me. “Your mom told me what happened. Are you okay? She told me you are, but—but I had to see you. Are you really okay, Mia?”

  Fear makes his voice shake and I realize that’s what is making his face pale, and his eyes look so full of pain. This was exactly why I didn’t want mom to tell him. She broke her promise. But mainly, I want to reassure him.

  “Yeah, I’m really okay, Ryan. Nothing bad happened—”

  “Nothing bad? Some guy attacked you. You don’t just shake things like this off, Mia. You must still be frightened. Things like that give you nightmares. You can tell me the truth.”

  Looking into his eyes is different than looking up at Jonathon’s. Both these guys care about me. But Ryan is the one I belong to. Also the one I want to protect.

  He pulls me close and I’m dwarfed by his strong body, feeling small and safe and protected in the circle of his strong arms. His lips touch my forehead. He’s holding me like Jonathon did, with all the tenderness, but there’s a depth of sexual intensity leaping between us that makes me quiver. This has to be love—the fire and the need and the desire to be as intimate with him as I can be, but with the yearning to see him happy and share with him and hold him tight.

  It’s love and it’s awesome.

  “I wish I’d been here,” he says. “Your mom told me this guy had been stalking you. You should have told me. I would have come up—”

  “I know you would,” I say, breaking in. “I know you would have come to my rescue. But you are supposed to be in school—”

  “You are more important.” This time it’s his turn to cut me off.

  “You make me want to cry when you say that, it’s so sweet,” I tell him honestly. “But I’m okay. And I did try to protect myself. I’d taken the stuff the guy sent—the emails and the picture to campus security. I let people know where I was going to be, so when I walked home and he grabbed me, someone came to my rescue.” I don’t want to specify who.

  Suddenly I think of Jonathon holding me while I cried. He opened his heart to me, telling me secrets that he would only tell someone he trusted a lot. And that gave me to the courage to tell him the truth about my past.

  Things I can never tell Ryan.

  Jonathon understands because he’s been hurt. Ryan’s been hurt in his past too, but that’s not what I want to share with him. I want to share the future with him—I want to share happiness.

  He’s still holding me tight, even though snowflakes are accumulating on his shoulders. “If I’d known—”

  “You would have ditched school to come to me, Ryan, and I would never have forgiven myself.”

  “They would have let me take some time off.”

  “Which means you would have had to go back to school, so I would have had to deal on my own at some point. Ryan, I have to look after myself—” I stop. I’ve said it too harshly, because I’m trying to be honest. It didn’t come out right.

  He reels back, his eyes look wounded.

  “When I realized I was being followed I wished so much I could run to you. I know you would have rescued me. Being with you would have made me feel safe. But you can’t be watching over me every minute. Even if we lived together, I couldn’t ask that of you. I get it and you have to understand it too.” My heart skips a beat. “You being here now…is it okay with your college?”

  His mouth moves near to mine, and I’m almost painfully aware of how close it is and how I could just move a little and start passionately sucking face with him again.

  He moves his mouth to the side of my face, his cheek pressed to mine. “Yeah, it’s okay,” he says. His breath teases my earlobe and my knees shake. “Even it wasn’t okay for me to leave, I would be here. I had to see you. Touch you. Make sure you’re okay.”

  “I am.”

  He bends and nibbles my earlobe. Arousal streaks through me like lightning. My clit starts to ache, my pussy throbs. “I want you so much.” I can hear the pain of sexual need in my voice. “I want to slither down to the ground and pull you on top of me. I don’t even care that it’s wet and cold.”

  He makes a soft groan of pure sexual hunger. “When I drove here I just wanted to see you and touch you. Now—God, I want to spend the whole night making love to you.”

  My legs wobble. “We should go inside.” I see how his jacket is wet and slick with melted snow. His pants are soaked too. My wits finally click in. “Did you drive here from your school on the bike? Through a snowstorm?”

  “I did. I wanted to get to you as soon as I could.”

  My stomach drops to my toes. “You could have had an accident.” I saw CNN—cars have been sliding all over the place, and there are accidents on most of the highways in New Hampshire and the north east coast. I ask, “Why didn’t you drive the truck?”

  “I left it with Dad. He needed it.”

  “He has his own truck.”

  “Had,” Ryan says. “He defaulted on the payments and it got repossessed just before college started.”

  Ryan hadn’t told me that. I know he’s owned the bike for a long time. He’d bought it used for a few hundred dollars and fixed it up. But to go on a motorcycle to school meant he couldn’t have taken much with him.

  It figures his father would take something of Ryan’s to make up for his personal screw up. And Ryan is too good-hearted to say no.

  “You just got here, didn’t you?” I ask.

  “I stopped last night, but drove straight through today.”

  “You’re sure it’s okay with your school.”

  He ducks his head. There’s something he doesn’t want to tell me. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “It’s something at school, isn’t it?”

  Abashed, he meets my gaze. “I haven’t been totally honest with you.” His mouth turns down, making my heart wobble.

  “Things aren’t going that great, Mia. I’m on academic probation. My grades are too low. It’s a condition of my scholarship that I keep a good grade point average. I’ve had a hard time studying since Dad keeps imploding. Either he’s getting drunk or he’s out of money. Or I’m scared he’ll rack up another DUI. I miss you so much it’s ag
ony, and I can’t put wanting you out of my mind. And I’m doing a lousy job on my work without your help.”

  “Ryan, I want to help you.”

  “I walked out on some of my tests without giving notice, which probably means I’ll be in deep shit when I go back.”

  I can’t even speak. He shouldn’t have risked so much for me. “I’m sending you back.”

  A grin winks his dimples at me. “No, you’re not.”

  “Well, not on the bike. You could fly back.”

  “I want to spend some time with you, Mia. I need to. Please?”

  He gives me a hopeful look that makes my heart melt into a bubbling puddle of helplessness. “Okay,” I say.

  Lara has the door open, so I take Ryan by the hand and bring him into the dorm building. I reach up to try to brush snowflakes off his brush cut, but I can’t reach the top of his head. He steps away and shakes off, then brushes his heavy motorcycle glove across his brow to wipe away some of the melted snow.

  “You need something to warm you up.” I’m thinking of the logistics of this. He’s driven for hours today in a snowstorm and must be frozen to the bone. He could be on the verge of getting seriously sick. I take him up to my room, with Lara, where I plug in a kettle.

  “Do you like hot chocolate, Ryan?” Lara asks. “I’ve got six different kinds.” Dark chocolate. Peppermint. White chocolate. Raspberry chocolate. Spicy. Extra creamy.” For all she likes to eat healthy, Lara’s one vice-like addiction is hot chocolate and she shares it generously.

  “Thank you,” he says, with his slight drawl. “If it’s no trouble.”

  Lara looks at me and gives me a dramatic look of envy. I know she’s joking—i.e. she’s not after him, but she’s telling me how lucky I am.

  I start tugging at his jacket and when I pull it off, standing on tiptoe to reach his broad shoulders, I see his sweatshirt is wet from where the snow melted through. He must be soaked to the skin.

  I hang up his coat on the shower rod in our bathroom, then come out. I can’t quite believe it’s really Ryan, sitting on the chair at my computer desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He towel-dried his leather pants. His black leather motorcycle boots sit on the tray at our door, and his jacket is hung up. There’s something so familiar and hot about that it makes me weak. Really, I don’t know why. My lips still tingle from his kiss. They feel full, swollen, and I want to go over to Ryan, straddle his hips and kiss him again.

  Can’t do that. So I ask, struggling to sound casual, “Where are you staying?”

  “I don’t have anywhere to stay yet. I came right here to see you.”

  I was all he was thinking of. My throat is achingly tight.

  He can’t stay in my room, obviously. I want to jump on him on a bed as fast as possible, and that I can’t do with a roomie. Anyway, I have no right to do it until he’s warm and dry and feeling comfortable.

  The kettle boils, so I can at least warm him on the inside. He chooses peppermint hot chocolate, I get an extra creamy, and Lara goes for white chocolate. She goes to our mini fridge (provided by my dad—he had it shipped to the room at the end of October as a surprise) and gets out our spray whip topping. It’s part of the hot chocolate indulgence.

  She hands us our hot chocolate and winks at me. “I’m going to take mine down to the common room and see what’s on T.V.” Then she’s gone.

  Ryan sips his drink, leaving a sexy mustache of whipped cream. I lean forward and lick it off, and we slip into a long, slow kiss. I savor Ryan’s delectable chocolate taste. I realize he needs to warm up, so I let him drink.

  I fire up my laptop. “You know what I want to do?” I’ve never spent a whole night with Ryan. In a bed. “We’re going to rent a room at one of the inns in the village.”

  I get the phone number for the Louis Mansion which I’ve always thought was breathtaking, as it’s a French Second Empire mansion that was converted into a guesthouse. There are beautiful fireplaces in every room, twelve-foot ceilings, enormous four-poster beds. It’s expensive, but I can afford two nights. After that, Ryan should go back to school.

  How is he going to get back to school? I don’t want him to ride the bike in case he runs into a storm and has an accident. I’ve got some money, so I can send him back by plane.

  I close down the window, my heart hammering with excitement. “I’ve booked two nights,” I say, aware that my voice is quivering. “I’ll grab my toothbrush and some stuff, then we can go. Uh, I guess we should take a cab.” I have to admit, if it weren’t snowing and freezing, I’d love to go on the bike and get to wrap my arms tight around Ryan.

  I’m about to call the inn when my phone rings. It’s Jonathon.

  “Making sure you’re okay,” he says softly.

  “I am. Thanks for calling.”

  Ryan lifts his head. He can hear and I’m scared I’m blushing. Nothing’s happened, except Jonathon and I shared some intense and emotional things. But I feel guilty, just because I’ve grown close to Jonathon. Yet Jonathon did so much for me. “Ryan is here. He just got here. He drove all the way, almost straight. My mom told him what happened and he left school and drove here. On his motorcycle.” It still scares me what he went through to get to me.

  Jonathon’s voice is soft. “He’s worried about you.”

  I want to say, I’m worried about him. But I can’t on the phone in front of Ryan. “I’ll call you in a few days. I’m going to visit with Ryan.” I’m going to make love to Ryan. And talk sense into him.

  I hang up. At Ryan’s questioning look, I say, “Just a friend. I’ll call the inn. In just a few more minutes…we can be in bed.” Argh. It’s going to be longer than just a few minutes. I have to get stuff together. We have to get there—

  “Do you want to make love right now?” I ask. “It would be a quickie, but I think I’m going to explode if I have to wait any longer.”

  Next thing I know, Ryan is on his knees in front of me. I’m on the tiny rolling office chair in front of my desk. He pulls me to him and the wheels take me there. He spreads my legs, looking up at me with his sapphire blue eyes.

  It’s been three months almost, since I’ve been so close to him. All my breath goes out of my chest. He bends and pushes up my hoodie and shirt. He kisses my tummy just below my navel and above the waistband of my jeans. His lips are firm but velvet soft. I reach down and stroke his face, but he nudges my hand away.

  So he can reach the fly of my pants. He opens them, lifts me with one of his large hands splayed under my ass. He tries to pull my jeans down. I help him so we can get there faster. I push my jeans into a puddle at my ankles, then do the same with my panties, baring my pussy and the red-blond curls to him.

  He kisses my abdomen and I moan and wriggle on the chair, so aware of how close his mouth is to my aching clit. I don’t want to slam my parts against his mouth but I’m arching up subtly. Hurting with need.

  His tongue runs down my skin, skims over my curls, and flicks over my clit.

  Oh God. God. God.

  In my socks, my toes curl. My fingers gouge into the arms of the chair. I want to grind against him until I explode, but I can’t do that. I have to hold on. And they say guys are uncontrollably horny. I want to sob and scream and cry, I want him so badly.

  I stroke his head as his tongue strokes my clit. I want to touch him, connect with him. He strums with his tongue—way too intense! I almost climb up the back of the chair. I love getting my clit stroked, it always makes me come, but his tongue is too strong, and the sensations are too powerful. I don’t want to complain though. So I’m on the chair, stiff and tense. I want to relax against his mouth, but it’s too much for me.

  His lips touch my clit, softly suckling. I scream. I can’t help it and put my hand over my mouth. The walls aren’t that soundproof.

  His tongue goes out again and licks around the entrance to my pussy. I’m getting wet, very wet. I reach down and tug on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, trying to pull him up on top of me. Thi
s is so intense I need him to move on.

  He moves over me, his body long and lean and strong. This time I go for his fly, fumbling with it. Together we manage to get the button undone and the zipper down. I reach into his briefs, my hands bumping his warm, rigid shaft. I wrap my fingers around his cock, my hand brushed by cotton, and I stroke him. Up to the head, just under the rounded crown, and down to the hilt, where my hand brushes his blond curls.

  He pulls his pants down, then his underwear, baring his lean hips, the flat plane of his stomach, and his cock.

  “Stand over me and let me suck you first,” I say. Blushing again.

  I take him into my mouth. He tastes so warm and good. I can’t believe this is real—that I’m with him, that I can have two days of decadent sex with him.

  His cock can take a lot more pressure than my clit can. I suck him hard, until my jaw is almost aching. I play with his balls gently too. Even daringly rub his perineum—the bridge between his balls and his ass—then let my finger trail to the hot valley between his tight butt cheeks.

  He jolts with surprise when I let my index finger graze his anus while my other fingers stroke his balls, feeling the seam, the way they’re wrinkled, and the way the testicles inside run away from my fingers.

  I back him out of my mouth, gaze up at him. I want to say fuck me, but I lose courage and whisper, “I want to make love with you.”

  He lowers his body, anchoring us with a foot on the floor and a hand on the desk, so we don’t roll away. He groans. “A condom. I need one.”

  “Do you have one?” I look down to his pants.

  “No,” he says.

  No? He came to see me without bringing one? The thing is: I have some. “We have some in Lara’s bedside table.” Again with the blushing. “Yardley gives them out to everyone, and she got some. Cause she was dating a guy. That’s why we have them.”

  It’s the absolute truth, but I fear I’m acting like I’ve been caught doing something bad. The college freely hands out condoms to anyone at the beginning of the year—males and females.

  Ryan tears the package, and rolls it on, cursing as he tries to adjust it over his long cock to leave the little reservoir. That always confused me—I thought they were supposed to fight tight, as if a guy had saran-wrapped himself.

 

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