by Lexi Ryan
I cup her breasts in my hands and dip my head to give attention to each nipple, laving one, then the other, before I return to the first and suck it between my teeth. Her hands are in my hair and she presses my face to her breast, silently begging for more.
She rocks her hips against me, and even though it’s torture, even though she’s pushing me to skate on the edge of my control, I pull her closer. Wrapping my hands around her hips, I squeeze her ass and continue to torture her nipples—sucking, licking, biting.
Her moans turn to desperate, louder cries, and the rocking of her hips turns to grinding as she climbs toward her orgasm.
“Ride me, baby.” Pain laces my words. I’m fighting the need to slide inside her. “I want to hear you come.” I bring my hand to her nipple and pinch, and she spasms, at once arching toward my touch and away. She breaks, falling apart in my hands, her scream echoing off the snow-covered trees.
I kiss her shoulder, her neck, and her temple. She catches her breath against my chest, circling her hips every few seconds as she rides the receding tide of her orgasm back down. Then, her feet still locked behind my back, I wrap my arms around her, lift her out of the water, and carry her inside.
I lay her down in front of the fire, watching the light of the flame flicker in her eyes and make her skin glow. She parts her legs and watches me slide on a condom, and reaches for me as I lower myself to the floor. I take her hands above her head and hold them there as I slowly slide into her.
She moans and then cries out at the intrusion, but when I try to withdraw, she whispers, “Please,” and I’m lost.
Chapter Twelve
Sam
Elizabeth Thompson is my downfall. My temptation. My shouldn’t-want-it-but-can’t-stay-away.
I could watch her sleep for hours, memorizing the shape of her face, the flat of her stomach, the curve of her hipbone. I could lose track of time inhaling her scent. She’s beautiful, and when she sleeps, all that beauty is raw and unguarded.
Dappled morning light is coming through the leafless trees outside and into the windows. The heater hums as it cycles on. I should get out of bed and start a fire so it’s more comfortable in here when she wakes up, but I don’t want to leave her side.
Once upon a time, there was a guy who kept his heart locked away in a box. One night, when he was in a darker place than he’d ever been in his life, she showed him light. She made him laugh. She turned him on. She looked so fucking beautiful when she came that it was hard for the guy to imagine his heart needed protecting, that it could be pulverized.
That first night with Liz was a wave of sunshine in the middle of a dark and ugly time. It changed something about me, made me consider things I’d seen as fairytales before.
I’ve never been a romantic. That doesn’t mean I’m an asshole, but I’ve never been the kind of guy who believes in happily-ever-after. My parents are making it work, but at what cost? And are they really happy, or is the secret to a happy marriage really just lying to yourself every morning, telling yourself there’s nowhere you’d rather be?
Obviously, there was somewhere Dad would’ve rather been. Jacqueline wouldn’t have happened if Mom had been enough for him.
When I tell a woman that I’m a no-strings-attached kind of guy, I mean it, and I’ve never been tempted to be anything else—except for with Liz.
Last night, I confessed that I think about her, but that was a watered-down version of the truth. The truth is that Liz has a hold on something so much deeper than my thoughts, even deeper than my fantasies. I crave her. I have since she came to my house at Notre Dame. She’d gotten drunk and climbed onto the bar in the basement, and every guy in the room had been captivated. I’d wanted to punch them all—because she was only seventeen. And because she was mine.
That possessiveness where she’s concerned has never gone away, even if it doesn’t make any damn sense. But if my father is going to insist I see someone, why not her? Why not the woman who occupies so many of my thoughts and fantasies? It’s the perfect solution. I appease Dad and set Della’s mind at ease. And maybe by the time the election rolls around, I’ll finally be able to let her go.
She moans as she rolls away from me and slowly sits up.
Without looking at me, she climbs out of bed, gathers her underwear off the floor, and tiptoes to the door. I could stay here and let her leave. It would send the message that this is just sex, and that I’m still the guy who has nothing more than that to offer.
And that’s exactly why I climb out of bed, pull on my boxer briefs, and follow her into the living room. I find her standing there in nothing but her panties, her arms behind her back as she clasps her bra.
Stalking to her quietly, I wrap my arms around her from behind, pinning her hands to her sides.
She moans as I drop my mouth to her neck. “I have to leave. My family will be expecting me at breakfast.”
I cup her breasts in my hands, finding her nipples through the lace of her bra. “Tell them you’re sleeping in,” I murmur against her throat, and she melts into me.
“Can’t,” she whispers. “My mom would come to my room.”
I snake my hand down her stomach and let my fingers brush the lace of her underwear. She draws in a long breath, fighting for control in a struggle I intend to see her lose. “I’m not done with you yet.”
My fingers slide under the lace. She sighs and covers my hand with hers, urging me further south.
Instead of obeying the silent plea, I spin her around, grab her by the hips, and hoist her onto the back of the couch. I spread her legs and step between them as I draw her closer.
She grabs a handful of my hair and draws my mouth to hers, and I kiss her. She tastes like breath mints and temptation.
She locks her ankles behind my back and squeezes me with her thighs. I drop my mouth to her breast and latch on, sucking at her through the lace until she cries out.
My fingers replace my mouth, and I toy with her nipple. Her lips part and desire sweeps across her face in waves.
I love how Liz resigns herself to pleasure. She doesn’t fight for it or against it like some women. She lets it wash over her, accepts it as the natural process that it is. She rides the wave, cresting with the highs and wallowing in the lows.
“I need to feel you,” I hear myself whisper. Half a step back, and I slide my hand between our bodies and cup her wet heat in my hand. I feel her, hot and slick through her panties, and it’s not enough. Tugging the lace to the side, I sink two fingers into her. She’s ready and wet around my fingers.
“Yes. Please,” she whimpers. Her head falls back and her nails bite into my arms.
“I love the way your pussy squeezes my fingers,” I whisper in her ear. “Hot and tight and greedy—Jesus, Liz.” I swear, if she so much as grazed her fingers over me right now, I’d be at risk of going off in my briefs. She’s just that sexy.
I rotate my hand slightly and find her clit with my thumb, grazing it lightly as I grit my teeth and hold back my own need. I want to peel off my boxers and bring her down on my shaft, cradle her ass as I take her against the wall.
Suddenly, she stiffens in my arms and starts smacking my hands away.
“Sorry!” The squeaked apology comes from behind me. “Oh, God! So sorry!”
* * *
Liz
I hop off the couch and scramble away from Sam. I feel like a teenager who just got caught letting her boyfriend get to third base.
“Jesus, Ryann,” Sam growls. “Heard of knocking?” He’s standing there in nothing but boxers, his hard-on clear as day.
Ryann, his younger sister, is standing with her back to us now. “I didn’t know you’d have company. Trust me, I didn’t want to see that. Ever. I’m going to have to take a scouring pad to my brain.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’ll go get dressed,” I mutter.
“Um . . .” Ryann grabs my dress off the foyer floor and holds it out to the side between two fingers without turning t
o look at me.
“Thank you,” I mumble. As I grab it, my phone buzzes from my purse where I left it by the door last night. I frown. That tone is the sound for the chat client, and no one but River uses that to contact me. No one but Sam, I mentally amend. I hurry into my dress then grab my phone from my purse to open the message.
Riverrat69: I’m sorry I had to bail on you. I had a family matter and couldn’t get away. I hope you can forgive me.
I blink at the message then look up at Sam, expecting to see his phone in his hand, but he’s standing in the living room in his boxer briefs, no phone in sight.
“What?” he asks. “Who is it?”
My phone dings again.
Riverrat69: Can you meet tonight instead? I can’t stop thinking about getting you tied up. Sucking on your clit until you come.
I close the robe tighter around myself as my stomach flips with horror. Oh my God.
I rush to the bedroom, and Sam follows me. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Yesterday, that message would have turned me on, and I would have replied with something equally risqué, but Sam couldn’t have typed that message, and that makes me sick to my stomach.
Oh my God. What have I done?
Chapter Thirteen
Sam
“She’s cute,” Ryann says to me between sips of coffee. “She’s got a certain goodness about her that’s a little incongruous with your typical conquests. I’m not sure what she sees in you.”
Liz is gone. She scrambled out the door in her bridesmaid dress minutes after Ryann caught me feeling her up on the couch. Not that my sister walking in on us like that didn’t also horrify me, but I was surprised how Liz reacted. She couldn’t get out the door fast enough. Or maybe the problem is that I wasn’t surprised. I knew this would happen if we slept together again. She always runs.
I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Why are you here?”
“Della had the baby last night,” Ryann says. “A girl. She’s beautiful.”
I grin, happy to hear the news. I was beginning to worry that Della was going to do something drastic if that baby didn’t come soon. “And you came out here to tell me that?”
She shakes her head. “No, I sent you a text to tell you. I came out here to check on the house. The neighbors called Mom and said there was a flower delivery here yesterday. They got the flowers from the porch but thought that was odd since no one was here. Apparently they didn’t realize you were setting the stage for seduction.”
“I didn’t order any flowers.”
Ryann snorts. “Right. I kind of already saw what’s up between you two. No need to hide it.”
“Shut up. You’re a child. Scrub what you saw from your brain.”
“Trust me, I intend to order a case of Brillo pads the second I get home. But I’m not a child.” She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. “You really didn’t order the flowers?”
“I wasn’t even planning to stay here. I had reservations at the inn.” I rub the back of my neck and try to get my mind straight.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this last night. I intended to have her be my date, to have any pictures that were leaked to the press show me with Liz on my arm. I left the wedding because I knew I’d take her home with me if we danced anymore. And I knew it would be déjà vu. We’d touch. Kiss. Fuck. And nothing we did would change what happened last summer. Nothing would change my reasons for asking her to be my date.
But then she followed me here. I hadn’t expected that.
I ran from temptation, and temptation followed me right to my door. I’m weak—at least when it comes to Liz. “Let me get dressed and we’ll go to the hospital.”
In the master, I close the door behind me, and my gaze catches on the tangle of sheets on the bed and I miss her already. Damn.
She got away too soon. Again.
I grab clothes from my duffle and head into the bathroom to take a quick shower and dress. The second I step under the hot spray, I’m struck with the image of Liz in her shower our first night together, her arms stretched above her head, tied to the showerhead, her pussy against my face. My dick goes so hard it aches, and I have to turn the water cold and force myself to think about something else.
* * *
Liz
“Liz?” Hanna cocks her head at me and approaches slowly, much the way one might approach a feral animal.
Maybe that’s because she can see the horror and guilt all over my face. Or maybe it’s because I’m sitting in my bridesmaid dress in the corner of her bakery with a bowl of her famous Everything But the Kitchen Sink cookie dough in my lap, and a nine-inch spatula in my hand.
My twin sister is a goddess in the kitchen. Give her flour, sugar, and an oven, and she’ll create something that will make you forget there are pleasures other than food.
And that’s why I’m sitting here. I’m trying to forget.
“What happened, sweetie?”
I look up at her and swallow a mouthful of dough filled with homemade peanut butter cup pieces, toffee, chopped walnut, a generous dash of skinny-is-overrated, and a sprinkle of bring-on-the-heart-attack. I’ve eaten enough that my stomach hurts, and yet it hasn’t begun to numb the horror of this morning’s discovery.
“You’re supposed to be doing the newlywed thing,” I say. “Shouldn’t Nate be bringing you breakfast in bed or something?”
She sinks onto the floor next to me and steals my spatula. “Already did.”
“Then aren’t you supposed to be fucking like bunnies?”
“Already did.”
“Snuggling?”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders and leans her head against mine. It’s then that I realize I’m crying. “I’m a hot mess,” I whisper.
“I noticed.”
“I don’t think Sam wants me.” Then I start sobbing again—chest-shaking, heart-aching, snotty sobbing. It’s as if my body has been poisoned by hope I knew better than to have and it has to wring it out of me.
Hanna doesn’t ask questions or get on the phone to yell at Sam for hurting me—which is good, since Sam would have no idea what she was talking about. She knows what I need better than I do, so she sits, stroking my hair and murmuring in my ear until I get all the ugliness and self-hatred out.
When my breathing steadies and the tears are gone, she takes the bowl of cookie dough from my hands and says, “Start at the beginning.”
I nod, take a deep breath, and begin. I tell her about meeting Riverrat69 on Something Real. I tell her how I believed it was Sam and how things escalated until last night when we were supposed to meet.
“Stop right there for a minute,” Hanna says when I tell her I agreed to go to the cabin.
“I know.” I squeeze my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look her in the eye.
“Liz, what if he was some crazy guy? What if it was someone who lures women to the country to skin them alive?”
I shake my head. “I know, okay? That’s why I sent Sam a text when I got there. I don’t think I would have agreed to meet him if I hadn’t believed it was Sam. I’m not completely stupid.” Then I add in a mumble, “Only mostly stupid.”
“So it was Sam?” she asks, confused.
“Instead of messaging River, I sent Sam a text to see if he was the one inside the cabin, and then he came out. I made sure it was him before I even got out of my car.”
Hanna presses her hand to her chest and lets out a breath. “So what happened next?” she asks. When I sniffle and arch a brow, she says, “Okay, I can guess what happened next. What about after the dirty sex?”
I thought I was out of tears, but my eyes fill again. “This morning I got a message from River apologizing that he couldn’t make it last night.”
Hanna frowns. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Sam try to mess with your mind like that?”
“It wasn’t Sam. Sam was right next to me when the message came through. Sam isn’t River. I just . . . I just wanted him to
be.”
“Wait.” She rubs her temples. “You’re telling me that this anonymous stranger invited you to meet him, and the place he invited you happened to be Sam’s cabin, and Sam happened to be there? That doesn’t even make sense. What did River say?”
“I haven’t replied to his message this morning. I panicked and took the messenger app we’ve been using off my phone. I’m freaking out here.”
“That’s understandable. Holy crap. This is a mess. Are you sure you were at the right place? Maybe you transposed some numbers in your head and ended up at the Bradshaws’ cabin when you were supposed to be somewhere else?”
“I rechecked the house number on my way out. This is no coincidence, Hanna. River, whoever he is, invited me to the Bradshaws’ cabin.”
“Maybe he’s a friend of the family, or maybe he was going to meet you there and then take you to his cabin further out.”
I nod. These are all real possibilities, but they don’t address what hurts the most. “I really wanted it to be him,” I whisper.
“I thought you didn’t want to be with Sam.” She’s frowning at me, and I know she’s hurt that I haven’t been completely honest about how I feel.
“I don’t want to want to be with him,” I say, as if that explains anything. “I like him, I want him, but if I could control my feelings I would neither like him nor want him.”
“Okay.” She nods as if I’m not irrational, bless her heart. “There’s a difference.”
I sigh and shrug. “We aren’t ‘forever’ kind of material. But I’ve always liked him. A lot. Remember when I hooked up with him after Will and Cally’s wedding? I told you it wasn’t the first time.”