Seven Nights To Surrender

by Jeanette Grey

  But he was there. Holding her together and crushing her close, murmuring in her ear.

  It was all she needed to let go.

  Her climax crashed down on her in a crescendo of feeling and need. Her voice and her body all shattered as she breathed his name over and over again, and God. To do this with someone who meant so much, to feel the hot breadth of him as he buried himself inside of her.

  Only once the fog began to fade did he rear back. She looked up at him, and he was staring right at her, eyes open and cheeks flushed. He took another half dozen long, hard strokes in and out of her, and then he was arching. His mouth dropped open, and the groan that fell from his lungs shook her. His whole body trembled, and her heart twisted.

  He was so beautiful in his pleasure. Felt so right inside her body and in her arms.

  How was she ever supposed to let him go?

  Rylan collapsed over top of Kate, scarcely remembering to catch himself and not force her to take all of his weight. For a minute, all he could do was lie there, breathing into the pillow. Fuck. He was still inside her, still twitching, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut tighter.

  Because he’d had sex before. He’d had a lot of sex before, but not like that.

  And wasn’t that just Kate, though? She put him in these situations he thought he knew inside and out, and she made them different. More.

  He shuddered and lifted himself up. He didn’t need to be thinking things like that. As he got his elbows underneath himself, she stroked a hand up and down his spine, pulling a shiver from someplace deep inside of him. Her face was flushed and glassy, and her legs were folded gently around his hips. A warm rush of tenderness lit the center of his chest. He leaned in closer, stroking his nose against hers and then kissing her mouth, nice and soft. The way a girl should be kissed after letting a guy get that close to her.

  She tasted so sweet, and the curl of her thighs around his waist had another round of aftershocks racing through him. He could have stayed like that the whole night.

  With a groan and a last little sucking nip at her bottom lip, he pulled himself away. “Back in a sec.”

  He made his way to the bathroom, feeling less than steady and trying to keep that to himself. Dealing with the condom was the work of a moment, but he dawdled anyway, washing his hands a lot more thoroughly than he usually did, just for something to do while he got himself put together.

  Turning off the tap, he dragged one damp hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. As he did, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror.

  Instead of shaking his head and moving on the way he usually did, he straightened his spine and forced himself to really take it all in. Not the sex hair or any of that, but not the shit he usually noticed, either—the too-deep cleft of his chin or the slant to his nose, or the bits that reminded him a little too much of his dad. It wasn’t easy, staring at himself that way. No matter what he did, he couldn’t conjure up the things Kate had drawn and seen. Was it really any use?

  He dropped his gaze and grabbed a towel, drying his hands off as he walked back into the main part of the room. He furrowed his brow when he caught faint strains of music.

  And then he stopped, everything in him just kind of going quiet at once.

  Kate was sitting on their bed, facing the headboard, a loose sheet tucked under her arms and wrapped around her chest and hips. The crisp white of the cotton against her pale skin made it look all peaches and cream, and he swallowed hard. She was fiddling with a panel on the wall. He’d noticed it before but hadn’t really paid it any mind.

  The sounds on the air resolved themselves in his mind.

  “Édith Piaf?”

  She twisted, looking at him over her shoulder, and she was so beautiful he could hardly breathe. The soft curve of her smile cracked his heart. “It’s a radio. All it plays is this really random old stuff.”

  And she looked so charmed.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She beckoned him over. “Come here and listen.”

  His feet didn’t seem to want to move. For a second, he could only stand there, staring at her.

  If he could draw, he’d paint her in ivory and pink and umber, looking exactly the way she did in that instant. Preserve her forever, to look at when he was old. Just like this.

  But he couldn’t.

  “Rylan?”

  “Sorry.” He tossed the towel he’d been using in the vague direction of the bathroom door. Unglued his feet and walked himself over to the bed.

  He sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face against her hair. Vanilla and rose, and layered in with it, the sharpness of his aftershave. The faintest notes of sweat and sex. His throat felt tight, and his heart was pounding too hard.

  She put her hand over his. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He breathed her in, memorizing her scent. Their scent, all tangled together. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Lifting his head, he pressed a kiss to her temple. It was probably too intense, probably lingered too long. When he could, he nodded. “Absolutely. I’m just . . . happy.”

  She laughed, a soft, ringing sound. “Good. Me, too.”

  His heart felt like it was pressing against his ribs, but what could he do? He bit the inside of his cheek and cast his gaze skyward, then gestured at the radio, drawing attention from the way he’d been completely, utterly disarmed. “Does it play anything else?”

  She paged through the handful of stations, each stranger than the last. The whole time, he held her, watching her and listening and trading comments about the selection of songs.

  And it was another thing he’d heard of in the past—one he’d thought he’d done before. But really. He’d never known what basking in the afterglow meant.

  Not until now.

  chapter NINETEEN

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “What?” Rylan shot her a cheeky smile. “You’ve never had room service before?”

  She tossed her napkin at him. “Not what I meant.”

  Honestly, she wasn’t sure she ever had had room service. It was always so expensive. But Rylan had insisted, and at the time, her legs hadn’t felt up to working. Even now, an hour after he’d turned her to jelly, her whole body was still thrumming, a warm glow of satisfaction radiating from the very center of her.

  Yeah, staying in for dinner had been a good call.

  Still. “Eating dinner in bed. Naked.” She cocked her brow at him. “This is something you do all the time?”

  He was sitting opposite her on the bed with their dinner plates between them. Somehow or other, they’d managed to split the sheet so it draped over his lap with enough left over for her to tuck the other end under her arms. All the important parts were covered, but it still felt illicit. Obscene.

  Sexy.

  Shrugging, he took a bite of his sandwich and chewed. “It’s not exactly a first. But I wouldn’t go so far as to say I do it all the time.”

  That dip was coming in her stomach. The little lurch that happened every time he reminded her that she was one of many.

  Only then the corner of his mouth curled upward. “Can’t say it’s ever been this much fun before, though.” He wiped his fingers on his napkin before reaching out to drag the back of a knuckle down the bare length of her arm. “Or that the view has ever been so good.”

  The anxious dip turned into a flutter. She dropped her gaze to stare at her own sandwich. He did this to her every time. Made her feel like she was special, when really she was just one of the herd.

  “Hey.” He gave her a second, then hooked his finger under her chin to tilt her head up. “Where did you go there?”

  “Nowhere.” She tried to smile.

  Those piercing blue eyes stared back at her. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Don’t have a lot of practice, I suppose.”

  He cupped her face and swiped his thumb across her lip. “Good. I like you like
this. All fresh-faced and innocent.”

  She shook her head. Kissed his thumb before batting his hand away. “Says the man who’s been doing everything in his power to corrupt me.”

  “Not everything.” His eyes twinkled. “But a lot of things.” His grin receded as he poked at what was left of his pile of fries. “Haven’t pushed it too far, I hope.”

  It didn’t quite lilt up as a question, but she heard it as one all the same.

  And she could do this. She could talk about the things they’d done. There didn’t have to be any shame to it—even if something cold and uncomfortable threatened to unfurl in her lungs. “I—I don’t regret anything. If that’s what you’re asking.”

  “It’s something a guy likes to know.” His one shoulder quirked upward and then settled back down.

  “I don’t regret it.” She put more conviction into the words this time, because she didn’t. No matter the heartbreak that was bound to come. It had been . . . amazing. Like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She was glad she’d get to hold on to that. “You were really good to me.”

  He made a little huffing sound and tore at the bread of his sandwich. “I am never going to stop being angry about the fact that anybody ever wasn’t good to you. If you—” He cut himself off, fingers clenching into a fist before he relaxed them. “I hope you never let anyone treat you like that. Not ever again.”

  Right. The little dip in her stomach was back, twisting her insides up. He was talking about the other men she’d sleep with, after she left.

  “I won’t.” It sounded too solemn, but there it was. Out on the air between them.

  She’d promised it to herself once before, but it had been an abstract then. Now she knew how good she could’ve been getting all along. How terrible the bad had been by comparison.

  “Besides.” Her voice threatened to crack, and was she really going to do this? “There were only a couple of other guys,” she blurted. “Before.”

  Apparently, she was.

  Rylan paused. “Yeah?”

  She’d told him that much their very first night. He’d prodded her then, clearly wanting her to tell him more about them, but she’d shied away. Now, though . . . She’d let him inside of her, had given up the one thing she’d been the most afraid to. She could give him just a little bit more.

  “One was a hookup,” she said, testing the words on her tongue. “I don’t think I even got his name.”

  A month after things between her and Aaron had fallen apart, her friends had decided that enough was enough. They’d told her it was damn well time for her to pick herself up. Get back on the horse. Move on.

  So they’d taken her to a club and bought her drinks all night. She’d caught a guy’s eye, and she’d been so starved for the attention, she’d let him dance in close behind her. And when he’d asked her if she wanted to get out of there . . .

  “I was . . . drunk. Not so drunk that I don’t remember it or anything, but enough that I was maybe not making the best of decisions.” She focused hard on picking at the crust of her bread so she didn’t have to meet his gaze. Or show that her hands were trembling. “He was . . . fine. But he’d been drinking, too. Everything moved way too fast.” She shrugged. “And when he was done, that was kind of the end of it.”

  It’d been the end of her interest in sex. Right up until she’d met Rylan.

  “Asshole,” he said, quiet but intense. It made her shiver.

  But it also made her want to tell him everything else. She wanted him to hear it all, to know it all. She hadn’t done anything wrong. But God. What she’d let herself become. How little she’d accepted for so long. It made her gut twist and clench, made her throat ache, even after all this time.

  “The guy before that . . . Aaron.” She gave up on her dinner. She’d more or less had enough of it anyway, and just thinking about this made her stomach turn to stone. She pushed her plate away and curled her hands together in her lap. “He was my first. First really long-term relationship, you know? I’d dated here and there in high school, but nothing serious. Definitely not anybody I’d . . . have sex with.”

  Rylan made an encouraging noise.

  She drew her knees in close to her chest, hugging them tight. “He was smart. A business major. Really practical and driven.” Goal-oriented was how he’d put it. The exact opposite of her with all her dreams about galleries and art. “Took me on nice dates and stuff.” She paused when Rylan put his sandwich down, something in his gaze darkening. But he didn’t try to interrupt her, so she soldiered on. “After a couple of months, he started wanting more, and I did, too.” A dark chuckle bubbled up in her throat. “I was a twenty-year-old virgin, you know?”

  Part of her had been terrified, as much by the relationship as by the sex. Her parents’ marriage had been less of an example and more of a cautionary tale, and she’d carried the metaphorical scars with her for years. Still carried them, really.

  Another part of her had just wanted to get it over with.

  “He wasn’t awful in bed or anything, but when he . . . did stuff, it never worked. I’d get turned on, and we . . . had sex. But.” Her tongue had gone all twisted up, and her face felt hot, her neck cold. Why couldn’t she just talk about this stuff? “I couldn’t come.”

  “What?” Rylan looked at her with confusion, a displeased furrow coloring his brow. “He never fingered you or ate you out?”

  The heat on her cheeks deepened, flowing down her chest. God. He said it like it wasn’t dirty or weird or wrong at all.

  Maybe because it wasn’t.

  “He did,” she said. “Sometimes. It just didn’t do anything for me.”

  “And you never took things into your own hands?”

  Her laughter choked off with the force of her embarrassment. “Until you made me, I didn’t even know that was something I could do in front of a guy.” Not without him thinking she was a slut, or a pervert. Or who knew what else.

  He’d finished up his sandwich by then, and he leaned over, the sheet sliding off his lap as he twisted to set his plate down on the floor. Sitting up again, he scooted closer to her, letting their bare legs brush beneath the covers. “Kate.” He coaxed her to unfurl herself and took her hand in his, the skin warm and vital and strong. “I told you. There is nothing in this world sexier than a woman feeling pleasure.”

  A lump formed at the back of her throat. Because he really meant that, didn’t he? He’d shown her as much with every kiss and every touch, had told her in a dozen silent ways, and this wasn’t the first time he’d said it out loud.

  “I mean it.” His voice grew in its fervency. “You deserve someone who makes you feel amazing.”

  It was the deserve part that hit her like a punch to the chest. She shook her head without even meaning to, this automatic denial.

  He squeezed her hand tighter. “You are beautiful and sweet and so fucking talented. You deserve—” He cut off, a flash of bitterness flitting across his face, but it was there and gone in a second. “You deserve someone who can give you everything.”

  Someone like you? The question pressed at her tongue, but she swallowed it whole. Nearly choked on it. Because he had. He’d given her this unreserved support, had shown this faith in her. And here in this bed, he’d taken care of her in a way that no one ever had before.

  Because he thought she was worth it.

  Her lip wobbled, her breath coming harder as the realization crashed over her, and she tried to tug her hands back, to get herself under control. She’d already accepted that she’d fallen for him, but what he was saying here, this kindness in the face of her sad history—it just made it hurt even worse. Her face crumpled, and his eyes went wide.

  “Kate?”

  She shook her head, but her voice wouldn’t work. “I just—”

  An impossible, unbearable warmth wrapped itself around her heart. She closed her eyes against it, but in the next breath, he was shifting across the bed, pulling her bodily into his arms, and the heat in
side her went supernova. It burned through her, changing her.

  Something that wasn’t quite a sob broke past her lips, and he held her tighter. She swabbed at her eyes, but it didn’t help. God, this was awful, breaking down on him, and because what? He’d been nice to her?

  Muttering quiet assurances into her hair, he rocked her back and forth. “You’re okay, baby.”

  But she wasn’t. She was extraordinary.

  A new kind of light seeped into her heart.

  He treated her this way, gave her his time and his body, opened her up with such patient, tender care, because he thought she deserved it.

  “I just—” she tried again. She opened her eyes, and the world was still upright, the ceiling and the floor still exactly where they were supposed to be. It was her that was floating. The tear that escaped her felt like it glowed. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that.”

  He practically forced the breath from her, his arms squeezed around her so hard. “I’ll tell you every day,” he said, and he didn’t even bother to correct himself. To put a time limit on it. “You deserve the entire fucking world, Kate.”

  She didn’t have to ask him if he meant it.

  And that was it. The whole rest of the story came rushing out.

  Burying her face against his chest, she said, “It wasn’t just the sex with Aaron.” He hadn’t been outright abusive or anything. It hadn’t ever gotten that far. But . . . “He started out so nice, but he put me down in all these subtle little ways.” The shame of it all crept up on her again, that she’d tolerated it for so long. Had fallen into the same damn trap. “Like these offhanded remarks about how I dressed or the classes I took or what I was going to do after I finished college.”

  When you’re still waiting tables and I’m on Wall Street . . .

  “And it just got worse and worse, until I was believing it.” She’d always believed it. “That he was better than I was and I was lucky to have him.” That she didn’t have any right to expect more of him. More affection or more time. More patience with her body.