by M. Never
He’s rendered me speechless. Is that really how he sees me?
I slide my eyes up to his. They’re simultaneously dancing with humor and ablaze with desire. If I wasn’t programmed to be prim and proper I’d haul Ryan straight into a bathroom stall and have my wicked way with him. “Just to be clear, was that statement flattery or not?”
“Not,” he mouths so seductively, I think I just felt the proclamation hit my groin. Oh. “Just fact, counselor.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you wasting your efforts on something that’s not going to get you anywhere.” I fight to keep my breathing steady. It’s suddenly stifling out here. Are we in Midtown or the damn Deep South?
I don’t think I’m keeping my composure well because Ryan is eyeing me like he knows just how much he’s affecting me. Like it’s as blatant as the sun.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He reclaims my hand, lifts it to his lips, and presses a soft kiss on my overheated skin. But he doesn’t stop there. Continuing, he glides his tongue lightly down my index finger and sucks the tip right into his mouth. I’m pretty sure all my molecules just disintegrated. Quickly coming to my senses, I yank my hand away. My self-control is dwindling by the second.
Heaven help me, he touched me for a fraction of a second, and I’m tearing at the friggin’ seams.
My cheeks are flushed, my mouth is dry, and my panties are damp. I can’t even begin to imagine what will happen if I allow him free reign to roam my body.
I tremble internally from the outrageously tempting thought. Too fast. Too soon. I remind myself. I’m not that fucking easy. Am I? With Ryan, maybe.
Ryan extends a sinfully satisfied smile from across the table. Yup, the smug bastard definitely knows he’s affecting me.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Ryan throws his white napkin onto his plate. “I think we’ve done enough talking for tonight.” He leaves some money on the table, stands up, and stretches out his hand to me. Enough talking? What else is there to do?
I take his outstretched hand tentatively as my body temperature creeps back down to a comfortable ninety-seven degrees.
“And where are we going?” I inquire, suspiciously, as he pulls me to my feet.
Wrapping one arm around my waist, Ryan plants a firm kiss on my cheek. “I want to show you my place.”
“Wow,” is about all I can say when Ryan opens the door. “It’s so . . . girlie in here.”
The walls are light lavender and there are fresh flowers on almost every flat surface.
All the furniture is a distressed white, very Pottery Barn chic. The whole place is warm and inviting, and I have no problem picturing myself living here.
“Your gay roommate?” I probe.
“Well, she is gay.”
“She? You are just full of surprises.”
“Baby, you haven’t even seen the surprises I’m capable of yet.” Ryan hijacks a kiss before walking into the kitchen, leaving me all hot and bothered and brimming with angst.
Baby?
Surprises?
Yet?
Breathe.
“Do you want to stay with white?” Ryan voices with his head in the refrigerator.
White? What the fuck is he talking about? Oh, wine.
“Um, yeah, that’s fine.” I secretly hope he has a funnel. Being here, alone, with him, is making me so freakin’ antsy I can barely stand it. It’s like I’m in a beautiful cage and he’s my caretaker.
I make my way over to one of the windows and get a bird’s-eye view of the city.
“This is a great spot,” I comment as he hands me a glass of wine. Desperately needed wine.
“I know, I totally lucked out. Rent controlled and a parking space.”
“Who needs anything more?” I drawl.
Ryan leans on the windowsill then grabs my hip. “I can think of one more thing I need.”
I shift uncomfortably away from him. I’m not ready to talk about this. Us. What he needs. I’m still getting used to just being around him again.
“So, how’d you end up here?” I veer the conversation in a completely different direction.
Ryan’s disappointment is obvious, but he indulges me.
“I met Demi at the club. She was one of my regulars for a while.”
“I thought you said she’s gay?” I’m confused.
“Bi, actually. But she was just figuring that out at the time.”
I’m not sure the idea of Ryan having a bi-sexual female roommate sits well with me. Not that I have any say in the matter. And of course, my crazy brain can’t help but wonder if they have a past.
“Have you slept with her?” I bluntly ask.
“Jesus, what is with you and my sexual history?” Ryan drops his hand from my waist.
“Don’t evade the question. Just answer it.”
Ryan grunts. It more amused than anything else. “Yes. We’ve slept together.”
Of course.
“Does my sexual activity make you uncomfortable, Alana?”
Maybe.
“No,” I fib. “I just needed to know.” I need to be prepared.
“I guess that’s reasonable.” He warms up to me again, placing his hand back on my hip. “If you lived with a guy, I’d want to know if there was something going on. I’d probably want to kill him, if I’m being honest.”
I roll my eyes. “I do live with a guy.”
Ryan frowns, confused.
“My father,” I disclose. “And you should be more worried about him wanting to kill you.”
Ryan’s frown turns upside down. He’s not the least bit concerned about my father killing him.
“Your father’s scary, but he doesn’t intimidate me.”
“He should. He’s frightening in and out of the courtroom,” I warn. And if he had any idea I was here with Ryan now, there would be a nuclear explosion.
“There isn’t anything worse he can do to me.”
“If you think that, you don’t know my father very well.” The second he finds out about this, us, whatever’s going on here, all hell is going to break loose. And I’d really like to avoid that by any means possible, for both mine and Ryan’s sake.
“I can handle whatever he throws my way.” Ryan grips me tighter, and as much as I hate to admit it, I love the firm grasp he has on my body. On my soul. It feels . . . right. Ryan has always felt right. “The only thing I can’t handle is losing you again,” he professes. My insides turn rubbery.
I don’t want to admit it, not so soon, but I don’t think I could handle that either.
“Were you and Demi in a relationship?” I go on.
“No.” He shakes his head lightly. “It was a one-time thing. An experiment. We’re friends. There’s no sexual attraction between us.”
“An experiment?”
Ryan swallows uneasily. “There was a party in the VIP room at Culture,” he explains. “She and her friend propositioned me. I was curious. I didn’t say no.”
“You, Demi, and her friend.” I count each one of them out on my fingers.
Ryan nods, gauging my reaction.
Ahhhh. Ok-ay.
“Is that the only threesome you’ve had?” My eyes are unapologetically wide.
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?” Why I’m asking this, I’ll never know.
“Yes,” he answers cautiously.
“Is that a lifestyle you’re interested in?” I inquire apprehensively.
Ryan laughs at me. “No. I told you, it was an experiment.”
I breathe a little sigh of relief. I don’t think that’s a place I could ever go.
“Alana,” Ryan smooths over my name meaningfully. “The only lifestyle I’m interested in is a monogamous one with you.”
That statement makes my heart race faster than a thoroughbred. It’s nearly impossible resisting the one thing you’ve been chasing for so long. A second chance.
“How did you end up roommates?” I ask, ready for some lighter, less risqué conversation.
“I answered her ad on Craigslist. I didn’t even know. Small fucking world, huh?”
“Minuscule.” I snicker. “So, where is she now?” I sort of want to meet her. Curiosity is killing the cat.
“Paris, I think.” He cocks an eyebrow. “She’s an international stewardess and usually gone. I don’t think she’s due back until Saturday.”
“I see.” I step back from Ryan and start to meander around the apartment, inspecting the photos on the wall and the knickknacks placed here and there. I just can’t seem to stand still, the trapped animal pacing its cage. “What’s down there?”
Ryan looks at the hallway. “The bathroom and the bedrooms.”
I turn around and immediately walk in the opposite direction. So not ready for the bedroom.
“Alana, are you okay?” Ryan takes notice of how fidgety I suddenly am.
“Fine.” I sip my wine hastily as I saunter back over to the window.
He hawks my every move.
Once I’m standing next to him again he shuffles over so our bodies are so close they’re touching.
“I love the way that feels.” He daydreams out the window as the sunset reflects off the skyscrapers in front of us.
“The way what feels?”
“You, standing next to me. Like, really being next to me.” He breathes. “I missed that feeling.”
“I did, too,” I confess.
“What do you want, Alana?” Ryan asks directly, still peering at the cityscape.
“With what?”
“With me.” He turns to face me, his eyes wide, sharp, and full of determination.
What do I want?
“I want to take it slow and get to know you again,” I reveal the truth.
Ryan pulls a blonde lock of my hair slowly through his fingertips, as he absorbs my response. It is crazy that I can actually feel our connection through even a thin strand of my hair. It’s so potent. So powerful. Impossible to ignore it’s there.
Ryan finally breaks out into a smile, the sunset shining through the window is lighting up his big, blue eyes.
“Good.” He’s content. He leans and kisses me, sealing the deal, and my whole body ignites, catching fire faster than lighter fluid. It’s just a soft, sweet kiss at first, but it swiftly becomes abundantly clear that both of us want it to be more. Before I even realize it, our arms are snaked around each other, our bodies are pressed tightly together, and our mouths are open and hungry. Starving, actually.
Ryan walks me over to the couch, our connection never breaking. I think I may just suffocate from lack of oxygen if it did, because right now, he’s the air.
We fall back onto the white cushions, Ryan shifting himself on top of me. I love the weight of his body on top of mine. His hard chest, insistent mouth, and roaming hands pinning me down. It’s a rush.
Things start moving lightning fast, and soon shoes, socks, pants, and shirts are scattered all over the floor. So much for taking it slow. But I have missed this in my life. Ryan was the gaping hole, and slowly, one small shovel at a time, he’s refilling the void.
Ryan kisses his way down my neck, my jugular vein on fire, then over my half-naked chest and down my torso. My pulse pounds in my ears as he teases me right above my underwear line, licking, sucking and caressing the skin with his finely skilled tongue. When he goes to slide them off, I freeze.
“No, Ryan, stop.” I’m suddenly dangling off a cliff high above the Grand Canyon.
“What’s wrong?” He snaps his head up. “Too fast?”
“No. Shit, yes.” I push myself up and scoot out from underneath him as I’m bombarded with images of Ryan with multiple women—touching him, kissing him, fucking him. Ugh. I drown in doubt and insecurity.
I’ve only ever been with him, once, and then one guy from college that ended in total disaster. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing or what to expect, and my intimacy issues are flashing like a red fucking light in my face.
“Ryan, I—” I rub my temples. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, and the last time we did this you disappeared. I’m kind of fucked up in the trust department when it comes to sex and men.” So much fun sharing that little tidbit about myself.
“Fuck, Alana.” Ryan yanks me into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.” He’s resolute. “And we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready.”
That’s my dilemma, my body is ready and willing. It’s my head that needs to catch up. I feel incredibly stupid right now. Here, the love of my life has been throwing himself at me for the last few days, and I shut him down the first chance I get. He told me he loved me not three hours ago, so why can’t I let him in?
“Do you have to go home tonight?” Ryan asks as he smooths over my hair with his palm.
“No, why?” I peer up at him.
He shifts to stand, pulling me with him. Without explanation, he leads me out of the living room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
“What are you doing?” I tug at his hand, anxiously.
“Taking you to bed.” He opens a door to the right of us.
“Ryan—” I begin to protest.
“Just to sleep, Alana, I just want to sleep. I want to hold you in my arms and make sure you know I will be here tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that. You need me to rebuild your trust, and I’ll do it, one morning at a time.”
How many times have I imagined that? Waking up and Ryan actually being there.
I gather my courage and step inside, crossing over the threshold.
His room is decorated vastly different from the rest of the apartment. The walls are a dark, dove gray, his bedspread a navy blue. It’s neat as a pin in here. There are no piles of clothes on the floor or cluttered furniture crowding the room.
But what grabs my attention most is the huge picture of an artist’s pallet hanging over the bed. Its bright brush strokes and colorful paint mixtures enliven the entire space. I love it immediately, because it’s so Ryan.
Ryan crawls into bed, motioning for me to follow. He props himself up on his pillow, his arms open and waiting. I hesitate for a beat, drinking him in. Scanning over his long, lean frame, his defined chest, and chiseled abdomen. He’s so much more a man. Maybe the mystique hasn’t disappeared.
The tattoo around his left bicep intrigues me most. That’s brand new. At least to me.
“When did you get this?” I touch the ink as I crawl into his awaiting arms. He hugs me into his chest, his jaw resting on my head.
“A few months after I got out.”
I trace the frayed black feather hugging his muscles and press on the splat of ink.
“I like it. The quill.”
“Thanks. I wanted something go with the quote.” He lifts his arm and shows me the cursive writing on the underside. I read the inscription aloud:
Let me be as a feather. Strong with purpose, yet light at heart, able to bend. And tho I may become frayed, able to pull myself together again.
“That’s very profound.” I swipe my thumb along the lettering causing Ryan to shiver.
“I was a mess when I got out.” Ryan hugs me tightly. “I had no direction, no drive. Nothing.”
“How did you get through it?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I thought about you every goddamn day,” Ryan reveals. “The memory of us kept me going. The quote is a declaration of whom I have to be.”
It’s fitting. With all the obstacles in his life, he still presses on. He’s still strong, he’s still Ryan. He’s still the person I fell in love with five years ago. The person who taught me to embrace my feels, not fight them.
“I wish you’d called me.” I dig my face into his neck, inhaling his warm, fresh scent.
“Me, too,” he sighs, the regret as potent as poison in his voice.
I think of Ryan locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. Losing precious years he’ll neve
r get back, facing a future that’s all but ruined because of his criminal record.
Pity consumes me as I lie securely in his arms.
The lights of Manhattan twinkle in the darkness as Ryan’s breathing slows to a deep, soothing rhythm. He fell sound asleep. For some reason I find comfort in that. That he can still find comfort in me.
Staring out at the nightscape, I realize I have a hefty decision to make. If I want Ryan in my life, I’ll have to learn to trust him. I’ll have to let go of the last five years, and figure out a way to accept his profession.
Ish.
Ryan the stripper—Jack the Stripper. How in the hell am I going to deal with that?
It’s going to be easier to get over my insecurities, even though I’m not really sure who I am without them.
But I want Ryan.
I’ve always wanted Ryan.
It just drives me crazy that half of the women in New York City want him, too.
I rummage around Ryan’s kitchen looking for coffee. I finally find some Keurig cups on a top shelf. Black Magic, score.
I pop in a pod and listen as the coffee quickly brews. As I reach up into the cabinet for another cup I hear Ryan calling my name. He sounds a bit alarmed. His footsteps are heavy against the wood floor as he pads down the hallway.
“Jesus, Alana.” He drags his hands down his face when he finally finds me in the kitchen.
I peek at him over my shoulder. “Think I left?”
Ryan flies up behind me and wraps both his arms around my waist, tightly, securely, possessively, in only a pair of white boxer briefs.
“For a second, yea.” He plants a firm kiss on my exposed neck. My hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of my head.
“You look fucking hot as hell in my t-shirt.” He sucks on my skin and my nipples inconveniently harden.
“Thanks, I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed one.”
“You could live in it, for all I care.” Still holding me from behind, Ryan steals a sip of my coffee. “Blah, needs sugar, babe.”
“I don’t do sugar. In my coffee, anyway.” I flirt, secretly loving him calling me babe.
“Sleep okay?” It’s about the only thing I can muster to ask while his body is pressed flush against mine, a minimal amount of clothing separating us, allowing me to feel every inch of him. Like, every inch.