They’d been teasing, but he wasn’t anymore. He held her eyes, looking into her intently as he grasped her wrist and brought her hand to his cock. “This is what you do to me.”
She stroked him over his jeans with exquisite slowness. “I need you,” she murmured.
“I’m here.”
And I don’t want to go anywhere.
He slid off of her, reaching for her hand to help her up. She picked up her unfinished glass of wine on the coffee table and knocked back the last sip. She’d kept asking to make sure it didn’t bother him if she had a drink, but he loved it—that she trusted him, that she was so completely herself around him. Not even halfway through a single glass and her eyes had gone soft.
Or maybe that wasn’t the wine. Maybe that was just the way she looked when she looked at him. Because as she dragged him by the belt loop around the living room, there was nothing so naked, so filled with desire, as her pale-blue eyes when she flicked off the last light and led him upstairs.
Maya was fast asleep in her room, dark hair splayed out across the pillow, a threadbare stuffed dinosaur suffocating in the crook of her arm.
In the second before she closed the door, he could see Claire hesitate. She was going to ask him to leave. Tell him she’d changed her mind, it was late, this wasn’t a good idea. What did they think they were doing, anyway? He didn’t live here, he sure as hell wasn’t cut out to be a parent, and he should stop pretending he was the kind of person who could have anything this good in his life.
But he couldn’t bear the thought of turning away—not after they’d come so far. What if he could really have this? All of it—Claire, a family, a home. He felt so close to her. He had to be in her bed. Now.
He pulled Claire back to him, away from the door, and kissed her again. Sweet and slow. Deep and dirty. He could feel her melting into him, her constant vigilance receding. Her body, dissolving from the kiss, was his.
They stumbled down the hall, and Claire guided him to the bedroom. Silently they slipped inside and closed the door.
There was a time for foreplay, but this wasn’t it. The whole day, the whole night, had been one long tease, waiting for this moment when they could finally release.
He walked her back toward the bed, pushed her down, and yanked off her jeans. Her shirt followed, and then his shirt, jeans, boxers—he couldn’t wait another second longer to feel her skin against his.
She unhooked her bra and pulled it from her shoulders. His hands went to her breasts, and his mouth covered the hard points of her nipples. He grazed her with his teeth and flicked his tongue, hard then soft then hard again.
Her hips bucked up against him. Fuck. He knew what she wanted. And he knew just how to give it to her.
“I need you inside me,” she panted, arching her head back as he sucked harder.
He shifted on top of her so he could slide the head of his cock over her belly, painting her soft skin. She squirmed, pressing her hips up, trying to get closer. He loved seeing her like this, wanting him. He loved making her squirm.
“You want me to fuck you?” he whispered, bringing his cock along her inner thighs and then pulling away right before it grazed her swollen clit.
“There are condoms in the nightstand.”
“Don’t worry, I brought my own.” He pulled one from his jeans on the floor and ripped it open. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been planning this. He’d been needing her all day.
She spread her legs and beckoned him closer. But she’d told him what she wanted, and he intended to give it to her. He turned her roughly so she was lying on her stomach. Then he slid a knee between hers and nudged her legs apart. She was face down, open for him. His stomach covered her back, pressing into her, as his lips went to her ear.
“Like this?” he asked, just to hear her say yes.
She whimpered as quietly as she could. But when he pushed his cock inside her, she reached for a pillow and gripped it so tightly, he knew she was doing everything in her power not to cry out.
Good.
He never said he was going to make it easy for her to control herself tonight.
He slid deeper, in and out, until there was nothing in his world but the soft silk of her body, the heat of her enveloping him.
“Harder,” she panted and bucked her ass back to meet his thrusts. And then please, right there, more, as she tried to stay quiet but couldn’t keep it all in.
His hands covered her hips, bracing himself as he pumped harder into her, his breath coming fast as sensation took over.
“Anything you want,” he said.
“Just don’t stop.”
As if he could even dream of pulling out now. He dropped his head so he was close to her ear. “Here’s what’s going to happen, baby. I’m going to fuck you, and then I’m going to lick you until you come all over on my face. And then when you’re ready, I’m going to fuck you just as hard again.”
He felt her tightening around him, so fucking good, and he couldn’t hold on. He heard her gasps of pleasure, the slap of skin hitting skin, and found himself gripping her so hard he wondered if his hands were going to leave marks.
He fucking hoped they would. Marks that said she was taken. Marks that said she was his.
And there was no way she wanted him to be gentler—not with the way she was working her hips, making sure he hit that sweet spot again and again.
“I’m going to come,” he groaned, unable to stop, and she began whimpering, begging him to do it, to finish inside her, to give it to her as hard as she needed.
But he wasn’t going to do this on his own. He grabbed a pillow and pulled her hips up, then pressed her down so she was lying on it across her midsection. Propping her up gave him even better leverage. And it gave her something to grind her clit against so that it was only seconds before he felt her release, those hot waves pulsing through her, pulsing along the length of his shaft, full and hot inside her.
She bit her forearm as the orgasm tore through her, and it was that image of her arched back, her tousled hair, her eyes pinched shut with a silent cry that made him erupt, spilling inside her as she throbbed, drawing out every last wave.
It felt like a long time before he collapsed on top of her, pulling out slowly, not wanting to lose the warmth of her body, the feel of her chest rising and falling so rapidly beneath him.
Finally he got up to throw out the condom and then came back to her, taking her into his arms.
“Good?” he asked.
She made a low, throaty, utterly satisfied sound.
“Because I meant what I said.” He traced a finger down her spine, then rested his hand on the curve of her ass. “That was just round one.”
She turned her head so she was facing him. Her eyes were glassy, blissed out, her smile sloppy and sweet. “You’re going to exhaust me.”
“Then you can sleep, and I’ll wake you up.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. Then slowly he circled the tip of his tongue over the tip of her finger. “Like this,” he said. “Here.” He brought her hand between her thighs, pressing both of their fingers to her clit.
“Does that mean you want to spend the night with me?” she said.
He didn’t have to think about the answer to that. “It does.”
He saw her glance toward the closed door.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Me?” She looked back at him in surprise.
“Yes, you. Not what you’re worried about. Just—right now. What do you want?”
She didn’t answer. But when he made space for her in his arms, she hesitated only a second before nestling against him.
“You in my bed,” she finally said, relaxing against him as he stroked her hair.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m here.”
And I’m not leaving in the morning.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Ryan slept over,” Claire explained when she woke Maya up the next morning and brought her downstairs.
Shit.
She knew she shouldn’t have let this happen. Even after he’d woken her up just as he’d promised, tonguing her to another orgasm before fucking her fast and hard again, she still could have had him steal away before Maya was up.
But they weren’t teenagers, sneaking around. And she hadn’t been willing to give up any of the precious seconds she got to keep him in her bed.
Now she was paying for her selfishness. Maya was going to start asking questions, and it was only going to lead to more confusion. Why did she think she could get away with this? Why did she think she could—
“Then where are the pancakes?” Maya asked, wrinkling up her face.
“What’s that?” Ryan, in the kitchen making coffee, popped his head around the corner.
“Pancakes,” Maya repeated. “When I have a sleepover, Mom always makes pancakes.”
Ryan’s eyes caught hers, and Claire let out the breath she’d been holding. Pancakes. Right. That was what was wrong with this picture.
“Sweetie, I don’t really have time to cook right now.”
“How about you get ready for work, and I make the pancakes?” Ryan said, giving Claire a wink. “You like ’em fluffy?” he asked Maya. “Blueberries? Banana? Warm maple syrup?”
“That’s just how Mom makes them!” Maya cried.
“I bet she learned from the best pancake maker in the world,” Ryan said, and Claire was glad he wasn’t looking at her because her face was burning. He’d rarely cooked when they were together, but he’d always made great pancakes.
They used to be for mornings after equally great sex.
Then mornings after hangovers.
Then he’d stopped making them altogether, but Claire remembered the recipe. It was how she made them for Maya.
It wasn’t conscious, exactly. Just another way he’d seeped into her life without her even realizing he was still there.
“Maya knows where the ingredients are,” Claire said, trying to focus on the task at hand. She had to get ready for work and get everyone out the door—not fall down memory lane. “But watch her around the stove. I’ll be back in a second.”
Shower, get dressed, don’t let your heart melt into an ooey gooey puddle on the floor… She couldn’t watch Ryan making pancakes with Maya. She’d probably die on the spot.
When she came back—ready for work, with Maya’s little backpack packed and clothes laid out for her to dress in once she’d been fully de-syruped—the pancakes were sizzling, and Ryan was doing his best to clean up the kitchen and the five-year-old, with limited success at both.
He made an elaborate show of flipping the pancakes onto the plate, and Claire wanted to tell him to tone it down. Things were going to be way too boring around here for Maya once he was gone. She’d start wanting Claire to do the same thing, and the pancakes would wind up on the floor.
And Claire? Claire would get too used to having someone around. Not just someone who made her whole body tremble, but someone who made breakfast and helped get Maya ready for school and gave Claire an extra moment to just…breathe.
She cleared off the table and started setting out plates, moving the piles of toys, mail, and other crap that always managed to accumulate no matter how hard she tried to stay on top of it.
Ryan took the stack of mail from her, then paused.
“What’s this?” he asked. On top of the pile was a brochure she’d set aside, American Massage Therapy Association written in bold white letters across a glossy backdrop of the Space Needle and Mt. Rainier.
“Shoot,” she said, stepping around him to grab Maya’s favorite cup for orange juice. “I forgot to cancel.”
“Cancel what?”
“It’s nothing.”
Add it to the list of things she had to do as soon as she got to the office today. Hopefully it wasn’t too late to get a partial refund, although she doubted it.
He flipped the brochure over, scanning the back. “Doesn’t look like nothing. You’re going to a massage therapy conference?”
She sighed. “I was.”
He put the brochure down. “What happened?”
Claire ushered Maya to the table. “I registered, but Maya’s regular babysitter canceled on me last week—she’s got some school trip. And my parents, who’d normally be able to take her last minute, already booked a trip to Santa Barbara with some golf buddies of theirs. I feel bad leaving Maya with friends for that long, and I can’t bring her. I thought about going down for just the day, but the whole point is that I need to take these classes they offer to complete my recertification and I—”
She remembered herself too late. She really shouldn’t be getting into all this. It wasn’t Ryan’s problem. He may have spent the night, but there were still plenty of things she needed to figure out on her own.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said firmly. “There will be other years. I just have to find another way to schedule the classes. Ready, bug?” She started stacking pancakes on Maya’s plate, desperate for the change in conversation. “These look amazing. What do we say to Ryan?”
“Thank you, Ryan!” Maya said.
“Thank you, Ryan,” Claire echoed.
His breakfast was just as good as she remembered. Which really sucked, because Maya knew it, too, and didn’t hesitate to tell Claire so. It made Ryan laugh, but of course he found it funny. He wasn’t going to be one listening to Maya beg for his fluffy blueberry-banana pancakes when he was gone.
Then it’s a good thing I’m here. His words from last night echoed in her mind—the last thing he’d said before she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Suddenly, she felt as if she’d stepped outside herself and was watching this whole scene from the outside. It looked like a family eating breakfast, being perfectly, achingly normal. For the strangest second, it almost felt that way, too.
Then she realized Maya was touching Ryan’s tattoo in curiosity as he poured more syrup onto her plate, and she couldn’t pretend that she and Ryan had just landed here with no history, no absence, no shared pain between them. She just had to look at him—his hair falling in his eyes, his shirt pulled taut across his shoulders, that ink on his muscular forearm—to know that he had a whole life far away from here, in a world she didn’t know.
“What’s that?” Maya asked, tracing the ink on his arm.
“Those are my tattoos,” he said.
“I know, but what are they?”
“They’re two rings. See how they go around my arm?”
Maya watched as he turned his forearm to show her.
“Why’d you get them?”
Ryan glanced at Claire. She had no idea why he was looking at her. It wasn’t like she had the answer.
“I wanted to remind myself of something important,” he finally said.
“Did it work?” Maya asked.
Ryan laughed. “You know what? I think it did.”
And then he looked at her again, and Claire knew, without fully understanding it, that somehow those bands had to do with her. Even if she couldn’t say how.
She downed the rest of her coffee. She had to get going. There wasn’t time to sit around asking questions, wondering who this man was who’d suddenly come into her life. Even if a morning like this one made her want to linger all day in his arms.
“Come on, bug,” she said, ushering Maya upstairs to change. When they came back down, Ryan had finished packing her lunch box as her carpool beeped. Dammit. Couldn’t he fuck up just a little bit, to make it easier on her when he left?
But as soon as they were alone, he came up behind her and put his arms around her. “I have an idea.”
“Can you tell me tonight?” she asked, hastily stacking dishes in the sink to deal with later.
“Of course. But leave the dishes. Let me clean up here while you go to work. I’m the one who made the mess, anyway.”
She laughed
as he dragged her away from the sink. “Can you be here every morning?” she joked, then immediately wished she could take it back. She shouldn’t have said that. It was so not funny.
Especially not when he was looking at her that way.
“Actually,” he said, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
She took a step back so she wasn’t quite so entangled in his arms. Not that it really cleared her head. But she could pretend.
“I was thinking,” he said.
“About?”
“You should go to your conference in Seattle.”
“I can’t, Ryan.”
“No, listen. You go, and I’ll stay here and watch the bug. I promise we won’t play dinosaurs and eat ice cream until two a.m. Midnight, maybe, but no later than that.” He held up his palm.
Jesus. Was he serious? She tried to walk around him to the living room, scrambling to get her things, but he followed.
“That’s really sweet of you to offer—”
“But?”
“But you don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I don’t have to. But what if I want to?”
“I’m late for work. I’ve got an early client.”
Her purse. Where had she put her purse?
“All the more reason to let me help out,” he said.
“I don’t know. Let me think about it.”
She only said it so he’d let her out the door. But he sounded like he thought she actually meant it.
“Don’t think about it, just complete your registration and tell the conference organizers you’re going.”
Claire reached for her keys. “I can’t just leave Maya with you overnight.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because!” She threw up her hands.
“She likes me, we get along great, she’d love it, and I’m her father. So no, Claire, it’s not like you’d be leaving her with a stranger.”
The F-word. Claire stopped in her tracks. They hadn’t spoken about it in so long. It was as though they knew…but didn’t. Like they couldn’t avoid that Ryan wasn’t just any other flame, even though everything in Claire had tried to make this situation…if not normal, then as close to normal as it could be.
Make Me Yours (Men of Gold Mountain) Page 13