by Gina Kincade
I straighten and glance down at her as she’s flattening her hands against me.
She gives me a gorgeous, shy smile. “I—I was going to say I don’t know what I’m doing here. I just wanted to see you.”
I moan and lean down for another kiss. “I’m glad you did.”
“You are?” She’s kissing me between what we say to each other. It’s sweet and somehow erotic too. Maybe because I pushed her in my bedroom, it’s got me thinking about undressing her, about fulfilling my masturbation fantasies.
But it’s too soon. Too fast. I want to take my time with Asha. I want to savor every moment before she gets rid of me.
I nod and find an end to her scarf and start unwinding the thing. “I’m real glad.”
“Me too.” Her voice is feather soft and going straight to my cock. I kind of hate it when it used to be my favorite appendage. But it’s getting in the way. I want to get to know Asha. It wants to be inside her, and I seriously doubt she’ll let me push things that far. Although, she is in my bedroom.
God, what am I doing?
I finally have her scarf off her little neck and try to fold it carefully and place it on one of my bureaus. Looking down at her, I want to kiss her until she begs me to take off her clothes. I want her sweating and delirious from lust. I want her to arch her back and murmur how she wants me inside her.
Yeah, Bone Ranger is roaring in my head.
But for once, I’m not going to let him take the lead.
I like Asha. A lot. I respect the hell out of her.
I’m going to do things differently.
I pick her up, and her breath hitches. She giggles while she wraps an arm around my neck.
“What are we doing?” She’s breathless and, fuck, if her voice isn’t egging Bone Ranger, er, Steve, to not be the stand-up guy I know we can be.
After placing her on my bed, sitting up, I genuflect before her, because, fuck yeah, I admire her so much I’m reverent. She’s this beautiful little star in my bedroom, and I’m not going to fuck up by being a handsy octopus who dry humps her to succumb to whatever the hell Bone Ranger wants to do.
As I take off one of her athletic shoes, I say, “You’re going to sleep, Asha.”
“I am?” She sounds disappointed and so is Steve. He’s not such a good guy after all.
“Yeah.” I take off her other shoe and stand, guiding her under my covers after she’s taken off her giant hoodie.
I would call in sick if I thought I could fuck her. I would lose my job to be inside this gorgeous woman. I’d do whatever it took. But for once I’m going to be the good guy, the kind of man she deserves.
“My hair,” she says as she sits up a little and starts taking bobby pins out. Her voice gives her away. She’s bone tired. The kind of tired where if I had kissed her and pushed her into my bed with me on top of her, she’d want to go to sleep. She’s exhausted and rightfully so. She’s worked so hard. And she needs sleep.
I take each of the pins and place them on my nightstand, right beside the clock. It takes a couple minutes, but she has her hair free from its confines and is wild and black and looks like a beautiful storm I want to tangle my hands into, nuzzle my nose against to smell her. Her floral-honey scent is stronger with her hair loose and crazy all over my sheets and pillow as she settles back down under my covers.
“Your pillow smells like you,” she says dreamily and with a big smile as she places her glasses close to the bobby pins.
Something happens to my heart when she says that, as if she’s happy my pillow smells like me. My heart hurts but feels good. It’s kind of like when Neil was born, how happy I was and how I ached for that little guy.
“Your bed is huge. I suppose you need it this big. You’re a big dude.”
I silently chuckle. “A big dude?”
Her lids are blinking a lot. She’s fighting her exhaustion, but she does glance at me, a drunk smile in place. “Yeah. How tall are you?”
“Six-four.”
“I’m five-four. You’re exactly a foot taller than me. How much do you weigh?”
“Two-thirty-five.”
“You know I’m not ever going to tell you how much I weigh.” She laughs.
“You’re the perfect weight, I’m sure.”
Her lids had been closed but they flicker open, her smile softens even more. “I didn’t think you’d be so sweet.”
I wince. “I’m not sweet.”
“You are to me.” She snuggles under my covers.
“Nah.”
She giggles as her lids close again.
“I’m getting you some water.”
“Ryder?” Her eyes open and she reaches out for my hand, which is always there for her, holding her. “How long is your shift?”
“Twelve hours.”
“I might wake up before it’s over. I don’t sleep for very long. I’m, what they call, a troubled sleeper.” She rolls her eyes like she’s bothered by this term.
“Stay as long as you like, whether you’re awake or asleep.”
“You’d let me stay at your place? When you’re at work? What if I sneak around and snoop through your things?”
I shrug. “You’re welcome to. I don’t have much to snoop through, though.”
“You’re an open book?”
I’m falling for you, pretty little doctor, but I’ll never tell you that. I’ve never fallen before, and I’ll never tell you that, either. I’m scared when this is over, when you wise up and see me for who I am, the poor kid who used to be a thief, the man who doesn’t have a savings account, the man who isn’t good enough for you, I’ll be hurting. I’ll be hurting bad. But I’ll never let you see that or know it. Because no matter how hard I fall, no matter what happens between us, I want this. I want you. I want you to sleep in my bed. And I want you to sleep beside me, although that might never happen. But I want you, just a sliver of you, in my life right now, no matter how much I’ll be hurting later, because I know you make me feel good when I worried no one ever would. You make me a better man, a better person.
“Yeah,” I finally answer, my voice a growl. “An open book.”
She smiles yet again, her lids shuttering closed. “I’m sorry I’m so sleepy.”
“You need sleep, Asha. Don’t feel sorry about that.”
She sighs. “Don’t tell me what to do or feel.”
“Okay, feisty one.”
She smiles with her eyes closed. “Could you please leave the hall light on and the door open?”
“Sure. I’m getting you that water now.”
“Ryder?” She squeezes my hand, but this time her eyes stay closed. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your big bed.”
“Anytime.”
She snuggles in even more, removing her hand from mine. Like a creep, I watch her as she nestles into my bedding and sleep starts taking over. Fuck, if she isn’t the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Sure, some idiots out there would disagree with me. But she’s not just beautiful with her delicate features and her wide eyes and pouty pink lips, but more than that, she’s brilliant and kind. She’s the sweet one.
I manage to leave my bedroom, feeling like something tangible is yanking me back to her. Filling a glass with tap water, I wish I had bottled. I wish I was the kind of guy who buys bottled water and stores it in my fridge. But I’m not. I wish I had more to pamper her with.
While working tonight, I’ll think of ways to pamper her. I’ll think of—I suppose this is wooing like the old days. When a man gets creative to win the attention of a beautiful damsel. I’m not one for creativity, but my sister is. I can call her and I know she’ll scream with excitement at the prospect of helping me think of ways to woo Asha for as long as possible. Yeah, that’s a good plan. Thank god I have an amazing sister. I hope she moves here. I hate thinking of her living in one of the little towns in the San Bernardino Valley. I can’t even remember what the name of her town is called, since she moves so often, trying to find cheaper and cheaper rent. Yucaip
a? Something like that.
She’s writing for a blog, which doesn’t make very much money, and I wish life wasn’t so tough for her. Here, the cost of living is considerably less. And she can still do her blog stuff. I can find out what exactly she’s writing, since she’s always been a little mysterious about it. I can keep an eye on her and Neil, and they can meet Asha, and…
I’m getting ahead of myself.
Not good.
Especially when I know soon Asha will wake up and tell me to get lost. I need to remember that. Need to keep that in my mind as I torture myself for the next few days by trying to woo her. It might be a hopeless endeavor. But here’s the thing: life is fucking short. No, really it is. I know that’s an expression and everyone and their grandma says it, but take it from a guy who’s watched his buddies die a slow, painful death. I’ve watched my best friend, Adam, bleed out, while I did everything to stop it, but I couldn’t. I pushed his guts back into his abdominal cavity. I begged him not to go. I fucking begged and cried on the man. For twenty-two minutes, I plugged as many of his wounds as I could and I still couldn’t save him.
While in the Army, thank fuck, most of the men under my care survived, but fourteen didn’t, including Adam. Now, I’m a civilian nurse, and it’s easier to separate myself from the dying. But in the Army, I lived with those men, ate with them, joked with them, heard them while they masturbated, peed on the side of the roads with them. They were my family and I could not save them. So, yeah, life is a lot more out of control than we like to think it is as well as fucking short.
May as well live it while you can, even if it means you will fall down, even if it means you will fail, even if it means you will never be the same again. You fucking live it. Because there are men out there, like Adam, who can’t.
In my mind, I salute my buddy, thinking he’d be proud of me for having a pretty little doctor in my bed. And he might be proud of me for not tearing off her clothes. Well, I’d get her permission first, but then…I’d rush things, I’d push her, I’d want more and more until I’d had my fill and then I’d leave her behind.
But not with Asha.
When I walk back to my bedroom, that tangible string to be with her pulls harder and harder. The water almost slips from my grasp as I take her in. She’s sound asleep. Her hair is an untamable mane that I adore, but her face is so soft. She has one hand curled close to her forehead. She’s breathing evenly and relaxed. She’s so fucking gorgeous.
Placing the water on the nightstand, I watch her for a few minutes. She’s in my bed. Sleeping. Fuck, that’s awesome. I feel good just because she’s sleeping in my bed.
Catching the clock, I wince, knowing I have to go soon. I put on a shirt and scrubs and watch her a little more. She sniffs and moves her head slightly. Adorable.
I have to go, hoping my shift will go by in a blur, because when I come home tonight I will have something to look forward to for once. At least, I hope I do.
Asha
Something is vibrating against my leg. I snort awake, sitting up from the strange sensation on my thigh, when I realize I’ve been sleeping with my cell in my pocket.
Where the hell am I?
I glance around and remember I’m in Ryder’s bedroom. Squealing and smiling, I breathlessly replay everything that happened until I drifted into a coma-like sleep. Holy cow, I slept so hard. Ryder’s clock says it’s…a little after seven. AM. I’ve been asleep for more than twelve hours. I never sleep like this. I can catch six hours in a row sometimes, but usually I wake up with a start or a scream. And I worried I’d do something similar here, but I hadn’t. I’d just slept.
My leg is vibrating again, and I extract my very warm phone from my scrubs.
It’s a text. From Ryder!
Still at my place?
Like him, the text is concise. And perfect.
Biting my lip, I write back while I’m goofily smiling.
Still at your place. Just woke up. I haven’t slept this long in…ever.
I wait while my screen lets me know he’s writing back. He’s writing back! How exciting is that? I can’t believe I slept in Ryder’s bedroom and we’re texting now.
:) Be there in 5
Oh my god, Ryder texted a smiley face. I can’t believe he did that. It’s so cute. Something I wouldn’t expect from the big, rough guy. But I like that he did. Holy hell, how I like that he did. And shit, he said he’d be here in five minutes?
I scurry out of his bed and try to find a bathroom. He’s got a nice en suite one that’s really clean. Aren’t men usually dirty and gross? He’s not. I wonder if he has OCD. Great, I’m trying to find abnormal diagnoses for the poor man just because his bathroom is clean. Oh! Wait! He does have a smudge of shaving cream with dark whiskers under the faucet. He’s human after all.
After using the toilet, I wash myself as best I can, hoping I don’t smell horrible. In my purse, which I left in my car, I have lotion that could cover any kind of smell. But I don’t have time to race to my beat up VW and back without getting caught by him, and I want to meet him at his door. I want to clobber the guy because I’m in the best mood. I got the best night’s sleep I’ve had in more than seven years.
I glance at myself in the mirror. My hair’s a mess. I could do it up, but I opt to finger comb and pray he likes wild hair. My cheeks are pink, and I look better than I have in weeks. Amazing what a little sleep can do. Glancing around the sink’s countertop, I check out his shaving cream, a razor close to his toothbrush. Crap, I bet my breath is nasty. I find his toothpaste and force a dollop in my mouth, swishing it around until my palate feels cleaner, then spitting it out. Just as I peek at my reflection again, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle. I bet that’s Ryder.
Sprinting across his bedroom, down the hallway, and into the living room, I stand and wait for him. He’s on the second floor, which is also the top level, of a quiet apartment complex. I’ve lived in Laramie for close to a year now and think this part of town is where many elderly live. I’m not exactly sure, but I’d guess I’m right because it’s cricket quiet. For more than twelve hours it’s been as silent as a smooth jazz radio station.
I hop from one sock-covered foot to the other, waiting for him. I still can’t believe I slept in his bed. I also got to touch his naked chest before I feel asleep. He’s so freaking hard. The man must lift steel bridges for a workout because he’s as hard as steel. But he’s warm, and his skin is smooth.
My breasts feel full suddenly. Something flitters down through my stomach and lands on my clitoris. God, just the thought of him working out has me all…hot and bothered. Even that is exciting. I never thought I’d be this attracted to a man, where everything he does makes my sex slick and warm. As I’m still juggling from one foot to the other, I can feel my panties getting wetter and wetter.
Wow. My body’s reacting like a normal body. God, that’s—that’s—that’s so reaffirming. I can be normal.
I know I just had that talk with Megan, and she’d probably make her disappointed face that I don’t feel normal. But that’s life as a sexual assault survivor. One day, you’re living your life, thinking things are okay, thinking you’re okay and life is okay and this world is a great place full of promise and potential. Then the next, you’re someone else. You’re a person who people tell you what happened while you’d been unconscious. You feel sore and aren’t too sure why. And you don’t want your body any longer. You wish you could put it on a hanger and maybe see to it at another time. But you can’t. It’s your body and you have to live with it every goddamned day, and it’s there to remind you that something horrible happened to you. It makes sure you have panic attacks and that you can’t sleep the same any longer.
Okay, I don’t want to be thinking these things when Ryder walks through the door. Besides, I had amazing sleep. Alone. In Ryder’s bedroom, sure, but I was alone and slept like a normal person. How fucking awesome is that?
I hear the clomp, clomp, clomp of heavy footfalls climbing the st
airs outside of Ryder’s apartment. I think that’s him. I smile and try to tame an instant giggle. I’m so excited to see him again. Am I too excited? Should I tame my reaction down?
Ah, fuck it.
I’m going to do what I want to because I feel normal and that feels so good.
Dangling keys chime outside the door, and I hold my hands to my heart as I hear the key slide home. He unlocks the door and opens it. Then I pounce.
Well, shit. Ryder had a couple bags of groceries, which he has to let go of before I spring myself into his arms. But he’s there. He’s really here, holding me, chuckling.
“You’re home!”
He laughs. “I’m home.”
“Long shift?”
He doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t shake his head, either. Under his eyes, he carries a lot of fatigue there. He had a bad day.
I pull him into his apartment and pick up the bags of groceries, while he’s growling something about doing that himself. One of the bags has orange juice and bread, the other has a six-pack of lager beer that I actually like and a bottle of white and red wine. I’m guessing he doesn’t usually buy wine, and these are purchases for me. My heart bursts from the idea.
“Let’s have a beer and talk.” I continue to push him into his kitchen while I get a couple ales out.
“It’s not even eight. In the morning. A little early for beer?”
I nod. “We could have it with the orange juice. Breakfast of champions, I’m sure. Besides, we’re medical people. Our days and nights get screwed up. It feels like seven at night for me. In fact, I’m sure it is seven at night somewhere on this globe. So we’ll have a beer.”
He’s silently chuckling while I’m trying to be suave and unscrew the bottles. But they aren’t budging from my efforts. He takes one of the beers, places the edge of the cap against the counter and slams down, effectively removing the lid. He’s so cool. My brother knows how do to things like that, taking the lids off beer bottles, but I could never figure it out. Ryder does the same for the other bottle, handing me one, while he takes a long slug from the one he’s holding.