Nailed

by Jasinda Wilder

  I’m aroused and amused by how reflexive and expressive he is in his need, even asleep. I lift the blanket and slide down his body, ducking under the blankets and leaving them over my head. It’s stuffy under here, though, so I lift the covers near his feet to create a little ventilation hole. Why don’t I just toss back the blankets? Because I have this dumb idea that it’s sexier if he wakes up and I’m under the blankets, sucking him off.

  I go with it. The ventilation hole I made lets enough fresh air in that I’m not going to suffocate.

  I caress his erection with both hands, and he moans, shifting his hips. I hum in satisfied approval. He’s going to wake up and not even know what hit him.

  I run my tongue up the side of him, tasting him, feeling the ridges of vein and ripples of skin. I lick him again, and hear his breath catch, pause, and release as I slide the flat of my tongue up his erection again and again. His hips move, flex, and shift as I lick him, making sure to pay equal attention to the front, the side, the back, cupping his balls in one hand and stroking him with the other. He’s stirring now, starting to respond, but he’s still mostly asleep.

  Time to wake him up…

  Ryder flops onto his back with a gusting sigh and a disbelieving laugh. “How the hell does it get better every single time?”

  I roll to my side, breathing hard, beaded with sweat, shaky with exhausted, sated bliss. “I don’t know, but it does.”

  He tangles the fingers of his left hand into my right. “So it’s not just me?”

  I shake my head. “Not at all. The first time was mind-blowing. The second time was even more mind-blowing.”

  “And rounds three through…which number was this? Six? Seven?”

  “Seven, I think. And it was honestly life changing.” I laugh. “I don’t think I’ve had this much sex all at once since…well, ever.”

  “Me either.” He chuckles. “I’m forty-three—I didn’t think I COULD have this much sex all at once.”

  It’s Sunday, just past noon. The preceding, um…a lot of hours—since Friday night—have been spent in this hotel room. We ordered room service when we were hungry, slept when we felt like sleeping, and pretty much every single intervening moment was spent either having sex or talking. I’ve had sex in positions I’d either not known were possible, or had forgotten about. I’ve had so many orgasms I lost count—usually two or three per round, which means at least…god, I’m really bad at math. Fourteen? Twenty-one? Somewhere in there. More orgasms than I thought was capable of surviving. Missionary position, me on top, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, standing up, in the shower, on the floor, on the couch, lying down facing each other, spooning…and other positions I don’t know the names for.

  Ryder brushes a lock of my hair away. “Would you think less of me if I said I didn’t think I could go again if I tried?

  “God, no! I’m so sore right now, I think I’ll need at least a week to recover.” I cover myself with one hand. “I’m going to be walking funny for a few days, I think.”

  He blows out a sigh. “Thank god we’re on the same page. My poor balls need a break.”

  I cup the body part in question. “Awww. The poor babies. They’ve done a lot of work the last thirty-six hours, or whatever it’s been.”

  Ryder hauls me up against his chest and cradles my head in the nook of his arm. “I need a quick nap, and then we can actually shower, and actually put on clothes, and actually have lunch before you have to go pick up your kid.”

  I nuzzle closer, wrapping an arm over his waist. “Sounds good to me. I don’t think we slept more than four or five hours last night.”

  I feel myself slipping under into sleep almost immediately. As I do, I murmur the truth that’s been bubbling inside me since Friday night. “Ryder? If I wasn’t already falling for you, I am now for sure.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I figure he’s asleep already. But then, as I drift and twist and flutter deeper into sleep, I hear him rumble in a drowsy, sleepy voice.

  “I started to fall for you the first time I laid eyes on you, Laurel. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

  The only response I’m capable of is a tightening of my fingers into his waist, letting him know I heard him. And then, happy and sated and exhausted, I tumble the rest of the way into sleep.

  I wake abruptly and sit bolt upright. “SHIT! What time is it?”

  Panic slams through me as I twist to look at the clock on the table beside the hotel bed: 3:36.

  “Whass’mater?” Ryder mumbles.

  “It’s three thirty and I have to pick Nate up at four.” I scramble out of bed. “I have to go. Like now.”

  Ryder sits up, blinking blearily. “Hey, relax. It’s gonna be okay. You’ll be fine.”

  I can’t go pick him up stinking and sticky, so I have to at least rinse off. I twist the shower on and jump in while it’s still cold, gasping as I scrub the essentials with a bar of soap, and then hop out and dry off, twisting my hair into a messy bun while ripping my clean clothes out of my bag.

  I glance at Ryder, who has taken my place in the shower. “No, you don’t understand,” I tell him. “I’ve never been late picking him up—Paul is almost always late, and it’s been a constant problem for us in our co-parenting. If I’m late, I’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be basically giving him free rein to be late as much as he wants.”

  Ryder spends no more time in the shower than I do, cleaning off, rinsing, and jumping out, and he’s finished getting dressed before I am. “Well, that’s bullshit,” he says.

  I laugh bitterly. “Yeah, but that’s Paul.”

  He frowns at me. “Laurel, I’m taking you to get Nate. It’ll save time.”

  I shove my feet into the flats. “Um…thanks, but no. Just drop me off at home.”

  “You’ll be even later, in that case.” He shrugs. “I really don’t mind, and I’ve got nothing else going on today. Plus, it means more time with you.”

  I hesitate over my answer, stuffing my dirty clothes and heels into my bag. “Ryder, I appreciate the offer, but…”

  He sighs. “You’re not ready for me to meet Nate.”

  “It’s not that, honestly, it’s not.” I shoulder my bag and take his hand. “It’s more about Paul. I’m not quite ready to answer his questions about who I’m dating. He was acting weird when I dropped Nate off, and if I’m with you when I pick him up, I’m worried it’ll escalate.”

  “Weird how?”

  I glance at the clock: 3:46. “Shit!” I pinch the bridge of my nose. I hang my head, groaning. “I feel so irresponsible. Even if I left right now, I’d be super late.”

  “Call him,” Ryder says. “Explain that you’re running late—not his business why—and that you’ll be there at four thirty.”

  “That’s still pushing the schedule, though. Nate has basketball practice at five, and I still have to get him home to change into his practice clothes and then get him to the school.”

  Ryder brushes his thumb over my lips, cupping my jaw. “Let me help, Laurel. Please?”

  I bite my lip and unexpected tears begin to form. “It’s too soon. For him, for me, for Paul. It’s too soon.”

  He wraps me up in his arms. “Laurel, listen.” He pulls back and meets my eyes. “You’re a single mother. I knew that going in. I accept that as part of you. I understand that it’s complicated, and that you have to put Nate first. I get all that. I’m okay with it.”

  “I heard what you said just before we fell asleep earlier,” I tell him.

  He nods. “What this is, where it’s going to go, what it’ll look like, I don’t know.” He squeezes my hand. “But I’m willing to explore it with you.”

  “Me too.” I sniff. “I just…I’m scared. For Nate.” I sigh. “And myself.”

  “Hey, I get that too. I can’t say I’m not a little nervous or scared of this whole thing myself. It’s all happening super fast and I wasn’t expecting any of it. But we can just…take it one step at a time, okay?
” He grabs my phone out of my purse. “Step one, right here and right now, is to call Paul. Then we’ll go get your kid and take him to basketball. I won’t even get out of the car, okay?”

  I sigh. “This isn’t how I planned for you to meet him, much less Paul.”

  “How did you have it planned?”

  “You and I would take Nate out for a fun afternoon—a movie, or laser tag.” I eye him. “Although Nate was asking for paintball. Either way, it wouldn’t involve my ex, or being late picking up my son.”

  Ryder just shrugs. “Yeah, well, in my experience, life rarely goes as planned.”

  “No kidding.” I dial Paul, and it rings half a dozen times before he picks up, seconds before voicemail kicks in.

  “Laurel, hi.” Paul’s voice is distant, as if I’m on speakerphone. “I hope you’re not calling to tell me you’re early, because we’re just leaving the mall.”

  “Actually, no,” I say. “I’m calling because I’m actually running a little late myself.”

  A brief silence. “You are? Why?”

  I suppress a sigh of irritation. “How often have I questioned you about why you’re running late?” He just mutters something unintelligible, his usual response when I’m right and he hates it. “Exactly.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t get to give me shit for being late if you’re going to be late.”

  I can’t restrain the sigh, this time. “Paul, you’re late more often than you’re on time. This is the first time since we started co-parenting that I’ve ever been late. So yeah, unfortunately for you, I do still get to give you shit for being late.”

  “Nate is having a panic attack about being late for basketball practice.”

  “He’ll be on time.” I gesture at the door, and Ryder and I head for the elevator as I try to wrap this stupid conversation up. “We’ll be there at four thirty.”

  Shit.

  “We?”

  “Paul—”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you at four thirty.”

  “Laurel, who’s we?” I hear the tinge of suspicion in his voice, the edge of anger—Paul working himself into a jealous rage.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Laurel, you don’t get to just—”

  I cut in. “You lost the right to tell me what I can or can’t do a very long time ago.”

  “Laurel—”

  “I’m hanging up now, Paul. I’ll see you at four thirty.”

  I end the call, toss the phone into my purse, and ignore it as it begins ringing. I manage to hold it together as Ryder checks us out, and then the valet brings Ryder’s car around, and I slide in. Ryder tosses both of our bags into the trunk, and then we’re roaring off, away from the hotel. Within minutes, we’re outside of downtown Chicago and flying down the freeway toward the suburbs.

  “Shit.” I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat is too thick and hot to swallow.

  Ryder takes my hand. “Hey, just breathe, okay?”

  I shake my head. “You don’t know Paul.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  I shrug. “Who knows? When I started dating Derek, Paul lost his damn mind. Got jealous, tried to tell me I wasn’t allowed to date anyone, wasn’t allowed to bring other guys around Nate without his permission, all sorts of crazy bullshit. Really, it only ended when Derek and I broke up—the entire time we were dating, Paul was a mess.” I sigh and rub my face. “And now it’s going to start all over again.”

  “He’s still possessive of you? And you’ve been divorced how long?”

  “Rationality has never been Paul’s strong suit.”

  Ryder squeezes my hand. “It’ll be okay.”

  I laugh weakly. “Well, at least one of us thinks so.”

  Chapter 8

  We pull to a stop along the curb in front of Paul’s house. I exit the car and head for the front door, but before I’m halfway there, Nate bursts out the door at a run.

  “Mom!” He slams into me. “You’re finally here! Come on! We gotta go!” He glances past me. “Wait—where’s your car?”

  I hesitate. “Um. I’ll explain later. For now, we’re riding in this, okay?”

  Nate peers across the lawn. “Is that the guy you went on a date with?”

  “Can we talk about this in the car?”

  “Are you sure that’s a safe vehicle for our son to be in?” I hear Paul from behind me. “Some of those old cars don’t even have seatbelts.”

  I work at remaining calm. “I need your booster.”

  Paul eyes the shiny orange classic BMW. “We talked about this. You have to tell me when you’re dating someone new.”

  I groan. “You talked about this—I don’t have to do anything. We are divorced, Paul. I can do what I want with my life, see who I want, when I want, and I don’t owe you anything.” Nate is watching very carefully, listening to every word. “We have to go. May I please borrow your booster seat?”

  “I should meet him, at least.”

  I grind my teeth together. “Sure. When we’re not running late.”

  “Yeah, well…whose fault is that?”

  “Mine. I admit it. Now quit being difficult, please. Just get me your booster so I can get Nate to practice on time.”

  Paul eyes me. “I never liked the last guy you dated. He was sleazy.”

  “If I want your opinion on who I date, I’ll ask.”

  “Mom, Dad, can you quit arguing, please?” Nate glares at Paul. “I have to be on time for practice, Dad. Can you please just get my booster seat?”

  Paul grumbles under his breath, but he heads for his garage and returns with Nate’s booster. He hands it to me, and his eyes as he does so are troubled—and troubling. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he mutters.

  I move toward Ryder’s car, pulling open the rear passenger door and lever the booster seat into position. Nate climbs in and buckles up. I can tell he’s tense and unhappy.

  Straightening, I move to slide into the front seat, but Paul’s hand on my arm stops me.

  “Laurel.”

  I pull away from him. “What, Paul?”

  “We need to talk.”

  I shake my head. “No, we don’t. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He grinds his jaw, frowning. “It doesn’t have to be now.” He glances into the car, at Ryder. “Next time you bring Nate over.”

  I sigh. “We’ll see.”

  He growls angrily. “Laurel, come on. I’m asking for a few minutes of your time.”

  “We have to go. Nate is going to be late.” I sink into the deep bucket seat and buckle up. “Next time I drop Nate off, we can talk, okay?”

  He backs away. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

  I close my door, and Ryder glances at me, then at Nate.

  “Everyone buckled?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I bite out. “Let’s go, please.”

  Ryder just nods, once. “You got it.”

  He doesn’t say a word after that, and the next few minutes are tensely silent.

  Nate is the one to break it. “This is a cool car.”

  Pulling to a stop at a red light, Ryder twists to face Nate. “Thanks, man.” He extends a hand. “I’m Ryder.”

  Nate takes Ryder’s hand and shakes it—I can tell by the focused grimace on Nate’s face that he’s squeezing as hard as he can. “I’m Nate.”

  Ryder laughs, playfully shaking his hand when Nate lets go. “Quite a grip you got there, dude.”

  Nate shrugs. “My dad told me to always use a good strong grip.”

  Ryder laughs again. “I don’t know man, it kinda felt like you were trying to break my hand.” He shakes it out again. “Seriously. That’s my shifting hand.”

  “What kind of car is this?” Nate asks—he’s nonplussed by Ryder’s attempts to charm him, it seems.

  “It’s a BMW.”

  “Did you build it yourself?”

  Ryder nods. �
�Yeah. Well, I didn’t build it, per se, I restored it.”

  “Did it take you a long time?”

  “About a year.”

  Nate is eying Ryder closely. “So, what do you do?”

  “For work?” Ryder glances at him in the rearview mirror. “I’m an electrician. What about you?”

  Nate frowns. “I’m nine—I go to school.”

  Ryder grins. “I know. I was messing with you. I don’t like asking people what they do, because I’ve always felt like a person is a lot more than what they do for work. I mean, you’re more than just a kid who goes to school, right?”

  Nate nods. “Right.”

  “Well, I’m more than just a guy who does electrical work.”

  “I guess I get that. So, what else are you, then?”

  “I restore classic cars. I help my friends build houses.” He hums in thought. “But all that is still just things I do. I guess I would say I’m a person who likes to build things with my hands.” He eyes Nate in the rearview mirror again. “What about you?”

  “Dude, I’m nine. How am I supposed to know?”

  Ryder laughs. “Good answer! You don’t have to know. What kinds of things do you like doing?”

  I’m watching the exchange with intense interest; Nate rarely gets this involved in conversations with adults, and wouldn’t even give Derek the time of day. Which, I realize now, was a reaction to how Derek treated him—I feel guilty about that, and hope desperately that I’m not making a similar mistake with Ryder. But then, Ryder is a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree difference from Derek, in every way. Where Derek worked hard to be cool and smooth, Ryder is goofy, effortlessly cool, and rarely smooth. Ryder is who he is, take it or leave it, and he makes no apologies for the rough edges and quirks in his personality.

  “I dunno. I like sports. I like video games—not as much as my friend Brian, though. He’s, like, literally addicted to Fortnite, and I think it’s stupid. He called me a loser and now I’m not sure we’re friends anymore.”