by Meghan March
“I’m good with having a drink. Give me five minutes?”
Ryker’s thumb smooths over my cheekbone before he drops his hand from my face. “Whatever you need.”
He leaves the room, but not without a backward glance that sears me to the core.
I’m so screwed.
Ten minutes later we’re heading downstairs and I’m following Ryker through the halls of the house. It looked big from the outside, but the inside seems even larger. We find Justice Grant in a room that nearly stops my heart. It’s wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling books.
Library envy. It’s a thing. And I have it. Acutely.
“Wow. This is amazing. Did you collect all of these books?” I can’t hold back the question.
Justice Grant pauses after pouring brown liquor into an ornate glass to match the other two on the small side table. His eyes find mine and he smiles.
“I’ve been a collector of books for many years. Some are gifts from family and friends, some purchased, and some were left when we bought the house years ago. Now I’m running out of shelf space and having to thin down my collection in order to add the ones I want.”
“It’s a beautiful room.” My eyes scan the shelves before landing on the cozy window seat I’d like to curl up in for hours to read.
Ryker steps forward and grabs two glasses off the table and hands one to me. “Let’s see how you like cognac.”
I’m not offended that he assumes I’ve never had it, because it’s the truth. I stare down at the contents of the glass and wonder how I’m supposed to go about drinking this stuff. Do I take it like a shot or sip? I watch both Ryker and his father, and they swirl the liquid before sipping. I mimic their motions, but almost slosh the liquor over the side.
I check both their faces to make sure they didn’t catch my almost faux pas, but neither did.
Putting my lips to my glass of half-swirled cognac, I fear I’m going to hate it or want to spit it out and embarrass the hell out of myself. But surprisingly, it hits my tongue and tastes a little like candy in a glass. It goes down easy, and I don’t have an urge to choke or spit. Winning.
As we sample our cognac in silence, I wait for someone to start a conversation. Justice Grant takes the lead.
“I spoke to your mother just before you got here, and she misses you very much.”
“Thanks for the update,” Ryker says, continuing to sip his drink.
I know Mrs. Grant is a big-time partner at a law firm in town called Grant Bentham Beckett. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that she’s one of the founding partners.
“She’s a litigator, right?” I ask.
Justice Grant nods. “Yes, she handles very complex civil litigation, and her cases generally take years of work to settle or take to trial.”
“Wow. That sounds . . . intense.”
“Let’s just say Mom wasn’t around much while I was growing up.”
“She was around as much as she could manage,” Justice Grant adds. “Being a founding partner is no easy job, and we’ve always been very proud of her accomplishments.”
Ryker releases a harsh laugh. “I guess that’s one way to describe it.”
It seems there’s no love lost between mother and son . . . which seems strange, and none of my business. I try to change the subject.
“So, an entire family of lawyers. Are there more in the family tree, or is it just this branch?”
“My father and grandfather were also judges. My wife’s grandfather was a lawyer as well.”
“Wow. Family tradition then, it seems.”
“What about your parents, Justine?” The question comes from Ryker, not from Justice Grant. He already knows some of the details, including how they destroyed my credit by using my social security number before I even turned eighteen.
Looking down at the remaining liquor in my glass, I swirl it before sipping. When I look up, Ryker is watching me and waiting for an answer.
“We’re not close. I haven’t seen either of them since I was fifteen and my grandfather was awarded custody.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Sympathy is obvious on Ryker’s face, but I don’t want his pity.
“It’s no big deal. I just don’t talk about them because there’s nothing to say.”
I brace myself for more questions I don’t want to answer, but Ryker’s phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the display with a frown.
“I need to take this. I’ll be back.” He strides out of the room before he answers.
What the hell?
“Would you like some more cognac?” Justice Grant asks as he reaches for the bottle.
“Please.” I hold out my glass for him to pour me another measure.
“So, do you care to tell me what’s going on with you and my son, because it appears there’s more happening than just studying?”
His forthright question is one I’ve been expecting, but still have no answer for.
“Umm. I— You know—” I stammer out words while I scramble to think of some explanation that would make sense. Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on between us.
“Justine, it’s not a problem. I didn’t put any rules around our deal beyond those we discussed. If there’s more happening, I’m not going to say I’m unhappy about it. Quite the opposite. You’re a smart girl, and my son could do much worse.” He looks down at his drink. “In fact, he has done much worse. So bringing a girl like you home, one who I know is hardworking and dedicated to making her mark on the world, is far from a problem.”
“It’s going better than I anticipated. He’s smart, but you already knew that. I guess . . . I honestly didn’t expect to like him, and it’s kind of throwing me off. But there’s no need to worry. We’re not . . . together, like you’re thinking. We’re just friends. I have everything under control.”
“I have all the confidence in the world in you.”
Before I respond, Ryker returns to the room. “I hate to do this, but I have to go. A buddy of mine ran into some trouble and needs my help. I should be back in an hour.”
“Who is it?” Justice Grant asks.
“Ian. I’ll be quick.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Can I borrow the truck?”
The truck he was supposed to use to help me move. And now he’s borrowing it from his dad to help some friend late at night. Anger blooms inside me, rooted in bitterness and hurt. Why had he screwed me over when it came to something so important, especially after that night in the bar?
“Of course. Take the truck. Justine and I will have another drink, and then this old man is going to bed. I’ve got a big trial kicking off tomorrow morning, so I need to be ready.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Ryker looks at me. “Sorry about this. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If I don’t make it back before you go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”
I stare up at him, and all I can think about is that damn truck and how quick he is to go to someone else’s rescue. “I think I’ll have another drink.”
Ryker’s eyes lock with mine, and he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I think I see a flash of guilt on his face before he turns and leaves the room without saying another word.
Justice Grant pours me another large glass of cognac, and I savor it as the liquor pools in my belly while he answers my questions about his books.
My head is fuzzy by the time I make my way back up to the silver-and-purple room, but there’s one thing I’ve decided—there really is nothing happening between Ryker and me, and that’s the way things are going to stay.
Just. Business.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Justine
I wake up disoriented and confused. The mattress under me is like a cloud, and the blanket tucked up to my neck is soft and warm and smells like lavender and sunshine. That’s when I know I’m drunk—probably from the last glass of cognac I brought up to my room—because sunshine doesn’t have an actual smell
.
Blinking, I take in the room around me and remember where I am. Ryker’s parents’ house. My bladder is protesting, so I slip out of bed into the bathroom and take care of business.
Did Ryker come back from his late-night rescue of a friend?
I don’t know why I care because we’re just friends, but that doesn’t stop me from quietly pushing open the door that leads from the bathroom to his bedroom.
A king-sized bed takes up a portion of the large room, and even in the darkness I can make out a shape in it. Question answered. Ryker came back.
I tell myself I don’t care either way and tug the handle to pull the door closed, but the hinge squeaks in protest and the shape moves.
Oh crap.
A deep voice, husky with sleep, comes out of the darkness as he sits up. “You need something?”
Caught.
“Sorry, got turned around. Wrong door.”
My lie sounds believable, even to me, and I hope he buys it. I move to pull the door the rest of the way closed, but Ryker’s voice stops me.
“Come here.”
Into his room? In the middle of the night?
Bad. Plan. Don’t do it, Justine.
But my bare feet are already following his command, stepping from the bathroom tile onto the wood floor.
“What?”
“Come here,” he repeats.
Now that I’m inside the room and my eyes are adjusting to the light, I can see him more clearly. The sheet and blanket pool around his waist, leaving his upper body bare. There’s just enough moonlight coming through the window at this angle to make out the defined muscles of his pecs and deep ridges of his abs.
God bless men who work out.
What? No. Bad, Justine.
Ryker motions for me to keep coming closer and pats the side of his bed. My stupid body responds to his wordless commands, and I pause beside the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Sorry for what?”
Our voices are hushed, as if we’re both afraid of waking his father.
“For not being there for you when I said I would be. I’m not that guy.”
They’re the words I’ve needed to hear for months, and they’re finally hanging in the air between us.
“Then why did you? You never even said.” The question has been driving me crazy since the morning I sat on my stoop, disappointment, hurt, and humiliation sloshing in my belly along with the remains of too much liquor.
“I can’t tell you why, but you have to know that it wasn’t something I could avoid or have planned for. I’ve owed you an apology for so long, and without an explanation, I know it’s a shitty one.”
He can’t tell me why. Something about the bullshit excuse takes the strength from my knees, and I sit on the edge of the bed. My T-shirt rides up, and I become acutely aware that I’m wearing nothing but that and my panties.
And I’m sitting on Ryker’s bed.
In his parents’ house.
If that’s not a string of bad decisions sewn together with even worse judgment, I’m not sure what it is.
I press both hands to the bed in a move to stand up, but Ryker’s palm slides over the top of one, pinning it in place.
“Don’t go. I know you’re pissed, and you still have every right to be, but don’t walk away from me again.”
“You can’t tell me why, but you expect me to just forgive you? I sat out in front of my apartment for over an hour waiting for you! Do you know how much that sucks? Do you know how much I regretted what we’d done the night before? It was concrete proof that me turning you down over and over was the right choice.”
Ryker releases a whoosh of breath. “I know. You’re right. I played into everything you think I am, but dammit, Justine, that’s not fucking fair. Things aren’t black and white. Shit happened that I couldn’t control.”
“Shit happens,” I repeat slowly. “Great excuse. I’ll remember that one for next time.”
I push off the bed again, but Ryker grabs my arm and tugs me down. I lose my balance and fall against him. He wastes no time taking advantage of the opportunity, and flips over to pin me to the bed.
“You’re not walking away from this.”
My T-shirt rides up further, and the hot press of his skin against mine clears my brain of any protests I’d been about to make.
“Are you naked?” I ask, my voice unsteady from the booze. The heat of his body is soaking into me, and I’m pretty sure the head of his penis just brushed against my belly. Naked. Skin on skin.
“Yes.”
Oh my God.
I freeze, unsure what to do. Ryker Grant, who I’ve decided I have absolutely nothing going on with, is lying on top of me naked. With a hard-on. And it’s touching me.
And instead of struggling to free myself, my body wants to wrap around him for more contact. Heat builds between my legs, and my panties are damp. In minutes they’re going to be soaked, and he’ll be able to feel it.
“Your heart is pounding, Justine.”
“You’re lying on top of me naked, Ryker.”
“You like it.”
I go quiet. What am I supposed to say? No, I hate it. Get your sexy-as-hell body off me because I need to go back to my room and get myself off before I’ll be able to get any sleep? Yeah. No. Not happening.
“You should probably get off me now.” My voice drops into a whisper.
“I don’t want to move.”
His face lowers closer to mine, and I can feel his breath on my skin. He doesn’t ask for permission. Doesn’t offer to move. Instead, his lips slide along my jaw, leaving tendrils of sensation in their wake.
My panties? Let’s not talk about the state of them.
When his lips hit the shell of my ear and his teeth graze the lobe, I can’t stop my body’s response. My hips buck upward, seeking the delicious friction I need.
And I get that friction by rubbing my clit against the hard length of Ryker’s cock.
I should be embarrassed. Should be horrified. But I’ve stopped thinking, and I’m operating on pure instinct backed by booze-fueled courage. I haven’t had another orgasm as good as the one I stole in the back hallway of the bar—and the good Lord knows I’ve tried. All summer. It’s like I’ve got all this pent-up need burning inside me, waiting for him to unleash it.
“Fuck, Justine. That feels so goddamn good. I can feel those sweet little pussy lips against my cock.”
I’ve never been a girl for dirty talk, or so I thought, but when Ryker voices those rumbling words in the darkness of this room, my nipples harden and I buck harder against him.
I can’t stop myself. I want it, and he’s going to let me take it.
“You like that, baby? Rubbing against my cock. You gonna come for me? Let me hear that sweet sound?”
“Yes.” I moan, and he takes my lips as I work my hips against him.
“Come for me, and then I’m gonna eat that pussy and finally get a taste of what I’ve been dying for all these years.”
It doesn’t take much to send myself over the edge. The orgasm slams into me and radiates outward through my body. I keep up the pressure, the friction, grabbing every little bit of pleasure that I can until it finally fades away.
Only then do I realize that my hands are locked around Ryker’s bare shoulders, my nails digging into the skin of his back.
I release my grip immediately and mumble, “I’m so sorry,” as embarrassment fills me.
What the hell did I just do? I used Ryker as my own personal sex toy and got off dry-humping him like a teenager. Mortification burns my cheeks, and I know if it were light in this room, my face would be red.
“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. And we’re not done.”
He presses his cock against my pussy, setting off aftershocks of pleasure, and a moan escapes my lips.
“I love hearing you come for me. I can’t get enough of that sound.”
He moves down the bed and kneels above me. My eyes zero in o
n his cock. It’s thick and long and rises up to almost touch his belly button. The dick print didn’t do it justice, because apparently he’s a shower and a grower.
My mouth, which has never watered at the sight of a penis before, floods with moisture, and all I can think is how badly I want my lips wrapped around the crown. I know from the touch of it against my belly, the skin is smooth and hot.
Since when have I ever been desperate to put a dick in my mouth? Since never. It must be the haze of orgasm messing with my head.
But I can’t get rid of the thought. I’ve got two choices—get the hell out of here, or stay.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ryker
Now that I’ve heard Justine come, a question is battering around in my brain—did she come that night I pinned her up against the wall in the back hallway of the bar? I have to know, but I’m fumbling with how to ask the question because her eyes are locked on my dick and she’s practically licking her lips.
Fuck, my dick would look amazing between those lips.
I yank my thoughts back to the question at hand. “That night at the bar? In the hallway when I kissed you? Did you come? I didn’t think anyone could come that easy.”
I wish I could see her face, because I would bet anything that her cheeks are bright red.
She mumbles something I can’t make out.
“What was that?”
“This is so humiliating,” she whispers. “I just dry-humped you. Like we’re fifteen or something.”
I smile at her words. I sure haven’t gone this slow with any woman since I hit sophomore year of high school, so she’s not far off in that assessment.
“I want to make you come again.”
Deciding the best way to stem her embarrassment is to do exactly that, I press a quick kiss to her lips before sliding down her body until only the soaked panties she’s wearing separate my mouth from my goal.
“I want to taste you. Touch you. Make you come harder than you’ve ever come before. I want this wet pussy in my mouth. On my tongue. I want you to come on my face this time.”