Even though we spent the last two weeks apart, I spent most of that time not only evaluating my past but also thinking of my future, and Ryan is a huge part of that. I want to be in his arms, in his bed, with him inside of me. Before I even left my parents’ house, I knew I wanted him. It didn’t take seeing him again, and although the conversation we had at the diner helped, it was needed for me to know that I’d fight for him if that’s what it took.
Yet, a fight isn’t needed. He wants me as much as I want him, and that’s the scary part. This feels almost too easy. Things haven’t been easy for a long time. I understand complicated. I understand difficult situations.
Effortless is new to me.
“Come here,” he whispers, his voice a soft plea.
I want to do exactly that, but my feet feel cemented to the floor. This room, the way he’s looking up at me is exactly the way it’s been dozens of times since I first came to New Mexico. The clouds of all of those other times circle around me like a thunderstorm ready to unleash havoc and pain. He’s held me in his arms in here countless times. I spent hours sobbing into his chest before draining every ounce of energy I had. I clung to him when I felt empty and broken, and even though I know what I want now, even though I feel like things are looking up, no matter the level of bravado I try to convince myself I have, I’m still broken. I’m still in a million tiny pieces, only now I have hope that I won’t stay that way.
Ryan has the ability to put me back together, and he’s been doing just that since the first time my swollen eyes met his in that Miami compound.
“Mia?” He shifts his weight, lifting up on his elbows as he waits for me to make my decision. When I don’t respond immediately, he turns on the bedside table lamp. I both love and hate the light now shining between us. Confessions are easier made in the dark, but at the same time, I don’t want anything misconstrued between us.
“I feel ashamed,” I confess as he watches me patiently.
“You don’t have to,” he assures me. “No one is judging you for being afraid.”
My throat works on a swallow. “I’m not afraid. Fear of being in my own room isn’t what drew me in here.”
“Talk to me.”
Sitting up on the side of his bed, he reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. He doesn’t pull me closer. He’s merely offering me a lifeline, a human touch to ease the war inside of my head. He’s been the only one whose touch soothed me in a way I can’t describe. He brings peace, tranquility, and ease to the scattered thoughts in my head. Just the brush of his fingertips does what the sedatives were meant to do in the hospital.
“I want you.”
He smiles up at me, the right side of his mouth twitching in that way that I love, but he doesn’t tell me that he feels the same.
“I need you.”
“I’m here.” He releases my hand, opening his arms, and I don’t waste a second stepping into his embrace, but a hug isn’t what I’m after.
Instead of pulling him to my chest, I straddle his thighs. A rush of air escapes his perfect lips when my center brushes him.
“Mia?” It’s a plea, a whimper begging for mercy.
“Is it wrong that I want you after everything that’s happened?”
He bites his lip when I circle my hips. He’s hard, a thick stalk between my legs, and my body sings with the contact. I shudder, feeling the full force of arousal for the first time in as long as I can remember, but this isn’t only about me. I know that at least his body wants this, too, but his body always responds to mine. This doesn’t mean that his head is in the same place.
“Jesus,” he grips my hips, but he isn’t trying to hold me in place.
He doesn’t stop me, but I need the words. I need to know that I’m not forcing his hand. He has to be an active participant in this as well. The worry of regret goes two ways, and the last thing I want is for him to feel forced. God, I’d never want someone to feel compelled to go along with something they really didn’t want.
“Do you want this?” My body shivers when I stop moving, but I don’t want him to make decisions based on his own body’s need. I need his head fully engaged.
His head tilts back, his eyes focusing first on my mouth before they reach my eyes.
“Only if it’s what you want,” he whispers.
“I do.” I bite my lip to keep from moaning when he shifts his weight. The thin layers of clothing between us aren’t doing much to impede the sensations.
“We can stop at any point. If you change your min—”
I silence him up with a kiss, pressing my lips to his and wasting no time letting my tongue brush against his. His fingers tighten on my hips, and he groans in my mouth. The sound reverberates through my body and settles right where I need him the most.
“Ryan,” I pant when we come up for air.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he says, his lips brushing down my neck as his fingers find the skin between my sleep shorts and t-shirt. “Tell me this isn’t another one my fantasies and that I’m not going to wake up without you.”
My lips twitch as I lean back enough to look at his face. “You fantasize about me?”
He nods as his cheeks pink. I brush my fingertips against his face. “I can’t control my dreams, but I do it more than I should while I’m awake.”
“Tell me about them,” I urge.
I want to give him exactly what he wants, but he isn’t falling for it. “Tonight is about you. What you want. What you need.”
“I want you to enjoy this, too.”
A wicked smile crosses his face as his tongue snakes out to lick his lower lip. “Oh, Sweet Mia. I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”
This is a plan I can get behind. “Touch me.”
His hands leave my hips, but he doesn’t toss me on the bed and take over. His fingers press against my back until I lean closer, a gasp leaving my lips when he wraps his mouth over my nipple through the cotton of my shirt. Wet heat blooms against my breast and between my legs.
Not wanting to waste another minute, I tug my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. He doesn’t attack my breasts like I expect. His eyes focus on my chest, and he seems torn with which dark-tipped breast he should focus on.
“Jesus, Mia,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking perfect.”
I make the decision for him, angling my body so the furled point of my left breast presses against his lips. He moans like a man starved as he sucks the sensitive flesh into his mouth. Chills and desire race down my spine, and I let myself get lost in the sensations I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.
Any shame I was feeling about wanting this after everything that has happened fades away. The guilt and sorrow are no longer in the room. It’s only him and I and our desperate need for each other, and what a relief that is.
He devours my flesh, licking and nipping and moving his head between the two globes like he’s afraid one will get jealous of the other. He grows impossibly bigger between my thighs and becomes increasingly harder to ignore.
Who am I to receive such pleasure and not return the favor?
My hands wander down the rippling plains of his chest and abdomen, and I celebrate the ability to touch him with more than comfort in mind. Arching his back to put distance between our torsos without taking his mouth off my skin, he gives me all the permission I need to let my hands roam lower.