I’m tired. My thighs shake from exertion and Ryder’s drenched in sweat. Our play gets rougher, touches increase, and our bodies grow closer. I’m practically sitting on his lap, Ryder’s large hand against my thigh as I hold the ball out, shielding it from his foot’s reach.
Thunder rumbles a ways off. Ryder peers up to the sky, then down to me. “Last goal.”
I whistle. It’s my possession. We’re tied. If I score this, I win. I shift slightly, and Ryder’s right up against me, goal-side. Perfect defending. His body’s low, his center of gravity exactly as it should be. He feels like a wall I’ll never get past. Every time I’ve gotten by has felt miraculous. I can’t even think about what tricks I have left.
“What’s she going to do?” I whisper, peering at him over my shoulder. We’re both dripping with sweat, Ryder’s jaw’s tight. “You called last goal, Bergman. What’s it going to be?” His fist tightens on my shirt as I send my ass right into his groin.
“You tell me, Willa.” He sends his hips back into me, making my eyes flutter for just a moment before they snap open. “It’s your call, how this ends. I’ve done what I could.”
Suddenly, air rushes out of my lungs as our eyes lock. We aren’t talking about this little competition. We aren’t talking about a friendly one-on-one game.
“No, we’re not.” His head dips closer. I can smell the perfect scent of his sweat. Heat pours off his body.
“I said that out loud,” I whisper.
He nods. “Do what you have to do, Willa, but please just do it already. Put me out of my misery.”
Tears well in my eyes as I straighten my spine. Trailing the ball left, I lean into him. I lean so hard that if he pulled back, I’d fall on my ass, and he knows it. He could let me tumble in the grass, rip the ball off of me and score, no problem.
But he doesn’t.
“You could let me bite it right now.”
“I know,” he grits out.
I shove into him again. “Why don’t you?”
He shakes his head, his hands tightening around my waist. “Because it’s a dirty move. There’s trust. You lean into me, and I lean back.”
I glance up at him and feel stupid tears spill down my cheeks.
His body stills. Rain sweeps across the grass, fine and warm. It dapples Ryder’s cheeks, clumps his eyelashes. I kick the ball away and spin before my fists find his shirt, then squeeze tight. “I don’t want the last word right now. I don’t want to win. And that’s not normal.”
Ryder exhales shakily, his eyes searching mine.
“I want what you want,” I tell him, loud and clear, slow and sure. I don’t want him to miss a word I say. “All-in, fair and square. I want to be afraid with you rather than fearless and alone. Only when it’s us.”
Ryder’s hands are vise grips on my waist.
“Because I love you, Ryder Bergman. I’m scared shitless to say it, but I love you. I love you, and I always will.”
Air rushes out of his lungs as Ryder crushes me to him. “Willa,” he mutters into my hair. One long kiss to my curls, as he breathes in, then sighs. “I love you.”
I kiss over his heart, reach for his neck. Kisses there too. I want to kiss him everywhere. I want him to feel how much he means to me. I want to make up for so much lost time.
“I love you,” he says again, his lips soft along my neck. “I have since you glared up at me and looked like you wanted to roast my skin for dinner.”
A wet, gunky laugh bursts out of me, as the rain picks up. It’s highly unromantic, how hellish I look. My hair’s plastered to my head, snot dripping down my nose. My eyes are red. I’m an ugly crier.
“No, you’re not.” His hands smooth my hair off my face. “You’re beautiful, always, and I love you endlessly, Willa Rose Sutter. I can’t help it. I wish I could. I know this makes your life messier. I know I’ve tortured you. I know we piss each other off as much as we make each other happy. I know I want a quiet life and yours will be nothing but wildly exciting, as you deserve it to be.
“But I want your life to be my life, Sunshine. I’ll do whatever it takes for your world to be mine.”
“Ryder.” I press my forehead to his chest. My ear rests over his heart. It’s pounding, fast. It’s this tiny reminder that the man holding me is just as fragile. He’s just as easily wounded and broken. He’s taking a risk, loving me.
Rain pelts down on us as we sway. Until one rough hand grasps my jaw and tips my face up.
Ryder’s eyes search mine, a quiet, beautiful smile painting his face. “I love you, Willa Rose.”
My smile is ridiculous. It’s a comical, clown-at-the-circus, child-at-Christmas smile. “I love you, too, Ryder.”
His kiss is soft and tender. It’s a quiet press of his mouth, gently opening, unfurling into something warm and bone-deep satisfying. I flick my tongue and find his. I taste him, savor him, as our bodies lock tight. Hands find hair and fabric and skin, and tug, begging for more.
“More,” I whisper. “I want it all.”
His smile is soft against my lips, his sigh of contentment as warm as the breeze that surrounds us. “Me too, Sunshine.”
29
Willa
Playlist: “All Night,” Beyoncé
I stand in a puddle of water at my feet. The rain picked up on our walk back. We’re warm and soaked. Ryder stares at me, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to quiet the storm inside himself. Thunderclouds darken the sky, casting the bedroom in sleepy shades of gray and taupe, rainwater blue.
Ryder steps closer and runs his hands down my arms. His lips press to my temple. Soft, warm kisses as his fingers curl around the hem of my shirt. It peels up my torso and catches on my wet hair before he tugs it resolutely off. Ryder sucks in a breath, the most beautiful expression on his face. Pained wonder. It’s not even the first time he’s seen me naked, but he looks undone.
Two shaking hands grip the zipper of my sports bra, the unfurling sound echoing in the room before he pushes it off my shoulders.
“God, Willa.” He blinks rapidly and quickly wipes his eyes.
“Are you crying, Brawny?”
“Stop it,” he mutters, kissing me quickly. “Say my name.”
“Ryder,” I whisper. His hands slide along my waist, to my shorts and panties, fingers hooking into the material and dragging them down. He kneels as he goes.
“Hold on,” he orders quietly.
I grasp his shoulders as I step out of my clothes, but Ryder doesn’t stand. His hands drift up my thighs, across my pelvis, then down—
“Willa.” Ryder stares up at me, his fingers slowly teasing along impossibly sensitive skin.
A hum of pleasure slips out. “Yes?”
He smiles as he presses a kiss low on my hip. My eyes flutter shut. “I knew things felt smooth last night…but I did not see you being a waxer.”
“Rooney said I should. Said if I didn’t like your beard, I shouldn’t make you deal with mine.”
Ryder laughs against my skin.