Chapter 49 Adventurous
I want Ryan.
I want him more than I can remember wanting anything in a very long time. I want the whole of him....his mind, his history, the pauses between his words. I want to know everything, even though I know it’s a myth, this idea of fully knowing another person.
No one is ever entirely known.
Even the people we’ve loved for years carry entire internal worlds we will never access. Private constellations of thought. Quiet fears. Unspoken desires. There are sentences they will never say aloud. Parts of them that will die undiscovered.
I refuse for that to be the case with him.
I want to know how Ryan functions mentally. How his thoughts move, how he builds an argument, how he dismantles one. I want to understand the architecture of his emotions, the logic he applies to feeling, the way he metabolizes pain and hope and longing.
And right now, right here in this screening room, I want to know something else.
I want to know how he would react if I did something the everyday Ryan Ashbrook would never do.
His fingers stopped their slow tracing and are now simply resting on my thigh. He’s not doing anything. And still, I feel him everywhere.
The last few days....his illness, the revelation of it, have wrapped my thoughts in caution. Concern eclipsed everything else. I was too busy worrying, too focused on keeping him steady, to let my mind wander anywhere inappropriate.
But I’m not worried right now.
I’m aware.
Of his hand, of the warmth of it. Of the quiet permission in the fact that it hasn’t moved away. I wonder how far he’d let me go. The film murmurs on. The world feels small, contained within these four walls. Slowly, I reach over with my own hand and grip his thigh.
Not gently....firm enough to mean it. I feel him tense beneath my palm, a sharp intake of breath, a tightening of muscle. For a second, I think he might pull away.
He doesn’t.
The tension melts, replaced by something heavier. Something denser. He relaxes into it, into me, and my pulse pounds so loudly I’m sure he can feel it through my hand. I keep my eyes forward, pretending to watch the film, but every nerve in my body is tuned to him. To the subtle shift of his breathing. To the weight of his leg beneath my fingers. I want to know how far he’ll let this go. And I want him to know that I’m not afraid to find out.
My hand moves before I fully think it through. It slides higher and cups him through the fabric of his pants. Ryan’s reaction is immediate. His hand leaves my thigh and wraps around my wrist, fingers warm and firm. Not forceful, just.... there.
I turn to him.
The look he gives me is something caught between shock and something far more dangerous. There’s a pulse in his throat I can see. A warning. A thrill.
My eyes dip, almost involuntarily, to his mouth. His lips are parted just enough to suggest he’s forgotten to breathe. Then I meet his eyes again.
He hasn’t let go of my wrist, but he hasn’t moved it away either. There's something electric in the fact that he’s restraining me and allowing me all at once. That he could stop this.
That he isn’t...
My fingers trail upward, finding the cool metal of the button at his waistband. His breath hitches, a sharp, audible sound. The pressure on my wrist tightens. I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, my voice a low murmur meant only for him. "Do you want me to stop?"
The words hang in the space between us, I pull back just enough to see his face, to feel the softness of his exhale against my cheek. I wait. The whole world seems to hold its breath with me. His eyes dart away from mine, a quick, nervous sweep of the three other silhouettes in the front rows absorbed in the film. A lifetime of caution, of carefully constructed walls is all weighed in that single glance. Then he turns back to me. He licks his bottom lip, and gives the slightest shake of his head. Just once. A gesture so small, yet it cracks open the damn universe.
And then, he lets go.
His hand falls away from my wrist. A shiver, pure and electric, runs down my spine. This is trust. This is choice. This is Ryan, giving me not just access, but control. The wave of feeling that crashes over me is dizzying. It's reverence. I'm holding something infinitely precious, infinitely fragile. And I am utterly, completely undone by it.
My fingers find the cool metal of the zipper tab. Then slowly, I drag it down. Ryan's breath catches, his head falls back just a fraction, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. The sight makes my own cock throb, a heavy, insistent ache.
I dip my hand inside.
The fabric of his boxer briefs is soft. I can feel the heat of him through it. My palm slides over the hard, rigid shape of him, tracing the line of his shaft. The feel of him, solid and wanting in my hand, is intoxicating. It's a reality I can no longer push away. This isn't a dream or some weak fantasy I'm indulging in private. This is real. This is him.
When I slide my hand into his briefs, the skin of his cock is searing hot against my palm. I wrap my hand around him, a perfect, unfamiliar weight.
The feeling is.... staggering. It's a jolt of pure electricity that shoots straight to my brain, short-circuiting everything. The texture of him, the way he pulses in my grip… it's a language my body understands better than my own thoughts.
I stroke him slowly, torturously. And God, I wish we were somewhere else, somewhere I could actually see him, actually watch what I'm doing to him. See the raw need in his eyes, the way his body would arch into my touch. But for now, this will do. I wonder what Ryan would feel like in my mouth. Would he be loud and uninhibited, or would he fight to maintain control, to not fall apart entirely?
He's so pretty now, all flushed, the light from the screen flashing across his face every now and then. His other hand is gripping the seat so tightly, knuckles white. I run the pad of my thumb across his tip and he makes a strangled sound that he bites back immediately. His hand wraps around my wrist, pulling my hand away. His breathing is ragged, his face flushed as he scans the theatre to confirm if anyone heard him.
I chuckle softly as I watch him quickly fasten his pants back up. His hands are shaking, the flush on his cheeks deeper now, and a tremor runs through him as he tries to regain his composure.
I lean in, my breath ghosting over the sensitive skin behind his ear. He shivers, an involuntary response that sends a jolt straight through me. My voice is a low, rough whisper, laced with promise.
"You started this..." I remind him, "...now I can't wait to finish it."
I pull back just enough to see his eyes, wide and bright, reflecting the flickering screen. The raw hunger in them is unmistakable, despite his desperate attempt to hide it. I give him a slow, knowing smile, a silent vow that I intend to keep.