Chapter 53 Fate
I expect Ryan to look away in that quiet way of his, but he surprises me. He reaches out, his palm cupping my jaw with a sudden, grounding warmth, and pulls me into a kiss that is startlingly gentle....a contrast to the wreckage I just made of him.
His hand wanders, sliding down my chest with a new, bold purpose until his fingers find the metal of my fly.
The click of the button unfastening snaps me out of the haze. I move instantly, my fingers encircling his wrist and halting him mid-motion. I break the kiss, breathless, and give him a small, firm shake of my head.
His brow furrows, his gaze narrowing as he looks down at my hand on his arm, then back up at me. He looks genuinely baffled, his lips still swollen and wet from my mouth.
"Later," I say, my voice a wrecked shell of its usual self. "There’ll be time for all of it later. I promise."
I can see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but he doesn't shrink back. Instead, he holds my gaze, his voice gaining a bit of that post-come rasp.
"Why not now?"
My heart thuds, a heavy, dull weight against my ribs. I can still hear the doctor’s voice in the back of my head, warning him about "strenuous activity". Ryan follows the line of my tension, his eyes dropping to where I’m still gripping his wrist before he tilts his head, pinning me with a look that is far too perceptive.
"Are you worried I’m going to topple over?" he asks, a faint, challenging spark in his eyes. "Are you scared I'll lose consciousness halfway through?"
I shouldn't be surprised. In the span of a few days, we’ve skipped the small talk and gone straight to the marrow. We’ve become so attuned to each other’s frequencies that it feels less like a new spark and more like we’re just remembering a lifetime we already lived together. He sees the protective streak I’m trying to hide behind a wall of lust.
I let out a sharp exhale, my thumb stroking the inside of his wrist where his pulse is finally slowing.
"I have a very high opinion of myself," I say, my lips twitching into a smirk as I slowly release his hand. "And I know I’m good....stunningly good, actually...but I’d prefer it if my cock wasn't the literal cause of death on your medical chart. I don't need 'Lethal Orgasms' being the reason your doctor bans me from the building."
I lean in, brushing my nose against his. "Let's keep your respiratory system functioning, okay? I’d like to keep you around for the sequel."
I watch his eyes search for a crack in my resolve. I’m prepared for the pushback, for him to tell me he isn’t made of glass or to remind me he’s a grown man who can handle a little "strenuous activity." But instead, he just exhales, the tension leaving his shoulders as he gives a small, conceding nod.
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. "The day’s still young. We’ve got plenty of hours left to burn."
He reaches down, his fingers fumbling slightly as he goes to pull his pants back up, but I stop him with a hand against his sternum. I don't say a word as I sink back down to one knee. I take my time, my movements slow, my mind still full of the way he tasted.
I don’t need to touch him again to get the job done, but I do. As I tuck him back into his clothes, my palm brushes against his length...just a lingering, heavy graze...and I feel him jump. He sucks in a sharp breath, his body betraying him as he thrums back to life against my hand.
I look up at him, flashing a wicked grin as I finally thumb the button closed and stand.
Ryan swallows hard, his face a map of beautiful, frustrated heat. "You’re a tease," he accuses.
I shrug, smoothing the fabric of his shirt with mock innocence. "It’s hardly my fault you’re so responsive. It's like you were exclusively made for me."
I turn to head back toward the living room, but I don’t get two steps before his hand catches mine. I stop, turning back to see him anchored to the spot. The heat is still there, but it’s layered over something deeper.
The anticipation is going to be a special kind of hell for both of us, but looking at him now, I realize that the wait is half the point. I want him so desperately it’s bordering on an ache.
"Will you be here?" he asks. His voice is quiet, but it carries weight. "For all those hours left to burn?"
There’s a raw, terrifying openness in his gaze. He’s asking me for more than just a few hours of my time....he’s asking if I’m willing to let the afternoon bleed into the evening, and the evening into the morning. He’s asking if I’m staying until the day after today arrives.
He looks a little scared of the answer, like he’s stepped off a ledge and is waiting to see if I’ll catch him.
"Ryan," I start softly, "there isn't a single place on this wretched planet I’d rather be."
He smiles, and I lead the way back to the living room, reclaiming the same spot on the sofa as last time. He doesn't hesitate....he sinks down right next to me, our sides pressed together so closely I can feel the lingering heat radiating off his skin. He leans his head against my shoulder, and I instinctively wrap my arm around him, pulling him into my space.
After a few minutes of quiet, he shifts, slowly sliding down until his head is pillowed on my lap, his feet stretched out along the cushions. I reach down, my fingers finding the dark, heavy silk of his hair. I comb it back gently, the strands slipping through my fingers.
"You have really lovely hair," I murmur absentmindedly. Up close, the contrast is striking against his skin. "I’m almost jealous."
His lips curve into a ghost of a smile. "I’ll probably lose it at some point," he says, his voice dropping to a low, matter-of-fact tone.
"And you’ll still be the prettiest person I’ve ever seen," I counter immediately.
He lets out a dry scoff, shaking his head slightly against my thighs. I pause my hand mid-stroke, my fingers curling just enough to get his attention.
"You think I’m lying?" I ask.
He doesn’t respond. He doesn't even move, just stares at the far wall. I lean down, my mouth inches from his ear, my voice dropping to a teasing crawl. "Are you fishing for compliments, Ryan? Because I’ve got about ten of them lined up. They cross my mind every single time I glance at you."
He huffs a small breath. "You should write a book on flattery instead. You’re clearly a natural at it."
I shake my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. "No, I'll just write a chapter on it in the book about myself. It’ll be a very long chapter."
That earns me a soft laugh. The sound soothes the jagged edges of my own nerves in a way I wasn't expecting. We settle back into the silence, my hand returning to its rhythmic path through his hair. Then, out of nowhere, he breaks the quiet.
"Do you believe in fate?"
I trace the delicate cartilage of his ear, thinking for a second. "Not really," I admit. "The whole 'everything happens for a reason' bullshit has always sounded far too much like a convenient excuse for cosmic cruelty."
He nods slowly, absorbing that, then goes quiet again. I open my mouth to ask him what prompted the question, but he beats me to it.
"I didn't use to, either," he says softly.
I look down at him, my heart doing a strange, slow roll in my chest. "Has that changed?"
He angles his head up, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. He looks at me for a long beat, the air in the room turning still and sacred.
"Maybe," he whispers. "...I feel like it might have."