Chapter 56 Anything
Michael reaches down, his fingers trembling slightly as he hooks them under my jaw and guides me up. He doesn't pull me into a hug right away....instead, he just holds my face between his palms for a long, quiet beat, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones as if he’s trying to memorize the exact texture of my skin.
"Well," he says, his voice a ghost of itself, "I officially doubt I’m ever going to leave now. Not after you’ve shown me just how hospitable you can be."
I let out a dry, shaky scoff, my gaze darting toward the floor as I fight back a smile. I try to look away, the heat in my cheeks intensifying, but Michael won't let me. He firms his grip, guiding my face back until I’m forced to meet that dark, molten look in his eyes. He leans in and kisses me....not the hungry, demanding kiss from before, but something slow and tasting of surrender. When he breaks it, he doesn't pull away far. He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, so tender it feels like it might actually crack my ribs open.
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression turning uncharacteristically solemn. "Have I mentioned lately how much I like you?"
I feel a genuine smile break across my face. I shake my head slightly. "Not recently, no."
He sucks in an almost regretful breath, his eyes narrowing. "Unacceptable," he murmurs.
He shifts, his hand sliding from my cheek to wrap firmly around the nape of my neck, pulling me into his space until our foreheads are resting against each other. The air between us is quiet, the silence of the room suddenly feeling very small and very sacred.
"Ryan Ashbrook," he says, his voice dropping into a tone that feels like it’s vibrating directly against my heart. "I like you so much it’s actually starting to feel like a problem. You make me want to slow down just so I don't miss a single second of you."
"I like you too," I whisper, the words feeling heavy and honest in the quiet room. "A devastating amount."
He doesn't say anything back, but the way his arms tighten around me is an answer in itself. He shifts, sliding further down until he’s lying flat against the sofa, and he pulls me with him. I end up sprawled on top of him, my chest to his, my legs tangled with his. It’s a grounding weight, the kind that makes the rest of the world feel like it’s stopped spinning.
For a moment, I lose my grip on reality. I feel like I’m drifting in some fever dream, like the oxygen in the room has been replaced by something too rich to actually breathe. I wonder if Michael is just a figment of my imagination.....a cruel, beautiful hallucination my mind conjured up to comfort me in the dark. He’s too perfect, too present, too here.
"Can I confess something?" I whisper against his neck, my voice sounding like it’s coming from miles away.
"Anything."
I pull back just enough to look at him. "I’ve only ever been with one person. My ex. No one else."
His hand goes still. He doesn't hide his shock, it’s written in the sudden widening of his eyes and the way his brow hitches. "Really?" he asks, the word breathless.
I give a small, slightly embarrassed nod.
"Can I ask why?" he asks gently, his curiosity devoid of judgment, just sheer, genuine wonder.
I offer him a small smile, the kind that feels a little frayed at the edges. "There’s no grand reason. No tragic vow of celibacy. That’s just... how the cards fell. I guess it's just hard to meet people when you’re wired like I am. Or it was, at least." I shrug, my shoulder brushing his. "I downloaded an app once, but I stared at the screen for ten minutes and realized I didn’t know how to be a 'profile.'"
I can feel the heat of his gaze, then his expression softens into something so profoundly tender it hurts to look at. He reaches up, his thumb tracing my lower lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth before coming back to my eyes.
His other hand begins a slow path up and down my back. After a few passes, his fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt, his warm skin finally meeting mine. The contact sends a hum through my nerves. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him. I can't help myself.... I press a light, lingering kiss to the pulse point in his throat, feeling the thud of his heart against my lips.
"Ryan?" He eventually calls out.
His voice is low, rumbling through his chest and into mine. I hum in response, eyes closed, content to just exist here.
"I want to know what you’re into," he says.
My heart, which had just started to find a resting rhythm, kicks back into high gear. I pull back just enough to look at him again. "What do you mean?"
He doesn't blink. He just looks at me with that direct intensity that makes me feel like he’s reading my thoughts. “I mean....do you want to be the one pushing me into the mattress, fucking me senseless, or do you want to feel the weight of me pinning you down until you can’t move? Or maybe you'd like both? We've got all this free time to occupy after all."
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Michael—"
He doesn't give me an inch of breathing room. He watches the way I'm struggling to form a coherent sentence. His hand on the back of my neck is entirely too steady.
"Don't get shy on me now," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that rough, gravelly sound that makes me weak. His thumb grazes my earlobe before he pulls me down and leans into my ear, his breath hot and far too close. “I've thought about fucking you too many times to count," he confesses, the words dropping like heavy stones into the quiet. "I’ve spent hours behind a desk or staring at a ceiling picturing exactly how I’d do it."
The way he’s talking, like my pleasure is a puzzle he’s dying to solve, makes a dark, needy part of me want to answer.
"I..." I start, my voice cracking. "I haven't... I haven't really thought about it like that. I've never really been asked."
"Think about it now," he urges, his teeth grazing the shell of my ear, sending a jolt of pure lightning down my spine. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against mine, not quite a kiss, just a promise of one.
I feel him stir against my hip. The blunt pressure of him growing hard against me again sends a fresh wave of heat through my stomach. I hold his gaze, my heart doing a frantic double-time.
"I’m nothing if not fair," he adds.
I let out a weak, shaky chuckle. "Lucky me."
"I mean it," his thumb traces the line of my jaw with a firm pressure. "If there’s anything you’ve wanted to do to me, anything you’re too....hesitant to ask for, I’m wide open. Consider me your personal playground."
"Anything?" I whisper, the word feeling dangerous.
"Anything," he confirms.