Page 44 of Saved from Deception

I stiffen.“What? About the kiss?”

His gaze softens. “No, the kiss was—incredible. More than I could have imagined. I’m just an idiot, because I never should have waited this long to kiss you.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RYLAN

When I first woke up this morning, for a second I thought I was still dreaming.

Everything felt just like I’d imagined it would be. All the times I thought about waking up next to Charlie. Except it was so much more.

Charlie’s curves tucked against me, warm and soft and fitting perfectly. Her hair tickling my nose, smelling faintly like vanilla. My arm wrapped around her, palm resting on her belly, rising and falling as she slept.

There was the tiny hum of pleasure as she snuggled closer, the way she clutched at my arm like a blanket, unconsciously tugging me around her.

As I watched her sleep, I stroked her hair away from her face, pressing a light kiss to her cheek, her skin soft against my lips.

And when she woke up, stretching like a cat, turning over to face me. A sleepy smile spreading across her face, silver eyes half hidden by a fringe of dark lashes. Her voice, soft and sweet as she cuddled against me, saying, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

It was everything.

All those reasons I had for holding Charlie at arm's-length? Distant memories after waking up with her in my arms. Laying in bed with her breasts pressing against my chest, one leg twined with mine, her fingers trailing down my back…

And kissing her.

Just her taste, the tentative slide of her tongue over mine, her soft breaths speeding up as our kiss grows deeper, her slender fingers tangling in my hair—kissing Charlie is more intimate than anything I’ve done before.

But I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to be ready. After everything she’s been through, I need to take my time with her, ease into a physical relationship instead of rushing full speed like a certain part of my body would like.

Which is why I took a cold shower before heading into the kitchen to make breakfast. It’s nothing I’m not used to, not with those dresses Charlie wears. Or the yoga pants. Or the cut-off shorts. Or just about anything she wears, really.

Then there was that bathing suit…

And now I’m hard again. Great. I feel like I’m sixteen instead of thirty-six. Hiding my arousal behind the kitchen island while my girlfriend—is that what I should call her?—comes out of the bedroom.

“What are you making?” Charlie walks into the kitchen, wearing another one of those dresses, her eyes bright, smiling at me.

“Eggs, turkey sausage, and some fresh fruit.” I lower the heat on the sausages, stepping away so I can pull Charlie into my arms.

She tilts her head up toward me and I slant my lips over hers, nibbling and sucking at them, tasting a hint of sweet peppermint. Sliding a hand through her hair, I cup the back of her head, while my other hand curves around her lower back.

She clutches at my arms, pressing into me, her nipples pebbling into hard points. My hand twitches, wanting to slide under the fabric of her dress to cup her plump breast, to pluck at her nipple, to lower my mouth and suckle at it.

As I run my tongue along the seam of her mouth, then dip inside, Charlie moans, a cute little growl of desire.

Then her hands slide down my arms, down to my waist, slipping underneath my shirt. As her fingers trace along my back, she hits a thick ridge of scar tissue, lingering there. I instinctively stiffen and after a moment, she pulls away to look up at me.

Her forehead is pinched and her lips are pulled down, which sends my insecurities spiking. Even though I feel the pain from that day frequently, I don’t have to look at the rough and graphic reminder of it. Charlie must have seen the scars when we were at the lake and didn’t react, but maybe it’s different actually touching it.

Maybe she’s bothered by it.

But then Charlie touches my cheek, gazing at me sadly. “I’m so sorry you were hurt, Ry.” Her jaw tightens, chin jutting out. “And it makes me so mad that someone hurt you.”

“Ah, Charlie.” My shoulders relax. “It’s okay. But thank you.”

“It’s not okay,” she huffs, her brow coming down. But she smooths her fingers over my scar tenderly for a few seconds before pulling her hands out from under my shirt. Then she sniffs. “Um. Rylan. Are those sausages okay?”

The sausages!

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