Page 102 of Ryker

Chapter 34

Tara

We pull up to a brownstone that must be worth a mint. I’m so proud of Ryker for all of his accomplishments. Talk about making the most of a shit situation.

Still, my heart aches for him. My rags to riches story is a fairytale cartoon compared to his horror story. It makes me want to hunt down every person who’s ever hurt him and beat them with a steel pipe.

It also makes me wary.

Ryker’s different again. Each time he has some kind of breakdown, he changes and I’m fearful of what it means. Look, I’m not delusional enough to think my pussy is so powerful it can fix a damaged man. But I do think having someone who can not only take your savagery, but also your sweetness, isn’t a bad thing.

Stepping into Ryker’s home, I look around in shock. “Wow.”

He shuts the door behind me. “Wow, good or wow, bad?”

My gaze sails around the living room that’s decked out with comfy sofas, a beautiful fireplace with a TV mounted above the mantel, and shiny wood floors. Windows line the far wall, letting in so much light, I squint as we make our way to the kitchen.

“Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

Answers catch on my tongue as I pass a cluster of framed photos. “Is that Dmitri?”

Ryker looks at the black-and-white photo I’m referring to. “Yeah. We were about thirteen there.”

Dmitri’s laughing by a set of concrete steps. His pitch-black hair reaches past his shoulders, and he has a skateboard tucked under his arm. Ryker’s sitting on a railing, his head ducked a little as he looks up at the camera with a playful smile.

“And that’s Vault and Knox,” he says, pointing at another picture. This one’s in color. The two of them are sitting on a couch that’s definitely seen better days. Vault’s chunkier than he is now, but there’s no mistaking his smile. It’s joker-sized and something I’ve always found attractive. Knox is so skinny he looks like he has an eating disorder. They’re both flipping the camera off.

“Who’s this?” I point at another black-and-white photo of a big guy with warm eyes. Ryker’s arm is around him and they’re clanking two beers together.

“That’s me and my friend Carson. We helped a friend of ours launch a new kink app and went out to celebrate afterwards. D took the picture.”

“Which app?”

“K!nklink.” Ryker sees my expression and laughs. “You’re a member, aren’t you?”

“Uhhhh yeah. That’s, wow. This is a little awkward. And ironic.”

He cocks his brow. “How so?”

“I signed up last year but chickened out every time someone sent me a winky thing. I heard it was the best app to find a Dom with, but I’m not good at shopping online. I’m more of an in person, touch and try out before I commit kind of girl.”

Ryker’s smile goes from casual to predatory. “Oh yeah?” He wraps his arms around my waist and brings me in.

“Mmm hmm.”

“How many Doms have you had, Tara?” He playfully rocks me back and forth.

“None.” His expression says he doesn’t believe me. “Well, none who were real Doms. I tried to find some in college, but that was a complete disaster.”

“And dangerous,” he chides. “Lots of idiots think barking commands while cracking a whip makes them a Dom. There’s a lot of psychology and care that goes into this lifestyle too.”

“Good thing I found the Monarch and you, then.”

He must have thought I was joking before about the Doms in my life, because his body language shifts. The cocky smirk drops from his face. “Wait. I’m really your first?” His expression morphs from suspicious to dread. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m your first?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I am a bad thing,” he snaps back.

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