Page 99 of Pulled Away

My physical lust for him recedes, replaced by a different type of lust. One that’s more visceral, one that I feel in the marrow of my bones. A lust for his words, his feelings, an affirmation of everything he feels for me.

I blow out a shaky breath, my eyes prickling with tears. It was the same for me. He captivated me from the moment I met him.

“And later,” he continues, unaware that he’s completely wrecking me in the best of ways, “when we left, I told Carter I was going to marry you. He didn’t question it either. He shrugged and told me if you know, you know.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until his fingertips brush my tears away.

“I thought I had lost this. Us.” My lips are shaky as I whisper the words, not afraid to bear my deepest fear to him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Hurting you…it’s the single biggest regret I have, and I’d rather die than hurt you ever again.”

His fingers tighten on my cheeks, and he drops his head, kissing me, tenderness in the slide of his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the whisper of his breath against my lips. We’re physically connected, but more than that, we’re connected on a level that transcends physicality.

He moves inside me and, contradicting his earlier promise, his movements are slow, unhurried, showing me with every slow twist of his hips, every breath he shares with me how much he loves me.

This time when I come, it’s not explosive, but no less intense, my inner muscles fluttering and squeezing him.

Breath ragged, he burrows his head between my neck and shoulder, his body stiffening before groaning as he jerks inside me.

I’m still holding him, coming down from the endorphins swarming my body, when he presses his face harder against my neck, his body jerking. My breath hitches in sympathy with his, and I clutch him tighter against me, burrowing my face in his hair, breathing in the scent of home.

Him.

He’s my home.

My ringing phone jerks me from a deep sleep. By the time I’m awake enough to realize it’s my phone, it stops. Cursing, I roll against a grumbling Ryan, my body craving his nearness and his heat. We made love again after that first time, although I can confidently say that we fucked, because that time he delivered on his promise to fuck me. As if he felt he had something to prove after breaking down in my arms.

Then we spent what felt like an eternity kissing, sharing breaths, and murmuring words of affirmation, and by the time we succumbed to exhaustion, we fell asleep wrapped up tightly together like a tangled DNA strand.

I’ve just closed my eyes when Ryan’s phone rings.

With a curse that would make a virgin blush, he grabs it, jerking it to his ear, and barking out his unhappiness without lifting his head from the pillow.

He listens for a few seconds, then jerks upright.

“Rose, Rose, calm down,” he barks, all traces of exhaustion gone from his voice.

Concerned, I sit up, clutching the comforter against my chest.

“Calm down and tell me what’s going on,” he demands.

I grab his arm, shaking it, mouthing that he needs to put it on speaker. He jabs at the screen and Rose’s hysterical voice fills the darkened room.

“She’s gone. Nobody knows where she is. Nobody can find her.”

My heart beats faster; dread an insidious snake slithering through my veins and pooling in my stomach.

“Who Rose? Take a breath and tell me who.”

“Maya,” she sobs. “Maya is missing.”

Epilogue

Ryan

Two years later

Iwrap my arms around Aspen, pulling her back against me. “What do you think?”

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