Page 164 of Come Break My Heart Again

There’s a rush of heat and urgency. An avalanche of unfamiliar sensation. It’s been so long since I was kissed like this. So long sinceRyderkissed me.

I melt into him, not putting up the slightest fight, and there’s a noticeable stutter in Ryder’s movements as my willingness registers. When he realizes I want this. HowbadI want this.

He kissed me as a punishment. As a consequence for staying out here and not letting him run away.

He pushed, expecting me to pull away and abandon him. Forgetting that last time, he forced me to.

So, I call his bluff. I reach for the waistband of his shorts, groaning when my fingers brush the hot, taut skin between his hips.

Ryder tenses even more when I touch him, but he doesn’t pull away. His mouth presses harder against mine, exerting enough pressure that I feel it everywhere.

I run a finger along the elasticized band of his boxer briefs, smiling when I feel him react.

Ryder can lie to me. His body can’t.

He wants me.

My hand explores lower, finding the hard length of his cock. Ryder grunts as my fingers tighten, tugging his erection free from his clothes.

My lips move to his neck. I graze the soft skin there with my teeth. “Fuck me.”

His breathing is heavy, his heartbeat racing against my palm. My other hand is still wrapped around his cock, barely moving. Just fisting enough to tease.

If he turns me down right now, I’m not sure we’ll ever recover. I need him to fight. Need him to care in other ways than old letters and new apologies.

“Right now?” His hand skates up my thigh, slipping under the skirt of my dress. “What if someone comes out here? Do you want them to see perfect Elle Clarke getting fucked against the side of this bar like a slut?”

I whimper. His words are crude and rude and raw. And they only strengthen the storm building inside of me. That’s what Ryder does. He amplifies everything. Pain … anger …lust. The power of it is devastating.

I have to grip his shoulders for support when his hand reaches my underwear.

My knees are useless, buckling beneath my weight, as he strokes two fingers back and forth before tugging the flimsy laceto one side. My fingernails dig deep into the cotton of his shirt, scoring half-moons in the skin beneath. His touch inflames me, igniting that deep, forbidden place only Ryder has ever been able to reach.

I’ve blamed Archer and that awful night in Maddie’s bedroom for most of my hang-ups about sex. But it’s really Ryder’s fault. He ruined me, showing me what this is supposed to be like and then taking it away. Leaving me to try to find it somewhere else, only to fail miserably over and over again.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he tells me. “Has it been a while, Elle?”

I don’t respond to his taunting tone. I like that he’s jealous, thinking about me with other men. And I have absolutely no idea how he’d react to the truth—I’ve only ever been with him.

I reach for his cock. He’s so hard that the skin looks shiny, the heat radiating from his substantial length searing into my palm.

He makes a strangled noise when I guide the head of his dick to the place where I need him. I’m nothing but nerve endings, all of them focused on that point of contact.

Ryder’s eyes are fixed on the same spot.

Then they dart up to meet mine.

Ryder regards me in that way only he ever has. Like he can see my soul. Like he understands me on a cellular level.

Then, he thrusts inside of me in one confident stroke.

I cry out, the sudden stretch hitting like a euphoric shot of adrenaline. I forgot howgoodthis feels. How primal and overwhelming. Like finally scratching an itch you’ve been struggling to reach.

Immediate relief.

Ryder’s breathing is harsh as he slides out and then shoves right back in, creating that delicious friction my body is craving.

I slump against the wall, an unintelligible flurry of noises tumbling out of my mouth carelessly. I don’t care about anything, except that Ryder keeps filling me. Keeps stoking the heat that’s steadily building.

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