Page 82 of Come Break My Heart Again

My breathing is rapid and ragged, my lungs struggling to keep up with the powerful flames scorching my skin.

Our lips are only a couple of inches apart. A gap that would only take a second to close. But I don’t lean forward. I wait for Ryder to make the next move, ignoring the voice in the back of my head whispering caution. Last time was a lot of thrilling moments and secret kisses. And it ended with me charred and alone.

His fingers find my chin, tilting it up as he scans my face. “I missed you,” he murmurs. “I missed oursomething.”

My lips curve up automatically, right as he kisses me. I’ve been anticipating it ever since I climbed into his lap, and yet Ryder still manages to catch me off guard.

I freeze as soon as I feel the soft press of his mouth against mine, the light touch somehow a shocking jolt. My heart takes off at a sprint, a speed so fast that it seems impossible he can’t hear it. He kisses me once, twice, three times, then pulls a couple of centimeters away. I suck in a greedy breath of oxygen, less embarrassed when I hear Ryder’s inhale sounds unsteady too.

Ryder glances down at my heaving chest, a satisfied smile curving up the corners of his mouth. “That feel good?”

All I can do is nod, too overwhelmed by the sensations swirling inside of me. We were kids, pretending to be adults, the last time we fooled around. We’re still kids, I guess. But this feels more intense. I’m more aware of its fragility maybe. I’ve learned, over the past two years, that this feeling is rare. That it matters who is touching you, not just that someone is.

I squirm, trying to force more friction.

Ryder’s chuckle is dark and dangerous and hungry as he tugs my underwear to the side and sinks a finger inside of me.

My back arches as I adjust to the invasion. He pumps in and out of me a couple of times, then spreads the wetness around my opening. My knees threaten to buckle when he circles my clit.

I breathe his name, all my senses a slave to the surge of pleasure rushing through me that’s stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced before.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he tells me, sounding very smug about that fact.

“You’re hard,” I remind him, dragging my hand down his chest and cupping the outline of his erection.

Ryder huffs a laugh that sounds more pained than amused. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

My fingers creep under the hem of his T-shirt. I trace the elastic waistband of his shorts, back and forth. His hand is still busy between my legs, making it very hard to think straight, much less talk.

But I manage to say, “I want to have sex.”

His eyes, which were focused on the spot where he’s touching me, snap up to mine. “Now?”

I’m too impatient to tease him or finesse a more subtle seduction. I just nod. “Now.”

Ryder’s head tilts back, his gaze flicking from my face to the roof of the car as he weighs a response. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s not what this is about. And … it doesn’t have to mean anything. I just want to.”

His eyebrows bunch together as our eyes meet again. “You just want to.”

I nod, holding his stare. It feels like there’s a spotlight beaming down on me, making me sweat.

Ryder sees too much. He always has.

I want him, and I can’t stay away from him. I’m also scared he’ll break my heart—again. Right now, those two urges—pursuit and caution—are superseded by lust.

Ryder believing all I want from him is a physical release is my best attempt at getting what I want while preserving a little dignity. Yeah, he apologized. And I don’t need him to chase me. But I’m not brave enough to venture out on a limb alone. He’s never said he regrets ending things. Never sought me out. Never told me he wants more.

My fingers slide under his waistband, the elastic stretching easily. Coarse hair brushes my fingertips, and a swell of anticipation washes over me.

This—us—feels like an inevitability. At least, Ihopeit’s an inevitability. Ryder still looks conflicted, and I can’t figure out what the root of his hesitation is. I’m sitting on the evidence that he wants this too. We’ve done it before. And I’m sure he’s more experienced than me. Certain he left behind some Florida flings who loved his long hair. I didn’t think he’d have any reservations about no-strings sex.

“Please.” I reach the hard length of his cock inside his shorts, too dazed to feel embarrassed by the naked need in my voice.

I’m drunk and dizzy and so turned on that it’s difficult to focus on anything, except the throbbing between my thighs.He’s not touching my clit anymore, his hand pressed against the curve of my hip instead.

“Please fuck me.”

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