Page 55 of Ryder

I scream so loudly the house shakes. My orgasm is that powerful. Ryder removes his finger so he can rub my clit with his entire hand. I’m pulsing against him—waves and waves of release that don’t end for a long time.

When I’m finally spent, I collapse against the bed, one pillow still under my stomach, the other still between my legs. I’m panting. My hair is in my face. I don’t have the energy to brush it away.

All my attention is on the tiny hint of what it will feel like to take him inside me, caused by the one finger he let me have for the briefest moment. One thrust. The tiniest stretch. It’s whetted my appetite and has left me craving so much more.

Ryder sucks my arousal from his fingers, brushes my hair from my face, and leans in to whisper, “Marry me.”

“Okay.”

Chapter22

Claire

My mother is floating with happiness the next day as I work next to her in the kitchen. Ryder and my father are out front managing the morning coffee drinkers.

My mother hip-butts me and whispers, “Did you have a condom accident?” She giggles. Giggles! My mother.

I jerk my gaze to her, eyes wide. My hands are covered in flour. “What?”

She shrugs. “It happens. They break or fall off or have a tear or a hole. Then you panic, thinking you might be pregnant. Is that why he wants to marry you this Friday?” She’s not displeased in the least. She’s smiling conspiratorially.

I swallow and shake my head, turning my attention back to the dough I’m working. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Mom.”

She chuckles again. “Come on. I’m your mother. Tell me. You can’t possibly know that you’re pregnant. It’s too soon, but Ryder is so…” Does my mother look dreamy? Jesus. “He’s so…intense… I figure he thinks if you’re pregnant, no one can say it was a shotgun wedding if you’re married before you even know. He’s protecting your reputation, isn’t he? Or just trying to get ahead of the small-town rumors.”

I yank my head toward her again and hiss, “Mom. I’m not pregnant. We haven’t had sex.”

Her eyes go wide.

Shit. I really didn’t want to tell her that. It’s private. And why does everyone keep talking about me getting pregnant? First Ryder, now my mom. It’s madness that I’ve agreed to marry him. I should not be thinking about making babies. And yet, my bossy, overbearing boyfriend…fiancé…has planted his idea in my head, and now I keep thinking about what it would be like.

She covers her mouth before slowly lowering her hand.

I shift my attention back to the dough again. I don’t even know how long I’ve been kneading it. It’s probably ruined. I can’t look at her.

“I’m gonna swoon,” she murmurs. A long, ridiculous, dreamy sigh escapes her mouth.

The fact that Ryder is withholding sex does not make me feel dreamy. It makes me frustrated. This ridiculous idea that he wants to wait until we’re married is archaic. I don’t even know why he’s so insistent. I don’t think he went into this relationship thinking he would make me wait like this. I think he dreamed it up, probably yesterday.

I also can’t believe I agreed to this farce. He manipulated me with his fingers and his palm, spanking me until my head was foggy and then rubbing my pussy to an intense orgasm with only a hint of penetration.

I was still dazed and sated when he pressured me to marry him yet again. Who could say no?

I’m not sorry, but a lot is going on in my head today. He didn’t even let me tell my parents. As soon as we entered the kitchen a few hours ago, he pulled my back against his chest, faced my parents, and said, “Claire has agreed to marry me.”

My parents simply beamed and congratulated us. There were several rounds of hugs. Some tears.

It’s happening so fast. Am I certifiable? I know Ryder is, but now I’m going along with this. Doubts leak in, and as if on cue, Ryder waltzes through the door at the front and steps into the kitchen.

He’s grinning. He takes off his apron, hangs it on a hook, and comes around to kiss me on the temple, his hands running up and down my biceps from behind. “I’m leaving for a few hours. I want you to stay here, okay?”

I turn my head to frown at him. “Where are you going?”

He lifts my left arm at the elbow. My hand is covered in flour. “To get a ring.”

My stomach flips over. A ring… That’s so…real. I’m too stunned to respond.

He chuckles as he kisses my neck. “No one is going to believe us if I don’t put a ring on it. I’ll be back later.” He cups my face, turns me to look at him, and gives me a stern, narrow-eyed look. “Don’t leave the bakery for any reason.”

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