Page 187 of Ryan
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Chris
Ryan kisses me again and again. This time, it’s slow, attentive, despite the burning fury in us both. We’re taking things slowly, he doesn’t want to miss a second or a single breath – and neither do I.
He slowly slides down my neck, my breasts, my stomach, and stops at the ugly scar I have just above my vagina.
“Caesarean,” I tell him. “It wasn’t nice.”
He looks up.
“I was young, only sixteen: I was alone, so I panicked.”
“Where were your family?”
“No one was around that day. I had to take the bus to the hospital.”
“And…Martin?” he asks through his teeth.
“He was away for the weekend with his friends.”
“Very responsible for a future father.”
“It’s not like we planned to have a family. We were just kids, I can’t blame him for anything.”
“And you never tried to stay together?”
I laugh, shaking my head.
“What?”
“You haven’t worked it out yet, have you?”
He shrugs.
“Martin’s gay.”
He jumps back onto his knees, and I laugh at the shock on his face.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me before?” he asks, angry.
“It wasn’t relevant.”
“Of course it was fucking relevant!”
I keep laughing, holding my stomach, but Ryan is not amused. He grabs my thighs and pulls me towards him, then traps me between his arms, heading for my mouth.
“You took the piss out of me. I’ll make you pay for that.”
“You don’t scare me.”
He tries – unsuccessfully – to stifle a laugh.
“I already knew that.”
His hands slide down my body, flipping me onto my front when he gets to my hips. His lips trail along my spine, setting every centimetre alight, his enormous, seductive hands following behind. Then I feel the pressure of his body on mine, the tip of his cock pushing between my legs.
“God, Christine… what are you…?” he whispers into my back, before filling me with him once again.
