Page 62 of The Import Slot
“I need to speak to my brother first,” Ryan says, and then he thanks Johnny again before ushering us out.
I keep my silence and wonder why it matters now, but I bet it’s the lie and the keeping of secrets. Ryan has always made out that he and Liam have a special bond, which I can understand. They’ve shared everything together for as long as possible until now. An event as special as a wedding is something most people with a close relationship with their brother would want to share, surely?
We make our way into Ryan’s apartment, and I dump my bag in his room before joining him in the kitchen. He grabs stuff from the fridge, prepping some chicken, and then rinsing some rice. I chop some veggies while he cooks.
“Do you know why Vicky came here? Was she following Johnny or running away from Liam?” I ask.
Ryan doesn’t answer straight away, but I don’t press; I know he’s heard me, and I know by now that he’s thinking. His brow is furrowed. I see it through the gap at the back of his cap.
“Vicky came just before the end of last season, apparently, and lived here doing some travelling before she started working at the club.” He doesn’t answer my other question but changes the subject. “You can stay here anytime, you know. You don’t need to wait for me to ask.”
I hand him the veggies, and he tosses them into his pan. “Thanks,” I say.
We dish up and eat at the counter, and Ryan almost feels normal again.
When we’re done, I take the plates to the dishwasher and grab us some water before we sit down on the sofa. He’s quiet again now, so I sit silently, leaving him to his thoughts. He pulls me into him so my legs drape over his thighs, and he grabs the blanket that lives on the back of the sofa, pulling it over us.
He knows I want to watch the whole game replay, so he switches on the TV and puts on the Senators game from last night.
“It must have been such a shock coming here when crowds in the NHL are that dull,” I try with a smile. He chuckles, but he’s still thinking.
We watch through to the middle of the second period before he talks again.
“I just hate being lied to,” he says, and I feel relieved he’s getting it off his chest. “I asked him if he was getting back into anything with Vicky, and he told me they were just fooling around. This was a while back. I didn’t realise he still loved her.” He takes in a breath. “Well, I can only assume so if marriage was on the cards. Liam can’t commit to a fucking phone call, let alone a marriage.”
He chatters about how important marriage is to his family, about his parents and how in love they were and how his dad has refused to even think of remarrying now his mom is gone.
When he stops talking, he gets up, asking if I want another drink and when he comes back, he pulls me back into him, and he looks and feels lighter.
His hands run up and down my legs, and I try not to flinch when they reach my thighs, but he notices because he looks at me with question.
“Is this okay, Jen?” he asks, dipping his gaze down at his hands.
“Yeah,” I say, meeting his eyes. I have a skirt with tights underneath, so even though he’s not touching my bare skin, he may as well be.
“Sorry, my hands are rough.”
“I like them,” I say, remembering his hands on my breasts the other day. The rough skin just heightened my senses, and now I could feel my nipples pressing against my bra. That feeling in between my legs, that desperation for release, is back too. He gives me a look, so I give in.
“I’m self-conscious about my thighs, that’s all. It’s all on me,” I say, looking back at the TV. He surprises me by reaching for my chin and swivelling my head to meet his eyes.
“I love all of your body,” he says, pulling me onto him.
His mouth finds mine again, and I part my lips to let him in, my arms around his neck. He’s bunched my skirt up so I can straddle him and feel his hardness beneath me. Seeking friction, I grind against his bulge, and he groans. His hands hold my waist until he moves them around to my chest, cupping my breasts, gently squeezing. I unbutton my blouse and untuck it from my skirt, exposing my cleavage. My bra is white lace with padded cups because no one wants to see perky nips at work, and he thumbs at them, so I help him push them down over my boobs. He lets out a throaty groan and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling.
“Firmer,” I say, pushing into him, and he does, biting gently, causing me to moan. It feels incredible, and each touch of my nipple sends a wave of ecstasy down to my pussy. He turns his attention to my other nipple and uses his finger and thumb to pinch my free nipple. I love it. I can’t get enough.
I’m grinding down on him, and his tongue drives me insane, and before I know it, I’m coming, and I throw my head back, shaking as a moan escapes from my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, embarrassed.
“I’ve never been more turned on in my life,” he says, kissing my neck.
“Get your dick out,” I say, sliding off his lap and onto the floor in front of him. “I’ve been thinking it all day.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He unbuckles his belt, pulls the zip down and pops the button before lifting his hips up to push them down along with his boxers. My mouth waters when it springs free, but to my horror, the front door lock clicks. I snap up, grabbing the blanket to cover myself up, wrapping it around my shoulders. Ryan jumps up, stuffing himself back in his jeans just in time for Danny to stride in.
