Page 39 of Only the Small Bones
Ryan chewed on his lip for a moment, then sighed before lifting his chin. The move elongated his neck, and he watched me with full autonomy from below his lashes. He was terrified, but he wanted this.That makes two of us.
Choosing a position of submission, I slid to my knees in front of him, securing my hands behind my back. “You’re in control,” I whispered, leaning into what I knew would forever be my favorite part of him. The place my rebellious heart tried to convince me could be mine. My mind kept me in check, though.He can never be yours.
Like earlier, I breathed him in, running the tip of my nose over his shoulder—now shaped by muscle. I moved higher in a lazy, zig-zag motion, not wanting to neglect even one pore. I wanted to experience every inch of supple skin perfumed by cocoa butter soap and an aroma belonging only to him.
Ryan shuddered when I reached the space between his collarbone and jaw. My lips felt like they’d go up in flames as they coasted over the quivering vein in his neck. I placed a ghost of a kiss to the lump at his throat, feeling his swallow.
I straightened, not wanting to push my luck. Every part of him trembled, even his curls, and his lips were swollen from all the nibbling on it he’d done. I’d never seen his cheeks so red before, or his pupils so blown.
Bliss radiated within me, spreading through all the decrepit places, bringing them to life in its wake. I couldn’t show any of it on the outside, though. The sadness of that almost threatened to reverse the healing made to my soul. I dropped to my haunches, turning away.
Ryan’s finger met the corner of my chin, pulling a hitched breath from me. He brought my gaze around to his, tilting his head, lookingintome. He must have found what he’d been probing for—what I’d tried to keep locked down—because after glancing down at his shaking hands, he brought both index fingers to the corners of my mouth and lifted them into a smile.
He removed his fingers with caution, like he thought the smile would slip without his support. It didn’t slip, it’d been begging for too long to be set free, begging to be seen. “Can I?” I showed him my two fingers and gestured toward his lips.
Ryan shook his head. But then he smiled on his own. No show of teeth, just a small, timid life of his lips.
My own smile fell, and I gripped the edge of the coffee table to stop myself from falling over. “You… You have dimples,” Ibreathed, eyes so wide they hurt. Ryan bit his lip and blushed. “You havedimples,” I repeated. “They’re beautiful.”
He tucked his hair behind his ears before checking on his violin.
“H-how about a movie?” I asked, sensing this part of our afternoon nearing its end and not wanting him to disappear. I eased onto the couch.
Ryan shook his head no, shoving the violin at my chest, scowling. I chuckled, and he seemed okay with that too.
“Aftera lesson,” I amended. Ryan could have whatever he wanted. He’d returned my smile to me. From then on we included violin lessons into our daily routine. We now had a jam packed schedule with no room for anything or anyone else. I went to bed every night afterward with one thought on my mind.I could survive like this.
Of course, life would have other plans for us.
“That was my mother.” I entered the kitchen and slid my phone onto the counter. Ryan was busy making omelets and breakfast potatoes. We’d started watching cooking shows at night. He seemed interested in this particular recipe and nailed it on the first attempt. “She said to tell you she hasn’t stopped worrying about you.”
Ryan flashed his little smile again. I’d seen it a few times since its first appearance. It never ceased to floor me.
“Ugh,” I groaned, screwing up my face and pulling my sweaty shirt away from my body. “I should at least change this.” After a run, we normally showered before we ate. Ryan’s fascination with the fall leaves overtaking the sidewalk delayed our return, so we were ravenous.
He’d picked his way through a pile of them in search of the perfect one to sketch. He’d studied the shape, color, and veins ofit with a critical eye, paying attention to every detail. It felt safe to assume fall was his favorite season.
I changed my shirt, then got everything set up on the island. We settled in, scarfing down our food while I stole glances at him, pondering when would be the right time to bring up the fundraising gala. Other than our morning runs—when the streets were clear of people and traffic—we hadn’t ventured out to do anything else. Ryan preferred an isolated existence. If I were being honest, so did I. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d brought up Safe Haven.
Skipping the gala wasn’t an option, though. It might not have seemed like it lately, but my foundation meant everything to me. The black-tie charity event provided an opportunity to raise more funds and awareness for the cause, and to catch up with those we’d helped—and those we were still aiding. It was a way of saying thank you to all involved in the success of Freedom Fighters. I wanted Ryan there.
After a while, Ryan dropped his fork and gave me an “out with it” expression.
“The Freedom Fighters charity gala is in two weeks. I’d like you to attend it with me.”
Ryan leaned back on his stool, I could already see him preparing to tell me no.
“My mother will be there. And Davidson. He works the gala every year, handling the security. No one gets in unless they’re on the list, and there will be places you can disappear to if you feel overwhelmed and need a moment to yourself. We call them serenity rooms. Or you can stay with me,” I rushed to say when he frowned. “I’ll need to mingle a bit, but I’m not the primary focus of the night, so I won’t be too preoccupied. It’s important. It’s how we’re able to help so many people like yourself. It’ll be good to get out, and—”
He made a stop motion with his hands, and I quieted. He lowered them once satisfied with my silence.
His lips thinned, then relaxed, then thinned again before he motioned toward his body, still clad in his sweaty running clothes.
“There’s time to get you a tux.” I kept my excitement from my tone. “I’ll take your measurements.” It would’ve been best for my tailor to take them for accuracy, but Ryan wouldn’t let anyone touch him. I wasn’t even sure he’d let me take them. Aside from baring his throat to me on occasion, as though attempting to build up his tolerance for physical contact, we didn’t lay a hand on each other. He didn’t even sneak into my bed while I slept anymore. “We’ll make it work,” I promised.
He considered me for an excruciating minute before going back to his food, stopping every now and then to add something to his sketch-in-progress. I did the same, eating and bouncing my knee under the island until I thought I might crack from the angst.
Eventually, Ryan flipped the page on his sketchbook, writing something out before pushing it my way.
