Page 46 of Only the Small Bones
“You don’t have to prove anything.” I assumed that was his intention. To prove he was no longer a victim to his trauma, that he could push past his limits. “I’ll take whatever you can give me. I’ll never ask for more.”
Ryan gave me a forlorn look similar to the one he’d given me at the gala. Like I’d said the saddest thing he’d ever heard.
He backed up so he could see all of me, his stance relaxing as he took a visual tour of my suited body. What I’d said hadn’t made a difference.
The temperature of the apartment didn’t bother me anymore. I was so hot I could practically feel steam rise from my skin. Maybe I’d imagined the cold.
Removing my jacket, I tossed it away from me, uncaring about where it landed. My bow tie went next. I popped the top two buttons on my shirt as I strode to the other side of the dining room, leaning a forearm against the floor-to-ceiling window. Dangerous carelessness threatened to take over me as the liquor passed through my bloodstream. I began asking myself questions like: would this be so bad? Began telling myself things like: we both just want a little comfort, that’s all.
My cock throbbed behind my zipper, and my head pounded to the beat of my heart. “I don’t know what you want from me, Ryan.” I shut my eyes at the ache building behind them. “I wish you could just tell me. Or show me.” Was that truly what I wished for?
The silence stretched long enough for me to regret not taking another drink. All I needed was one more to finish me off, to put me to bed and out of my current misery.
Shoes tapping against the floor made my chest tighten. Ryan’s steps were sure, unfaltering, and picking up speed as they headed for me. I was terrified of what would come next, even while wanting whatever it would be.
I kept my gaze fixed on the moon shining over the river, even when his footfalls quieted, even when his scent wrapped around me from behind. Ryan’s long, elegant fingers wrapped around my bicep, and I let out a sound of both shock and pained relief. He’d never grabbed ahold of me before, never gripped me as though he didn’t want to ever let go.
All sensation rushed to that location, to the flame his hand ignited below my shirt. The touch wasn’t much, yet I felt branded by him.
He pulled me around until I met his nervous but determined stare. He’d made up his mind to push himself tonight. I wondered how much of that could be blamed on the Rare Cask he’d just breezed through. I’d had enough myself that I was content to see how this played out, falling into his trap.
The antique grandfather clock struck twelve, the chime startling us both. A new day, a new beginning. A new opportunity to start over, to change our minds and make better decisions. Ryan watched me as if I were a specimen under his microscope, wondering what to do with me. I’d be his specimen, his pet project, his guinea pig… I’d be whatever he wanted me to be, so long as he touched me right then.
As if sensing my desperation for him, he raised an unsteady hand, the other hand fisted at his side. Starting at my brows, he mapped out my face, the trembling easing the more comfortable and confident he became. I wanted to shut my eyes, to focus all my attention on how his hands felt on me, but his caress was feather soft, so I needed the sight of him to know this wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
He took the most time with my lips, tracing the outline before grazing the groove below my nose. My mouth parted to release the pent up air, blowing aside a wisp of his hair. I considered pulling the rest free of his bun, but kept my hands to myself.
Ryan’s fingers tickled past my chin, and I lifted my head, clearing the path to my throat. The notch at my collarbone fascinated him, he swirled his finger there, seeming content to stay for a while.
“Why does your touch, your gaze, your anger, and even your spurts of joy always feel like… more?” I asked, my brows drawing together as I tried to answer my own question. “How is it thatyou own me so completely, and I haven’t even had all of you, yet?” The insertion of “yet” made me come off presumptuous. That wasn’t my intention, but maybe it was his. Maybe he wanted me uninhibited tonight. I looked at the remnants of scotch in the crystal decanter, my gaze hot and unafraid when it returned to him.
Both of his hands were on my face now, the backs of his fingers ghosting along the scruff I hadn’t shaved. I could’ve sworn I’d seen a glint in his eyes when it grew in, so I left it.
Ryan had a pattern of teasing his affection, keeping me on edge and wanting more. An addict receiving his dose in tiny increments. Just enough to keep me functioning, but never enough to leave me satisfied. I harbored a constant craving for more, the unfulfilled need made this intoxicated version of me want to snatch him up by the hair and punish him for what he did to me. For what hedidn’tdo to me. Even now, he taunted me without knowing it, unintentionally dangling himself from a string while I fought to enjoy it instead of reaching for him.
My mind hadn’t been completely obliterated by the alcohol, so my conscience shouldered its way through the procession of lust, inappropriate thoughts, and anticipation. I pushed down my carnal needs for a moment while I attempted to do the right thing.
“Ryan, I-I haven’t been honest with you.” My eyes rolled back as his blunt nails raked over my scalp, not quite digging in. “Your being here is about more than me wanting to help you. I’ve been selfish,” I whispered, ashamed of myself. “Iamselfish—”
The delicate stroke of his lips against mine put an end to my momentary lapse into guilt.
Ryan cradled my head with the faintest touch of his fingers. His mouth trembled but parted, mine opening too as his tongue tentatively entered.
Like always, his kiss was soft and shy, his moan an extra shot of both. The spicy duet of vanilla and woody notes added a hint of masculine rebellion to his flavor. I lapped at the inside of his mouth, issuing my own low rumble as every nerve ending in me came alive.
He retreated a step, and something in me snapped, red clouded my vision at the thought of losing this. At the thought of losing him. I banded an arm around his waist, hauling him into my chest and deepening the kiss.
I clamped a hand over the back of his head, holding him to my mouth as I launched a full-frontal assault on him.
I spun us, pressing his back against the window as I lined my body up with his, slapping my palms on either side of him, caging him in. I was losing myself, losing all self-control, and a part of me begged for Ryan to stop me.
His fingers bunched into the collar of my shirt pulling me closer as his body vibrated beneath me. I got lost in him. Lost in taking his breath away, lost in my inability to find my own.
“Fuck,” I panted against his damp lips before sending my tongue in again, swiping it across his and dominating the moment. We were on fire, or maybe it was the world around us that burned, searing all our inhibitions to ash.
I jutted my hips forward, my throbbing erection rubbing along his zipper seam, searching for proof we were on the same page. As though my desperate search were a call to action, his own length began to rise to the occasion. I increased the friction, increased the pressure of the kiss, increased the grip of the hold I now had on his hair.
Something changed then. Ryan froze, then began pushing me away instead of pulling me in. He jerked his hips back sharply, shoving his back into the glass.
