Page 117 of Rear View
Adjusting his position, he slid himself free, his hand stroking a slow path over my spine. “Naked and needy Ryah’s my favorite Ryah.”
A soft laugh slipped from me as I angled to better see him and offered a taunting scowl.
Tucking my hair back, he tracked his arctic eyes over my face, lingering on my scar as they turned serious.
“What’s wrong, Xavier?”
He chucked his chin toward my phone. “Who else knows ’bout all this?”
I sobered. He’d given me space to breathe, but the cording of his neck and chest muscles told me he needed the answer. Couldn’t wait anymore. Settling a palm over his heart, I softly replied, “Miles, Zoya, Christian and Barlowe.”
The furrow of his brow dipped low. “Barlowe?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I was in his office when one of the messages came through.”
He inclined his head. “What about your parents?”
My hand dropped, fingers twisting in the sheet. “No,” I answered, my voice small.
“You’re tellin’ ’em, yeah.”
“Xavier—”
“Nah, dream girl. People need to know.” He tucked a strand of my fallen hair behind my ear. “Ain’t safe to isolate yourself.”
My bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “You sound like Miles and Zoya.” But with him, there’d be no brokering. He’d make me do it, or doubtless, he’d do it himself.
Angling forward, he pulled my lip between his teeth, then released. “Good.”
A smile took me. “What time is it, rally boy?”
“’Round eight thirty.”
My gaze widened. “I need to get ready. Barlowe’s a stickler for being punctual.”
His jaw ticked and he stretched his neck when he grumbled, “Fine.” He chucked my chin with his knuckle. “But get ready fast. We’re callin’ your ma and dad before we go.”
My mouth dropped open. “You’re bossy.”
He grinned as that knuckle clamped me shut. “Don’t forget it.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that broke from me when I climbed from his lap. He tapped my ass, eyes wild as he adjusted his clothes, looking like he wanted nothing more than to toss me back in bed for a good, hard fuck that’d make me walk funny for a week.
Liquid heat pooled between my legs again as I peered back at him. I tipped my head toward the bulge in his pants. “You might wanna put that away before we leave,” I said, my voice desperately sultry.
Linking his hands behind his head, he leaned back in the chair, putting it on full display.
My mouth watered and I swallowed hard.
He lunged for me.
I squealed and turned tail, giggling as I scurried into the bathroom.
Forty minutes later, I was showered and in one of my “someday” dresses. I sat on Xavier’s ridiculously comfortable brown leather couch, my hands trembling as the video call to my parents rang through. The walls in his living room were a warm shade of greige, the fireplace across the room, floor-to-ceiling stonework. A massive TV hung mounted above it, a large picture window looking out toward the mountains in the distance.
Xavier lowered himself down next to me, one arm lining the sofa behind me while the other slipped the phone from my grasp, holding it steady.
I pressed tighter to his side, needing the support.
