Page 168 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
I lean into him fully, letting myself sink into the feeling of being chosen, of being wanted, of being home.
When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. “Stay with me tonight.”
“Ryan.”
“Not because of the show or the cameras or because it makes a good story. Stay with me because you want to.”
“Where would we go?”
“My house. My real house, not some mansion set. I want to wake up with you in my bed and make you coffee and show you what normal looks like with us.”
The idea sounds perfect and terrifying all at once. “Will there be pancakes?”
“Only if you wear nothing but my hoodie.”
I groan. “God, you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“I love you anyway.”
“I know,” he says, smug as hell.
I wrinkle my nose and hit his arm playfully, but I’m laughing. God help me, I love him for it. “You’re the worst.”
“The worst guy you’re in love with.”
“The worst guy I’m in love with,” I agree.
He kisses me again, deeper this time. I feel heat start to build between us. His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer. I can feel how much he wants me.
“I’m not trying to seduce you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Then you’re really bad at failing,” I reply, breathless.
He lifts me easily, setting me on the edge of the dressing room table. The cold surface makes me gasp. My heels hit the floor with soft thuds as my legs wrap around him automatically. My dress rides up. His hands find the bare skin of my thighs.
For a moment, we just look at each other. The weight of everything that just happened, everything that’s about to happen, settling between us.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks. “Here? Now?”
“I’m sure about you,” I say. “I’ve been sure about you for a long time.”
That’s all the permission he needs. He kisses me harder, his hands roaming over my body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. I can feel how careful he’s being, how much he’s holding back. It makes my heart ache with love for him.
“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” I whisper.
“I want to be. I want to worship you.”
He starts with my neck, pressing soft kisses along the column of my throat. I tip my head back to give him better access. His fingers find the small buttons at the top of my dress and he undoes them slowly, one by one, like he has all the time in the world.
When he pulls the fabric aside and looks at me, really looks at me, I feel beautiful in a way I never have before.
“You’re perfect,” he says, and I believe him.
He takes his time with me, exploring every inch of newly exposed skin with his mouth and hands. When he pushes my dress up around my waist and drops to his knees in front of the table, I think I might actually die.
“Ryan.”
