Page 73 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
“That’s so wrong.” I cup his face, brush under his eyes with my thumb, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. “But I get it. I rarely ever heard it myself. Not never, but rarely.” I touch his lips to stop him from saying it. “Don’t—not until and unless you mean it wholly on your own. Don’t just say it back.” I drop my eyes. “I couldn’t help myself. I don’t know if you even want that with me—”
He silences me with a fierce, wild kiss. “You shut the fuck up with that mess, Laurel Madison,” he growls.
“I just—”
He levers over me, his arm under my head, his body on mine, pinning me to the mattress and blocking out the world. “I was in love with you at the barbecue, Laurel. I was in love with you then and I fucking knew it, and that’s why I tried to ghost you. I was a scared little pussy, because I didn’t think a woman as incredible and perfect and sexy and fucking normal and sane as you could ever love me back.”
I blink tears. “Ryder—”
“So yeah, I want that with you.” He brushes his lips against mine in a fragment of a kiss. “I mean it wholly and on my own, not just to say it back, not because what we just did together somehow managed to be fucking and making love at the same time. I mean it because it’s what’s inside me, because you’ve managed to capture my heart, and I thought that was impossible—I thought that had been ruined for me forever.”
“God, Ryder.”
He bends down to kiss me again, and for a moment I’m lost in it.
I whimper, and Ryder pulls back, puzzled. “Already? All I did was kiss you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, it’s not that. I couldn’t come again if the world depended on it.”
He frowns. “Then what?”
I glanced pointedly downward. “The condom is leaking on my thigh.”
He rolls away with alacrity, vanishes into my bathroom and cleans up, and then comes out with a warm washcloth. Cleans me, kisses me, and tosses the washcloth into the bathroom.
“Want to know the unromantic part of all these candles?” I ask. “Having to blow them all out before bed.”
Ryder chuckles. “I got it.”
After the candles are all blown out, Ryder sits on the edge of the bed next to me; I reach up and pull at him. “Why are you up there?” I ask. “Come down here and snuggle me.”
He hesitates. “I…I probably shouldn’t.”
Puzzled, I frown up at him. “Why not?”
“Because I’ll fall asleep, and I can’t guarantee I’ll wake up before Nate this time.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” He bends down and kisses me. “I don’t want to go, but—”
My heart clenches at the thought of him leaving. I let out a sharp sigh, and realize there’s no real choice to be made here. I sit up, wrap my arms around his neck and haul him down to the bed. “So don’t.”
He laughs, struggling against my hold on him. “But, Laurel, you said—”
I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to his neck with both arms, kissing him everywhere I can reach as I keep him trapped in my embrace. “I know what I said,” I say between kisses. “But I realized it doesn’t apply anymore.”
He stops struggling. “It doesn’t?”
I shake my head. “Nope.” I meet his eyes. “Having admitted that I’m in love with you changes things.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s obvious Nate is completely enamored with you, and you seem to like him back—”
“Falling in love with you means loving that kid, too, Laurel.” He crawls onto the bed, but stays on his hands and knees above me. “Just needed to point that out. Continue.”
I feel my throat close. “Stay, Ryder.” I shrug, unable to speak properly. “That’s it. Just…stay. Please.”
It’s his turn to brush dampness away from my cheeks. “If you’re sure.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
He lowers himself to the bed, and we make a mess of the rose petals as we slide under the covers and tangle ourselves together. I nuzzle into him, seeking the perfect place…I find it, that nook in the shelter of his arms where I fit like I’m the puzzle piece crafted for him. I sigh, and he murmurs in similarly wordless happiness.
We drowse and flit and drift; a thought bubbles up and out of my mouth. “Hey, Ryder? Are you…clean?”
He hums an affirmative response. “Yeah. Got tested the day after we met.”
“Me too.”
“Really?”
“Mmm-hmmm. I went to a clinic before work the next day. Just to be sure.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m on birth control.”
“Okay.”
I smile against his chest. “Just saying—we’re both clean, and I’m on the pill.”
He grumbles, an unintelligible mumble, and then I feel him twist, and I open my eyes to meet his. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
