Page 15 of Deeper

Rylan

Aria,

Remember that time we got into a food fight with cake batter in my kitchen? The room was a mess and stayed like that for days. My mom showed up from a bender three days later and thought she had made the mess herself and was too fucked up to remember.

The memory is on my mind because I made cupcakes the other night with Tatum. I’ll never replace you, but I do hope, one day, I can make happy memories again, ones that aren’t tainted with the history of my past. I think Tatum could be the person to help me accomplish that, and I think you’d like her. She’s quirky, and she dances to the beat of her own drum.

Anyway, I’m supposed to be meditating, but I’d rather procrastinate with you instead. My anger management counselor said it’s a healthy tool to help me control my rage, but I’m not so sure it’s the outlet I’m looking for. I’ll keep you posted.

I miss you. I love you almost as much as ice cream.

Rylan

I end another letter to my faraway friend. Our connection is important to me, no matter how much distance separates us. It’s always been the most important thing in the world to me. I’m supposed to shut off my brain when meditating, but with all the excitement lately, I’m not sure how to do that.

Last night at the club, I felt more like myself than I ever have in my adult life. Being in that room, knowing all eyes were on Tatum and me, made my skin crawl in the best of ways. It was electrifying. Just thinking about touching and being touched by a woman makes me wet. The man who conquered me with his tongue afterward wasn’t bad either. That one kiss from him almost rivaled the rest of my night. Almost.

I try to push that all away as I sit cross-legged on the floor. I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be meditating on, but I try to force everything out of my head. I take deep breaths like she instructed and exaggerate pulling the air into my lungs and exhaling toxic shit out. I count the beats of my pulse. My eyes close tight, and then I peek them open. I can’t decide what to do with my hands, first resting them on my legs and then stretching them over my head.

Where’s my mind? Miles from fucking land—that’s where.

I’m all over the place. I have no idea what I’m doing.

I last about two minutes before I try to recite the states in alphabetical order.

Fuck this. There is a far better way to clear my head.

I get in my car and head for the club.

The dim lighting and vibrating music calms my soul better than meditating ever could. I study the people around me in the lounge for a while. Lovers tenderly touch one another, and strangers link up for the first time right before my eyes. Masters direct their pets around on leashes, and slaves lie at the feet of their owners. Some people linger alone, like me. The club is filled with a collection of eclectic sexual beings.

A whisper near my ear sends tingles throughout my body. “Hello, Rylan. You can’t seem to stay away from this place, can you? People might start to talk.”

“Let them talk.”

Callen sits next to me and runs his hand up my jean-covered leg. His hair is more slicked back compared to the last time I saw him. He must not have been running his hands through the dark strands as much today. His light skin contrasts the dark beard that covers his jaw. The hair on his face is thick but neatly trimmed.

Reluctantly, I drag my eyes away from his lips and meet his gaze. Eyes, the color of honey, stare me straight on. His cocky bravado hints at his wicked intentions, and the way his smirk lifts leaves me wondering about all the dirty things he wants to do to me.

I cross my legs and hope for friction when I think about us together. Being the forbidden temptress could be fun for a night. An idea rolls into my head for just how to keep him on his toes.

“Where is your friend?” he asks while looking around the lounge.

“Why? Were you hoping for a threesome? You couldn’t handle us.”

“Judging by the way you keep shifting, it seems as if you want to test that little theory of yours, Little Bird.”

His hand rises higher against my leg, and I no longer try to hide the friction I’m attempting to create. I put my hand on his chest and pant against his neck.

“Why do you call me that?” I choke out.

His other hand wraps around my neck, and his thumb pushes against my windpipe.

“I want to fuck you. I will fuck you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I thought the answer was too obvious. I want you to fly under my touch. Come to the back with me. I’ll relieve the itch you’re trying very hard to scratch on your own.”

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