Oh, for cry
ing out loud. “This marriage is fake and that means no nudity.” It was time for me to lay down the laws of the land. We needed order. Rules. I needed Ryder to follow the rules.
He smirked like he always did when I tried to set boundaries. “I like my version of this marriage better. It sounds more fun.”
I had no doubt that his use of the word fun was to remind me how he and everyone else thought I was a stick in the mud. What was worse, my girlie parts agreed with him. They wanted to have fun. Fun with Ryder. Traitors.
Annoyed at my reaction, I pushed him. “Get out.”
His smile was amused, like I was some wild animal he was poking at. “This is my house.”
“If we’re fake married, half of it is fake mine.”
His eyes narrowed in question. “Have you noticed that this marriage is fake only when it benefits you?”
“It’s all fake,” I said, wishing he’d leave before I traced my tongue along the contours of his chest. I pushed at him again to make sure I didn’t.
He wrapped those long guitar-playing fingers around my arms and pulled me close to him. The heat of his body seared my skin.
“This isn’t fake.” His thick dick pressed against my belly, making me drunk with arousal, damn him.
I swallowed hard, knowing I was losing the battle. I was pissed that my hormones would betray me. Ryder was everything I didn’t want in a man. Unambitious. Lackadaisical about life. He didn’t take anything seriously, and instead lived like an eight-year-old boy in a twenty-eight-year-old body.
He gave me another slow, knowing smile. “I think it's about time I taste my wife again.”
My brain said no, but my body screamed, yes, yes, yes.
“You fight me on everything, Katrina. How about for once, you just let go and live?”
Dammit, I was powerless when he called me Katrina instead of Trina, like everyone else did.
He dipped his head toward me and my traitorous body leaned toward him too. His lips pressed against mine, at first soft and tentative. Perhaps he was afraid I’d bite him. But when I didn’t, he turned up the intensity of the kiss. His lips were firm and thorough as he settled into the kiss, like he planned to be there all day.
I moaned, partly in pleasure and partly in annoyance that I was helpless to do anything but accept his kiss. No, not just accept it, but fully participate in it. Ryder might be flippant about life, but he was serious when it came to kissing.
His tongue slipped through the seam of my mouth, and tiny little rockets went off in my head as it swept through in long, delicious strokes.
He groaned, and in an instant, he swung me up into his arms. I had a moment of self-consciousness about my round curves, but it was gone the minute he laid me on the bed.
“You taste so fucking good, Katrina.” He settled over me, kissing me again until I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t care. I could die like this and be perfectly content.
He trailed his kisses lower, pulling my dress up, sucking on my nipple through the sheer lace of my bra.
“Oh, God.” I arched, helpless to do anything but feel.
He continued his journey, down over my belly, pushing my panties down my thighs. Somewhere, in the back of my brain, a warning bell was going on off, telling me I should stop. This shouldn’t be happening. Ryder was my best friend’s brother. He humiliated me in high school. He was a player. He had no ambition and nothing to offer me except annoyance and irritation. My hormones told my brain to shut up and enjoy the ride.
He settled his shoulders between my thighs and slipped his hands underneath my backside, lifting my hips to his mouth.
“I’ve wanted you like this forever,” he said roughly. He buried his face in my pussy. I cried out as pleasure whipped up in a frenzy. He groaned, the vibration of it sending shock waves through my entire body. Every neuron inside me was firing. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I never wanted it to stop.
1
Ryder—One Week Earlier
During weeknights, the bar was busy, but not crowded like it was on weekends. Mostly, it was regulars stopping in after work for a little drink to unwind before heading home. Having grown up in Salvation, I was acquainted with nearly everyone who walked through the door. I knew their family history, life story, current woes, and their go-to drink.
The trio walking in now, I knew better than most. My sister, Sinclair, my best buddy, now brother-in-law, Wyatt, and my sister’s friend Trina I’d known for as long as I could remember. I took a moment to watch them, or more accurately, Trina, as they approached.