Holding Her Hand (The Reed Brothers 9)

He shrugs. “It’s not scary.”

“What?” I shriek with my hands, making my gestures big as I exaggerate. “There was scary music, and then he offs her with a screwdriver with almost no warning.”

His brow furrows. “There was scary music?”

I cover my gasp with my hand. He can’t hear the scary music. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m the worst date ever. “You can’t hear the dum-dum-dum-dum-dum music. The music that says something is lurking around the corner and it’s going to eat you.” I make a grab like I’m going for his face.

He laughs, grabs me, and rolls me beneath him on the couch. He’s reclining on his side, shoved in amongst the cushions, halfway hovering over me. He’s laughing so hard his chest is shaking. When he finally calms down, he says, “I can’t hear dum dum dum dum.” He shrugs. “I don’t think I’m missing much. I knew he was in the closet.”

“How’d you know he was in the closet?”

“There was a trail of blood leading to it.”

“There was?”

He laughs again. “Yes, there was.”

I know how I missed it. I was thinking about how nice it was sitting next to Ryan in the dark, right up until the minute the scary music started. “You want to turn it off?”

“Why?” He looks down at me, his eyes touching every part of my face like he’s memorizing my features. My heart starts to pound.

“Because you can’t hear the music and it’s not scary to you.”

He points to his chest. “You think I’m going to give up an opportunity to have you squealing in my arms? My mother didn’t raise a fool.” He shakes his head. “Let’s finish it.”

He leans over me and grabs the remote, but we don’t sit up. He dims the lights and I roll to face the TV. Ryan props his head in his palm and puts one hand on my hip.

He growls a little as he brushes my hair down between us. Then his lips touch the tender skin of my shoulder where my t-shirt has slipped. He makes a breathy little moan as he inhales deeply.

“You smell good,” he says out loud. He’s really hard to understand, and if he wasn’t still sniffing me, I’d have no clue at all what he said. But I think I get it. He presses a button and the movie starts again. His hand draws a little circle on my hip as we watch. It suddenly doesn’t seem quite as scary. What’s much more scary is how his fingers are playing along the hip of my yoga pants.

I draw in a quick breath when his fingers slip beneath the edge of my shirt to tickle my waist. His fingers stop moving. I cover his hand with mine and give it a squeeze. Don’t stop. It feels really good, I plead in my head. But the lights are low and he can’t hear or see me. He kisses my shoulder again and snuggles in closer as his fingers resume their gentle swirls.

My heart pounds like a jackhammer in my chest. I press my face into the pillow and bite the edge of it. I have never, ever felt like this before. This is how I always imagined it would be, but I’d never found it. Of

course, I’ve never been vulnerable with anyone before, either, and I’ve never let anyone see my scars.

His fingers stop their slow stroll when he skims across the bumpy scars on my stomach. Once again, I cover his hand and press him against me. Don’t stop, I will in my mind. It feels good. This feels so good. He feels so good. He kisses the side of my neck and nips the sensitive skin beneath my ear, then laves it with his tongue to soothe the sting.

With a gentle nudge at my shoulder, Ryan rolls me forward onto my belly a little and I turn my face toward the TV. But I’m not watching TV. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and instead concentrate on the way he’s lifting the back of my shirt. His hand explores the ridges and bumps of my scars with gentle sweeps of his fingertips, soft rubs with the flat of his palm, and simple swipes of his thumb. He hooks a finger in my bra strap and tugs it, silently asking for my permission and then waiting to get it. I nod into my pillow. He groans as he unhooks my bra and pushes the straps to the side.

With gentle motions and solid rubs, Ryan soothes me and discombobulates me all at once. He’s gentle but firm, tender but harsh, soft but hard. His fingers find the muscles around my ribs and start to press a little harder. I moan. I can’t help it.

He chuckles. Does he know I did that?

I roll all the way onto my belly and tuck my arms under the pillow, holding on to it for dear life. Ryan throws a leg over my bottom and pushes my shirt higher. Then his lips join his hand. His breath is hot and humid, and his lips are soft and tender.

A slow burn begins to thrum between my thighs and I rock my hips into the sofa trying to ease the ache. Ryan keeps on exploring my back, leaving no inch untouched, no crease unexplored, no dip untried. No heart untouched.

With his gentle fingers and his questing lips, he’s offering me something no one ever has. He’s accepting my body, and me by extension, with no holds barred. He’s treating me like I’m made of glass, while letting me know he wants to see more of me, maybe even have more of me.

Suddenly, the light flips on above us. Ryan freezes, but only for a moment. Then he quickly and efficiently hooks my bra strap behind me and he pulls my shirt down. He sits up, and so do I.

Wren stands in the entryway, and she’s a wreck. Her makeup runs in dark rivulets down her face.

“I should go,” Ryan says to me.

I don’t want him to go, but I need to find out what’s wrong with Wren. She hasn’t been home since she left angry, and I have no idea where she’s been. But the last time she looked like this, it was because the asshole she had been seeing cheated on her.