"Did we?" I tease as he unzips my bustier, then tosses it onto the floor.
"I seem to recall promising some very specific things," he continues, reaching back to unzip my pants. "Like, for example, fucking you senseless."
"Oh," I say, my tender nipples tightening again, the sensation wildly enticing.
"It's ridiculously late," he says, gently sliding me off his lap so that I'm standing in front of him. "But I have to have you. Tell me if you want me to stop," he adds as he falls to his knees and peels the pants and my thong down my legs. "Because, baby, right now I can't think about anything else but being inside you," he says, then licks my very sensitive pussy, sending a current of electricity racing through me.
"Riley..." It's the only word I conjure, but it's enough. My feet are already bare, and I kick out of the last of the leather pants as he leads me back to the bed, then lays me out naked.
He stands beside me, then shrugs off the black leather vest and lets it fall to the ground. I swallow, wondering if I'll ever get used to the beauty of this man. The strength and power he exudes.
Wondering if I'll ever stop craving him and knowing that I won't. Hell, that I don't want to.
For so long, I'd denied myself this man, and now I can barely remember why. He's blown through my defenses in record time and settled himself firmly in the Riley-shaped place in my heart that's been waiting for him for years.
He meets my eyes, his grin crooked and cocky, as if he knows what I'm thinking. As if he understands how much I want him. All of him.
Then his hand goes to his fly, and I actually whimper. After everything we've done together, I realize with surprise that I haven't actually seen him naked. And I hold my breath as he pulls the leather down. Since he's gone commando, his cock springs free, hard and thick and huge.
Without thinking, I reach for him, but he just steps away from my fingers, his grin suggesting that he knows he's tormenting me.
I expect him to get onto the bed, but first he grabs up the vest. I see him reach into a slim pocket on the inside, and then toss something onto the bedside table. I glance over and see a packet of condoms. "Boy Scout," he says, making me laugh.
Then he gets onto the bed and straddles me. It's almost three in the morning, and I've been through a lot, but the moment his skin touches mine, all traces of exhaustion leave me, overcome by the sheer power of this man.
"I want to hold you," he tells me. "I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. But first, I have to be inside you."
"Yes," I whisper. "Oh, dear God, yes."
We move together, slow and easy. Fingers touching. Mouths teasing. Our bodies fit perfectly, and he takes me on my back, my knees bent up to my chest so that he can go deep, his rhythmic thrusts filling me and making the bed shake with the motion. His body covers me, and his cock fills me, and as we move together, I lose my sense of self. We're one, a unit, and I can't tell where he begins and I end. Even when he starts to come, I feel the ripples of his release break through me, taking me over the edge as well.
And when he calls out, his voice a raw, guttural groan, for me to go over with him, I break apart, my body answering his command without question, shattering with him, and then coming back together in his arms.
We stay like that, him on top of me, looking into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I believe it. Because as I look deep into Riley's dark eyes, I know that I'm seeing the full measure of the man. More than that, I know that I love him. I think I always have.
What I don't know is if he feels the same way. Or, if he does, how we can possibly make this work.
Those same thoughts swirl in my head as we spoon together, my back to his chest, as sleep creeps up on us.
I, however, fight it back. It's not sleep I want. It's Riley. It's a future. And to get there, we have to reconcile the past.
I take a deep breath, then exhale, hoping he hasn't drifted off already. "About before," I say. "The years before, not earlier today."
"Yes?" His voice is tired, but I know I have his attention.
"It's not just that seeing you made me remember my father. That's not the only reason I pushed you away."
"Wasn't it?"
"No. It's that I didn't think that I could stand the strain of knowing I might lose you at any minute the same way I lost him." My voice is tight with emotion, and I exhale noisily. "But it doesn't matter anyway, does it? Because you don't like this city. And once you catch my stalker, you're going to leave. Aren't you?"
He's silent for a moment, then he says, "Is that what you want?"
I lick my lips, suddenly unsure. I can't imagine living with that fear every day. I don't know how my mother did it. She died of complications following surgery three years before my father did. I sometimes wonder if in some way that was a relief to her. Or is it just simply proof that worrying about the obvious dangers is foolish, because the unexpected ones will get you anyway?
"I don't know," I say after a moment, realizing I haven't answered his question. But how can I? I want the man. But I also want certainty and safety. Or at least as much certainty as is humanly possible.
"You love this town," he says after a moment.
"I do." I want to turn and see his eyes, but I don't. These are things we've never talked about, and they're important. And I don't want to stop--or risk doing anything that makes him stop. "But it's mostly my job that I love," I admit.
"Lyle?"
"Partly. Working for him is great. But I truly love Hollywood. If they moved the heart of the film industry somewhere else, I'd follow." I draw in a breath, and then tell him the real truth. "I want to be part of making happy endings," I admit. "I can't act or produce or direct or any of that. But I can help. I can make a difference for the ones who craft the stories, and that matters."
"It does," he agrees.
"The stories matter, too. To the public, sure, but also to me. I need to be part of the fairy tale. Honestly, even though I was born in LA, I sought out Hollywood. I came to it because it was my due. Because in my real world, when Cinderella lost her shoe, it ended up tossed in a junk heap. And Sleeping Beauty got tetanus from that damn needle prick."
I take a breath. "I wanted to help make happily ever afters, and if I couldn't do it in real life, then I'd help do it on the screen in whatever way I could wrangle."
"I get that," he says. "There's not much that's more important than making your own happy ending."
I smile, more pleased than I'd anticipated that he seems to understand why my work, which probably looks to someone on the outside like something I could do for any exec in any industry, is important to me.
"What about you?" I ask. "How'd you end up on a SWAT team with my dad? Were you following in your own father's footsteps?"
"No," he says. "Honestly, I don't know why. I just know that it's what I've always wanted. I like order. I appreciate respect. And I like to live in a world where there are rules. You break them sometimes, sure. But for the most part, the idea is to mold a world that makes sense. That's sane and safe." I feel him shrug. "I guess the bottom line is that I want to help people. And by doing that I go a little ways toward making the world that I want to live in."
"That makes sense," I say.
"Bottom line, I'm selfish."
I laugh. "Bottom line, you're one of the best men I know. You didn't have to
help me. You could be off in China right now."
"But I'm not," he says. "I'm here right now. And at least for the moment, I'm not going anywhere."
I sigh, then I break my own rule and turn to face him. "Hold me," I say. "Hold me, and then find me in your dreams."
Chapter Nine
Thank God for friends, Riley thought as he shook Zac Tyson's hand. And for Ian Taggart.
"Not sure how much help I can be," the burly man with the shaved head and Chicago Cubs T-shirt said as he greeted Riley in the now-deserted reception area. "But if Taggart says you deserve the open door policy, then you got it, my friend."
"Appreciate it." Riley had texted Big Tag with a quick and dirty summary of the situation, then asked Tag to reach out to Jared for an intro to The Firehouse's owners so that he could get access to the security set-up. Instead, Tag had gone one step further and hooked Riley up with the club's security guru. Apparently Zac had done some surveillance work for Taggart. Which Riley probably should have anticipated. Never underestimate Ian Fucking Taggart, after all.
Riley and Nat had slept until eight, when Pumpkin had decided she was hungry and had taken to batting Riley's face until he woke up. He and the cat had bonded over tuna and coffee, and then he'd returned to the bedroom where he'd very methodically kissed his Sleeping Beauty awake.
They'd made love in the shower, after which she'd pulled together a breakfast of eggs and toast. The whole morning had felt ridiculously, wonderfully domestic, especially after the heated decadence of the night before. And Riley, who never stayed over at a woman's house, had sat in the chair watching her cook, all the while thinking that he could get used to that.
The text had come in while they were eating, and since the only time Zac had available that morning was when Nat needed to be on a conference call, they'd decided he'd go by himself.
He saw her safely to the condo office, double-checked to make sure the elevator and door security were working properly, then told her not to go out for any reason.