Fading Out (Living Heartwood 3)

He tears the condom wrapper with his teeth, his gaze refusing to release me. And as he reaches down to slip it on himself, I lick my lips, heavy with anticipation. His body shelters mine as he rests himself against me, that one moment suspended before he pushes in, eliciting a soft cry from my mouth.

“Shit,” he curses roughly. His hand grips my thigh as he backs out slowly, then drives into me deeper. “Fuck, but you feel so tight around me.” Then all hesitance is gone. My thighs lock against his strong hips as he rocks into me fully, stretching me to accommodate his notable size. I can’t lie and say that I wasn’t worried there’d be pain. It’s been a while—and Ryder is all man, from head to toe. But my body opens to him, unfolding like petals of a wilted flower, demanding he quench my thirst.

“All the way,” I pant out. His eyes snap to mine, a desperate need gleaming there. “I want all of you inside me, Ryder. Don’t hold back—let me feel you.”

His lips crash down on mine, swallowing the last of my words, as he drives into me, giving me exactly what I crave. My fingers slick over his back, nails clawing to find purchase, as his solid muscles flex. I finally find my grip in his hair as one of his hands locks onto the back of my thigh, pulling me to him as he fills me with each unguarded thrust.

I rock up to meet him each time he comes down, the sweet, tantalizing sensation making me gasp as the taut muscle between the V of his pelvis rubs my clit. Then I’m shoving all doubts aside, enraptured in the oncoming climax. My muscles clench on a spasm, my walls gripping him, begging for just one more thrust… And then he groans and pushes his hand between my legs, his fingers knowing just where to touch me.

A cry slips from my mouth, and Ryder lifts up. He drives into me with more force, slow and achingly deep, watching me as I arch my back. I cling to his shoulders, holding on as he brings me to the edge. Then I’m crashing. He groans and thrusts deeply, his body seizing, and he stays there—hard and pulsing inside me.

His head drops to my shoulder, our breaths panting and floating out to meet the crash against the shore. Euphoria has never felt like this. The aftershocks wash over my body, sending rippling waves of heat and chills along my skin.

I feel his chest expand against mine, then he turns his head and presses a soft kiss against my neck. “You’ve ruined me,” he says, before taking my mouth again.

22

Ryder

The problem with hookups is—most of the time—the chick doesn’t go away after. I’m better than most guys, at least, I think; I let them know beforehand that there won’t be any texts, dates, a next time. I’m always upfront. So I’m not completely ruthless.

Ever since the night everything went to hell, I’ve never once desired a long-term anything with a girl beyond meeting my most basic, carnal needs. Hell, I’m still human. But after Alyssa, I had zero interest in putting my heart through the fucking shredder again. Just thinking about it makes me want to punch myself for being such a pussy—but it’s the truth.

Sometimes, you just can’t rebound.

Gavin and Laney have somehow figured out the fine finesses of having a strictly sexual relationship without allowing the complication of feelings to get involved. But I never wanted to tempt it. You let them know bluntly it’s a mutually beneficial coupling to get your rocks off, and then you each part, no baggage, no drama.

I have never been on the other end of a hookup, however. I was not the one who secretly hoped that I was different, that I’d be the one time, the one moment, to blow your mind so hard that you’d want to stick around. Now, for the first time…I’m that person. And I don’t like it one fucking bit.

“Bro, we’re heading out,” Gavin says as he slides on his sneakers. “You sure you just want to sit around here and mope all night?”

Dropping my iPad to my lap, I glare at him. I’m so fucking tempted to ask him if Vee’s said anything about Ari, if she’s said anything about me—I feel like a total asshole. I resist the urge, and instead say, “Bring back some wings.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, sure.” Then he walks out the door, leaving me to brood by my damn self. I have

to admit, I don’t blame him. I’m getting pretty sick of me, too.

I’ve been the biggest dick out on the field this past week. Taking a lot of my shit out on the guys at the away game—though they haven’t complained. We have the playoff steadily approaching, and working them hard is what they expect. Doesn’t stop me from feeling like a douche, though.

That night with Ari on the beach…hell. I run my hand down my face, as if I can clear away the memory that’s been tormenting me all week. But it’s a futile attempt. I’m thoroughly wrecked. I’ve never felt anything close to what I experienced with her. I’ve been racking my brain, searching my Writer’s Thesaurus, seeking the words to describe it:

Ardent. Impassioned. Intense. Otherworldly. Powerful.

However close they are, they don’t fully capture the intimacy that left me reeling.

From the second she pressed her soft lips to mine, she owned me. Entirely. And I was terrified. I clung to her, desperate to keep her bound to me, fearful of letting her go—because I knew the inevitable distance would shatter me.

I’m that pathetic, I know. Believe me, I’ve been trying to put it into a context with which I can downplay it and recover. I keep reminding myself of what Ari voiced with the roar of the ocean as our backdrop, the stars our only witness to what transpired. She very clearly stated that she couldn’t offer me more than that moment, but damn it to hell. It’s not enough, not by a long shot.

The low knock at my door draws me out of my dark thoughts, and I consider ignoring it. It’s probably one of the other guys, sent by Gavin to try to talk me into going out. But hanging around Gavin as he macks on Vee is just not how I want to spend my night.

Another knock, more assertive this time, and I’m pushing off my bed. Annoyed, I yank the door open, my mouth parted to spew bitter words ready on my tongue…and I nearly choke as I swallow them back. The sight in the hallway a kick to my gut.

Ari stands with a binder pressed to her chest. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, the ringlets cascading over one shoulder. She’s dressed in a soft black thermal that sets off her amber irises and a pale pink skirt that falls to her ankles. An ache hitches in my throat, hot and solid.

“Can I come in?” she asks, tightening her grip on the binder.

All words vacate my head. I’ve spent the past week restraining myself from making any contact—rushing her in the lunchroom, demanding she acknowledge what happened between us. Bursting into her lecture hall and announcing my feelings like in some cheesy ending to a movie. I kept my cool—difficultly—giving her the time she apparently needed, and finally, my reward is here. And I can’t think of a damn thing to say now that she’s right before me.