But he’s there, taking control, holding me down just like I need him to.
“Bren.” He’s begging, needing to know I’m pleased before he can find his release.
“Take it,” I pant. “Take it now.”
He complies, hand grasping my ass to gain purchase, that powerful body working for what it wants. We get a little messy, a little mean about it. My teeth sink into the meaty curve where his shoulder meets his neck, and he groans, curling himself over me as he breaks apart in my arms.
There is nothing—nothing—hotter than the sight of Rye Peterson coming. All those times being utterly turned on while watching him sweat on stage, thick muscles straining, lips parted as he throws his head back and loses himself to the music—they were just a prelude to this. Here, in this moment, he is beautiful, vulnerable, his body shuddering on a wordless cry.
It sets me off. My orgasm isn’t wild or mindless. It is relief, sweet and pure. It feels so good, so needed, a tear trickles from the corner of my eye.
With a grunt, Rye sags into me, his chest heaving. We’re so close, I feel his heart thudding against my breasts, each deep breath of air he draws in. Trembling fingers trace my brow, his parted lips touching my cheek. He’s too spent to kiss me; he simply breathes.
Weakly, I wait for the room to stop spinning. My heart is beating too fast. My heart. I don’t want to think about it or the way my hands keep straying to his broad back, needing to stroke his flushed skin. He’s holding me close, tucked against him, like I’m something precious. I’ve never been held this way. And I know at this moment it’s what I’ve been truly craving.
Connection.
With Rye.
My chest hitches. Suddenly his comforting weight is too much, the air in the room too close. I want to push him off, get some space.
I don’t know if he feels me squirm or it occurs to him that we’re clinging to each other like survivors of a storm, but his body tenses and he moves away. His gaze slides over my shoulder before pushing back to meet mine. He gives me a smile. That stupid, “I don’t give a fuck about anything” smile that he fobs off on the world. Easygoing Rye is back.
“You want to use the bathroom first?” he asks. So casual. A sham, but, as much as I hate this old facade, I’m also grateful for it. I need an out, and I need it now.
“Sure.” I’m utterly naked except for the ridiculous skirt crumpled around my waist. Somehow that makes me feel even more exposed. My movements are stiff and ungainly as I stumble out of bed and into the bathroom.
As soon as I close the door, I lean against it and draw a deep breath. Tears threaten, and I bite back a bitter laugh. My fears have come to fruition. He touched me, and I melted. I fell apart, and he put me back together. Only now, I’m a needy, fragile version of myself.
I want to regret making myself vulnerable. I do. My logical brain does, anyway. My body is screaming for more. It’s demanding I get back out there and climb Rye’s strong body like a jungle gym.
With shaking hands, I wash off as best I can. I’m not about to take a shower now. I have to get rid of Rye first. Thankfully, my robe is in the bathroom. I slip into its thick, silk-lined protection and tie it tight.
Rye sits at the edge of the bed, the sheets pulled over his lap. The sight of his big, strong body, colorful with ink along his upper chest and arms, makes my knees a little weak. The feel of him still pulses along my skin. I have a suspicion it will remain long after I shower.
He looks up, his denim eyes uncertain and strained at the corners. “I don’t know if I should stay or go. We never discussed how many…” He trails off with an audible swallow.
How many times we would fuck each other dizzy.
My body wants that again. It wants to take off this suffocating robe and crawl right back into his arms. It’s fairly humming for his touch. This is what I told him I wanted. Not just a quick hookup but something deeper.
Connection.
Be careful of what you wish for, Bren.
Rye gives me no clue what he’d prefer. He’s gone quiet, his body language placid. For all I know, he’s dying to bolt. I wouldn’t blame him one bit. And since I’d rather die than ask him to stay when he wants to go, I say the only thing I can.
“You wore me out.” True. And also, not even a little.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That blow you away, Berry?”