Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

—”

Ryke appears in the door frame. Buck naked. My smile widens as he stands stoic and tall, letting my eyes graze all of him. Beads of water still drip down his abdomen and arms, and the full frontal view is pretty damn exquisite.

To my phone speaker, I say, “Don’t wait around. It may take a while.” I hit the number one and set my cell aside, resting my forearms on the tub ledge and my chin on my hands. “Husband,” I test out the word. It sounds mighty powerful. “Did anyone interesting call?”

He approaches the tub, setting his phone next to mine. “Just my fucking father.”

I straighten up, expecting bad news, but nothing filters through his darkened gaze besides his usual broodiness.

He returns to the warm bath water, sinking down and then sliding towards me. His knees stick out of the pinkish purple foam bubbles on either side of my frame. His arms rest on the tub’s edges, my legs stretching out above his thighs. My chest is almost right up against his, the placement of our bodies a thousand times more intimate.

I instantly feel safer with him this close, this near. And I wait for him to tell me more.

After a couple minutes, my fingers drawing hearts and flowers in the foam, he finally gathers the words. “Greg and Jonathan are leaving tonight.”

My face falls. “What? Why?” I retrace my steps, my words, wondering if I offended my dad by not asking him to walk me down the aisle after all, or if he’s still uncomfortable about the fact that I’ll be a young mom.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fucking fault—”

“I must’ve offended him,” I realize, my face twisting in hurt. “I should call him—”

“Dais,” Ryke forces my name, his hand on my cheek. “It’s our fucking wedding night, and they’re leaving because something about our wedding present. I don’t fucking know; he wasn’t making sense.”

“Was he just lying to make us feel better?”

“I don’t think so.” His hazel-flecked eyes pin on mine.

You knew I was the one in Cancun. The fact pops up more than once to dizzy me.

“Promise me you won’t let this ruin your night or I’m going to wish I never said a fucking thing until tomorrow.”

I let it go and scoop up a handful of bubbles and dab them around my chin, jawline and upper-lip. I quirk my brow and grin at him. “Would you still love me with a pink beard?”

With his firm hand on the back of my head, he kisses me roughly, bubble beard and all. My lips tingle beneath his, his tongue parting them and sliding skillfully along mine. One of his hands cups my ass, and when he squeezes, I moan a little against his mouth.

He breaks away while I catch my breath. Ryke affectionately combs my blonde hair back, so soothing with the added warm water. I knew I wanted to return to blonde after Grand & Daring Stakeout #32. I just kept gravitating towards those wigs, but I decided to hold off on dyeing my hair until my wedding day.

To surprise Ryke. He was even more overcome than I imagined.

I’ll never forget the way he stared at me as I neared him. Or the tears that rolled down his cheek.

I clutch his shoulders, resting my chin there for a second, his warmth comforting. I’m antsy though, so I lean back as much as I scoot forward. I end up running my hands through his hair, facing him.

“You tired tonight?” he asks. It’s been a long day with an early morning wedding and then the never-ending reception that lasted until about an hour ago. Everyone has most likely conked out, and Ryke would never hold it against me if I just wanted to soak in the tub and then sleep.

I’m still wired from the adrenaline of our ceremony and then him, just his presence this weekend. “I want to solidify our union,” I say. “Isn’t it bad luck if we don’t consummate the marriage?”

“We’re not living in the seventeenth century, we can do whatever the fuck we want,” he says in a low, husky voice, pulling me even further onto his lap. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist.

“Yeah?” I kiss his cheek so lightly, so teasingly that he finds my lips and makes up for the tenderness with an aggressive, I’m pack leader and I want you right fucking now embrace. His hands push me so close against his chest that I lose breath and my thighs tremble.

His mouth drifts to my ear. “I need you to say the fucking words, sweetheart.”

I instinctively grind forward, so very attracted to Ryke, and his muscles flex and coil in response, his arousal spiking. I rest my forehead against his shoulder, grasping some of his hair. “I want this.” I practically pant. I lift my head, just to meet his eyes, and I say even more strongly, “I want you inside of me. Please.”

Without wasting another second, Ryke stands, holding me perfectly around his waist. The power of my voice, I smile as his feral lips ravage mine. He steps out of the bathtub, essentially carrying me into the shower with him.

Swiftly, he turns on the showerhead, water raining down on us and washing away any foam bubbles and soapsuds. I feel like I can’t catch my breath, my whole body vibrating for closer contact even though I’m wrapped around him.

In between a kiss that swells my lips, I pant, “I’m so aroused.” More than usual for me. He supports me with just one hand, the other traveling between my legs. His fingers graze my clit, the sensitivity flicking on neon lights inside my brain.

I breathe heavily against him. “Ryke.” I touch his wrist, wanting him to stay down there. Oh God. What is this?

As though he can read my mind, he says, “Hormones.”

Hormones? My smile stretches, and I rest my hand on my belly. “What a miracle baby.” She or he has helped shift all these chemicals in my body that say, nah, no sex for me, thanks, into carnal, take-your-clothes-off Daisy. At least for tonight.

Ryke runs his hand over my abdomen, the bump so small but he notices it well enough, and then he hoists me a little higher, more protectively. I reach over his side and shut off the shower before he carries me out. His lengthy stride and darkened gaze drives me curious and excited. I’m backwards to wherever he takes me.

“Daisy Meadows,” he says huskily. “You ready to go for a fucking ride?”

My pulse races, and I stare at his hard, unshaven jaw, his hair dripping wet. “Say that again,” I pant.

His lips rise. “Daisy Meadows.”

I break into another smile, unable to even speak. Then he reaches behind me, and the sixty-degree temperature tonight rushes onto the balcony, washing over us. The suite is on the highest floor, all the other balconies below us.

As he turns off the lights and then steps outside, I crane my neck over my shoulder at the balcony railing and view. Filmy clouds hide the stars and the tip of the mountain peak. I like that nighttime and weather darkens our surroundings. No spotlight bearing down us. Shrouded from anyone’s view.

I can barely even distinguish the black railing from the air, but Ryke discovers it just fine, setting my ass on cold iron.

I clutch his waist with a looser, daring grip, but he has one hand on my knee at all times, a vice that is not breaking. Our make-out slows for a second, only as I realize how perfect the height of the railing is to his hardened cock.

He spreads my knees apart, and I almost begin to pulse for him. Even though he hasn’t slid in yet. I keep staring down, and he lifts my chin to kiss me one more time.

I ask in a shallow breath, “Can we skip foreplay?” If I’m not wet enough, it’s like asking Ryke, can you stick your nine-inch razor blade in my vagina? He’s not about that.

With his free hand, he slips two fingers into his mouth before he rubs them against my clit. I bite the bottom of my lip, a noise tickling my throat. Ahhh… “Ryke,” I say softly, so no one else outside can possibly hear. His movements escalate, teasing me until his fingers slip…in and pump. His mouth trails my collar, then reaches my nipple.

I inhale sharply.

His teeth skim the sensitive bud, his fingers driving further inside me, and his thumb keeps rubbing. His talented lips and tongue ret

urn to my neck.

My hands dig into his waist, and my back begins to arch, my head tilting—eyes on the sky. My toes curl and a tremor ripples through my body. RykeRykeRyke… My mouth opens and can’t shut.

I almost start to cry but restrain the noise. It feels like an orgasm of the century, and as I slowly, ever so slowly, come down, Ryke watches me with raised brows.

“Why would you want to fucking skip that?” he asks.

“Point felt,” I conclude with one more exhale.

He comes closer, his erection in line with my wide-open legs, and one of his hands curves around my back. I trust him. I trust him a thousand times over with my life. Enough to sit on a thin railing ten-stories above the ground. Enough to lean back with that disastrous, missing link in my head. The one that numbs death and says, it’s okay to fall. Go right ahead.

He has me.

He has me in his arms. In his soul. And he’s not going to let go.

He never has.

My pulse is speeding a hundred-and-fifty miles per hour. “I love you,” I breathe, my hands loose around his neck.

He nudges my cheek with his nose, just so I lift my head up enough to kiss him. I smile in the middle of it, and his hardness slowly fills me, the sensitivity electrifying my body. I shudder against him, and he assesses my state, for any signs of pain.

I nod to him a couple times like, I’m good. I’m really good.

He thrusts, rocking so slow, the pleasure like beautiful, electric anguish. I let out a high-pitched noise that he conceals with his large hand, so no one catches us making love outside. His other hand is tight on my knee again.

I clench around his cock as I watch it disappear inside of me, then out. Then in. My trembling hands fall to his ass, flexing beneath my palm each time he pushes in. I cry again, his coarse hand still covering my lips.

I mumble, “I can’t…I can’t…” It’s too much…I moan, my body in a high, and I lean backwards, slicing through air, all of it rushing out through my lungs.

His hand on my mouth suddenly catches my wrist, right when I’m at a supine angle, staring straight up at the sky. He’s still rocking back and forth inside of me, building me up all over again.