Ridge: Sydney, stop. I dont even want you to offer.
I have no idea what to say in response. This whole situation is awkward and uncomfortable, because were both dancing around all the things we wish we had the courage to do and say.
I set my phone facedown on the couch. I want him to know that I need a break. I dont like that we arent being us.
He takes the hint and lays his phone down on the armrest beside him, then sighs heavily as he drops his head against the back of the couch. The silence makes me wish I could experience the world from his perspective for once. I find it almost impossible to put myself in his shoes, though. People with the advantage of hearing take so much for granted, and Ive never understood that to the extent that I understand it now. Theres nothing being spoken between us, yet I understand by his heavy sigh that hes frustrated with himself. I understand how much hes holding back by the way his breaths are being sharply pulled in.
I suppose his expertise in a silent world gives him an ability to read people, just in different ways. Instead of focusing on the sounds of my breaths, he focuses on the rise and fall of my chest. Rather than listening to quiet sighs, he more than likely watches my eyes, my hands, my posture. Maybe thats why his face is tilted toward mine now, because he wants to see me and get a feel for whats going through my head.
I feel as if he reads me too well. The way hes watching me forces me to try to control every facial expression and every breath. I close my eyes and lean my head back, knowing hes staring, trying to get a sense of where I am.
I also wish I could just turn to him and tell him. I want to tell him how much Ive missed him. I want to tell him how much he means to me. I want to tell him how horrible I feel, because before I showed up in his life, everything seemed perfect for him. I want to tell him that even though we both regretted it, that minute we spent kissing was the one minute out of my entire life that I wouldnt trade for the world.
At moments like these, Im thankful he cant hear me, or there would have been so many things spoken that I would regret.
Instead, there are so many things left unsaid that I wish I had the courage to say.
Ridges weight shifts on the couch, and my eyes naturally open out of curiosity. Hes leaning across the arm of the couch, reaching for something. When he turns back around, hes holding a pen in his hand. He smiles softly, then picks up my arm. He turns his body toward mine and presses the pen to my open palm.
I swallow hard and slowly look up at his face, but hes looking down at my hand as he writes. I could swear I almost see a faint smile flash across his lips. When hes finished, he brings my palm to his mouth and blows softly to dry the ink. His lips are moist and puckered into a pout, and holy hell, it just got really warm in this apartment. He lowers my hand, and I look down at it.
Just wanted to touch your hand.
I laugh softly. Mostly because his words are so innocent and sweet compared to the things hes written on me in the past. Ive been sitting here on this couch with him for ten minutes, wishing he would touch me, and then he goes and admits he was thinking the exact same thing. Its so juvenile, as if were teenagers. Im almost embarrassed that it pleases me this much that hes touching me, but I cant recall a time Ive ever wanted anything more.
He hasnt released my hand yet, and Im still looking down at his writing, smiling. I brush my thumb across the back of his hand, and he gasps quietly. The permission I just gave him with that tiny movement seems to have broken some invisible barrier, because he immediately slides his hand over mine and presses our palms together, then intertwines our fingers. The warmth of his hand doesnt come close to the warmth that just shot through my entire body.
God, if just holding hands with him feels this intense, I cant imagine what everything else with him would feel like.
Were both watching our hands now, feeling every bit of the connection pulsating through our palms. He brushes over my thumb and flips our hands over, then takes the pen and presses it to my wrist. He moves the pen slowly up my wrist, drawing in a straight line all the way up my forearm. I dont stop him. I simply watch him. When he reaches the crease in my elbow, he begins to write again. I read each word as he writes it.
Just an excuse to touch you here, too.
Without releasing my hand, he lifts my arm and keeps his eyes focused on mine as he bends forward and blows softly up and down my arm. He presses his lips lightly against his words and kisses them without once breaking eye contact. When his lips meet my arm, I feel a soft flick of his tongue tease my arm for a split second before his mouth closes over my skin.
That might have just made me whimper.
Yep. Pretty sure I just whimpered.
God, Im so glad he couldnt hear that.
He pulls his lips away from my arm and continues to watch me, gauging my reaction. His eyes are dark and piercing, and theyre focused all over me. On my lips, on my eyes, on my neck, on my hair, on my chest. He cant seem to take me in fast enough.
He presses the pen against my skin again, starting where he left off. He rolls the pen slowly up my arm, watching it intently the whole time. When he reaches the sleeve of my T-shirt, he pushes it up carefully until my shoulder is exposed. He makes a small mark with the pen, then slowly leans over me. My head falls back against the couch when I feel his lips meet my skin. His breath is close and warm against my shoulder. Im not even thinking about the fact that hes drawing all over me. That can be washed off later. Right now, I just want his pen to keep going and going until its completely out of ink.
He pulls away and releases my hand, switching the pen to his other hand. He pulls my sleeve back down over my shoulder, then slips his fingers inside the collar of my T-shirt, tugging it to expose more of my collarbone. He puts the tip of the pen on my shoulder and glances up at me while he proceeds with caution, making his way to my neck. His expression is heated, and I can tell hes proceeding with caution, despite the fact that I know exactly what he wishes were happening right now and where he plans to go with this pen. He doesnt have to verbalize it when his eyes clearly state it for him.
He moves the pen slowly up my neck. I naturally tilt my head to the side, and as soon as I do, I hear a rush of air hiss quietly through his teeth. He comes to a stop just below my ear. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope my heart doesnt explode when he leans in, because it definitely feels as if it could. His lips press gently against my skin, and I swear the room flips upside down.
Or maybe that was just my heart.
One of my hands slides up his arm and grasps the back of his head, not wanting him to pull away from this spot. His tongue makes another quick appearance against my neck, but he doesnt let my desperation stall him. He lifts away and looks back down at me. His eyes are smiling, knowing how crazy hes driving me.
He rolls the pen from the spot below my ear, back down my neck, and around to the dip in the base of my throat. Before kissing the spot he just marked, he grabs me by the waist and lifts me up, sliding me onto his lap.
I grasp his arms and suck in a rush of air the second he pulls me against him. My T-shirt slides up my thighs, and the fact that Im not wearing anything under it except underwear pretty much guarantees that Ive gotten myself into something thats going to be damn hard to pull away from.
His eyes drop to the base of my throat as he slides a hand up my thigh, over my hip, and all the way up and into my hair. He grasps the back of my head, then pulls my neck against his mouth. This kiss is harder and not at all cautious like the rest of them. I slide my hands into his hair and keep his mouth pressed against my neck.
He works his kisses all the way up my neck until his mouth meets my chin. Our bodies are meshed firmly together, and one of his hands has found my lower back and is keeping me flush against him.
I cant move. Im literally panting for breath, wondering where in the hell the strong Sydney went. Wheres the Sydney who knows this shouldnt be happening?
Ill look for her later. After he finishes with his pen.
He pulls away when his lips come close to my mouth. Our bodies are as close as they can get without his mouth being on mine. He removes his hand from my lower back and brings the pen back around to my throat. When he touches the tip of it to my skin, I gulp, anticipating which direction hes about to go with it.
North or south, north or south. I dont really care.
He begins to scroll upward, but then he stops. He pulls the pen away from my neck and shakes it, then touches it to my neck again. He makes another movement upward with the pen but stops again. He pulls back slightly and frowns at the pen, which Im assuming has just run out of ink. He looks back at me and tosses the pen over my shoulder. I hear it land on the floor behind me.
His eyes drop to my lips, which Im assuming would have been the pens final destination. Were both breathing heavily, knowing exactly whats about to come next. What were about to experience again for the second time, knowing how much our first kiss affected us.
I think hes as terrified as I am right now.
Im leaning all my weight into him, because Ive never been this weak. I cant think, I cant move, I cant breathe. I just . . . need.
He brings both hands to my cheeks and looks directly into my eyes.
Your call, he whispers.
Jesus Christ, that voice.
I stare at him, not sure if I like that he just put the control in my hands. He wants this to be my decision.
Its so much easier having someone else to blame when things go where they shouldnt. I know we shouldnt be putting ourselves into a situation were only going to regret once its over. I could put a stop to it right here. I could make it easier by asking him to leave now, rather than when things get even more complicated between us. I could slide off his lap and tell him he shouldnt be here because he hasnt even had time to forgive himself for what happened with Maggie. I could tell him to go away and not come back until his heart isnt confused anymore about who it wants.
If that day ever comes.
There are so many things I could and should and need to do, but none of them is what I want to do.
The pressure picks the worst possible time to break me. The worst possible time.
I squeeze my eyes shut when I feel a tear begin to work its way out. It trickles down my cheek, falling slowly toward my jaw. Its the absolutely slowest descent a tear has ever made. I open my eyes, and Ridge is watching it. Hes following the wet trail with his eyes, and I can see his jaw growing more tense with every second that passes. I want to reach up and wipe it away, but the last thing I want to do is hide it from him. My tears say a whole lot more about how Im feeling right now than Im willing to say in a text.
Maybe I need him to know that this is hurting me.
Maybe I want it to hurt him, too.
When the tear finally curves and disappears under my jaw, he brings his eyes back to mine. Im surprised by what I see in them.
His own tears.