I don't know what changed, but somewhere between leaving the restaurant and getting back to Ryan's car, he went from the shy, playfulness that we've been dancing around for the last week to-- something else.

I like it.

I like it a lot.

I liked the way he put his arm around me as we walked down the sidewalk. Like he was claiming me in front of everyone. I liked the way he stared down the guys smoking in front of the bar when they looked at me.

I mean, it's not like they were really looking at me like that, but it felt good that Ryan thought they were.

The drive back to my place is short, which is good, because I really want him to come inside...me.

My hand flies over my mouth like I can somehow take back the giggle that just escaped me.

"Something funny?" Ryan asks. But he's not giving me one of those sympathetic laughs like he's pretending to be in on the joke with me.

"Um," I fumble with my keys while he waits patiently beside me at my front door, "just a funny thought," I tell him, "and one sip of wine too many, apparently."

The door swings open and I flip the light switch just inside the door. The front room lights up and I head across the threshold.

Ryan doesn't move.

When I turn around, I see him shift his weight from one foot to the other with a look on his face like he's trying to decide whether to stick with the shy routine or go with that sexy alpha thing that just popped up on our walk downtown.

My eyes hold his for a second longer than necessary and then I let them wander down his frame. Just checking to see what else might 'pop up.' My internal bad girl whispers inside my brain, making me fight another giggle.

Damn but my brain seems to have gotten set on naughty. I blame the wine. I blame the way my body lit up when he pulled me against him like he owned me. I blame him.

From the dark brown hair cropped close to his head, to the smooth skin of his freshly shaved jaw, down the broad chest that isn't hidden by the black dress shirt to the...hmmm. I really don't think it's the wine that's got me thinking like this.

He's wearing black dress pants. Not the jeans I've seen him in when we've met for coffee during the day. The dress pants aren't as tight and they don't show off his-- assets-- the way the jeans do, but I never had the courage to really check things out from the front view till now.

The view from my front door isn't disappointing. There's definitely a bulge behind that fly. One that needs further investigating.

I'm about to open my mouth to invite him in, or give in to the impulse to do something really naughty to get him past the doorway, when he seems to make his decision about whether to go with his shy, polite Dr. Jekyll personality or the newly discovered, commanding Mr. Hyde.

The door slams behind him but it's only a distant thud under the beat of my heart.

Ryan's hands are bracing the sides of my face, holding my head firmly between them and forcing me to look up at him.

Or I would be looking up at him, if my eyes were open.

They're not, they closed. Maybe too tightly, because there are bright pink and white star bursts exploding behind my eyelids while he kisses me.

His fingers are making a mess of my hair. Combing through it and pulling the curls out of the bobby pins I spent so much time pinning it up with earlier.

I can't bother to care about it though. If I have to spend 3 hours combing it out tomorrow, it'll be worth it.

Fuck! If I have to shave it all off, it'll be so worth it!

He's a really good kisser.

His lips are firm against mine, commanding my lips apart and moving his tongue to coax mine to twine with it.

Ryan's taller than me, tall enough that he has to bend down to kiss me but all I want to feel is that bulge in his pants pressed against me.

He guides me further into my house, heading toward the sofa on the far side of my living room. Through the haze that clouds my brain I think about changing our direction toward the bedroom but it's so damn easy to let him decide.

I like the decisive way he steers me across the room, our mouths never parting. By the time he pushes me down on the sofa, my hair is completely loose in what must look like a rat's nest but he doesn't seem to mind.

My glasses get slipped off my face and I hear him set them on the end table next to the sofa.

And then Ryan's lips finally break from mine.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says in a voice that's thick with the same lust I'm feeling, "I wanted to do this the night we met."

I don't have a chance to ask what "this" is. I have a feeling I know already, and it's the same thing I want.

His face dips below my jaw and his lips begin searing a trail down my neck on a collision course with his hands where they've landed over my breasts.

He settles on his knees between my legs, forcing my thighs apart to make room for him to kneel between them which pushes my dress up around my waist and exposes my panties. I'm sprawled on the cushions and lewdly open to him but every way he touches me feels too good for me to bother being self conscious.

Ryan grabs the hem of my dress and makes expert work of pulling it off me, leaving me in nothing but the dark green panties that I feel sticking against me from the dampness of my own arousal, and the matching bra that he's already managed to free my breasts from before reaching around my back and unhooking the thing while he teases my nipples into stiff peaks with his teeth.

My head is laid against the back of the couch at an odd angle that I'm only vaguely aware of. My hands thread through Ryan's hair, pulling his mouth against me insistently while I moan at the way his fingers knead into my soft flesh as he wraps his hands around my breasts and grip harder in response to the sounds I make.

Suddenly I feel his hands on my hips and my body is jerked toward him as he pulls me to the edge of the seat.

And that's when my moaning really starts.