I SPENT THE whole morning looking at apartments on the West Side, and I definitely like this one the best. It’s a brownstone right near campus, all trendy and Carrie Bradshawy. My father will approve. It’s the perfect place for the perfect judge’s perfect daughter.
The realtor says the current tenant’s lease is up in July, and then it will be move-in ready August 1st, which is perfect since orientation at Columbia starts mid-August.
I look down at my watch, a rose gold Michael Kors. My favorite one. It’s 3:15, and I’m wiped. Who knew apartment hunting could be so taxing?
Ryan and I decided to meet at Bryant Park again. So, here I am, pacing the walkway waiting for him.
He’s late. Again.
The birds are chirping, and the waterfall is echoing, but the serene sounds do nothing to calm me. I find myself worrying if my trust in him will ever return.
We’ve been texting nonstop for the last two days, but right now that doesn’t mean shit if he doesn’t show. I keep replaying the last words he said Sunday night.
It will take an act of God to keep me away.
I continue to pace. This is agony.
Without warning a pair of strong arms encircle me from behind. “You need to chill out.” His voice is sultry.
“Have any ideas how?” I inquire mischievously. Two seconds together and all of a sudden I’m a flirt. And happy. Shit, I’m happy.
Ryan plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “I may have something up my sleeve.”
I turn to face him, still imprisoned in his grasp. Jesus, he’s beautiful. All toned and tanned and sharply defined. He makes me feel weak, like he emits fucking pheromones or something.
“You’re here.” I muse.
“So, I am.” Ryan beams, blinding me with his smile. My stomach flips. “And so are you. The question now is, whatever shall we do?”
“Stop rhyming for one.” I giggle.
“Agreed.”
“I’m starving, actually. I haven’t eaten all day.” Come to think of it, I haven’t really eaten all week. The butterflies have completely inhabited my stomach.
“Is there a particular place you want to go?” He slides his hands leisurely down my bare arms. I suppress how much I love him touching me. Too soon. Too fast.
“I thought we could grab an early dinner here, in the park,” I suggest, collecting my bearings.
It’s a perfect day for alfresco.
“As long as we’re together, we can do anything you want.” He steals my hand.
“Anything?” I test the waters.
“Anything.” His eyes burn and so do my panties. Fuck.
“Good, let’s go then.” I cool my jets. “I want to eat.”
“Baby, so do I.” Ryan responds suggestively, pulling me toward the restaurant. I silently pray I survive this dinner.
The Bryant Park Grill is a quaint little place with a great view of the park and rooftop dining. After waiting a good half hour, we’re finally seated. We get a table right next to the railing with a sprawling view of the park’s gravel walkways, paved patio, and extensive lawn.
I order a glass of Pinot Grigio and the steamed mussels in spicy Thai coconut broth. Ryan orders a Tanqueray and tonic and the jumbo lump crab cakes. Our drinks are dropped off and now it’s just him and me, and all-consuming thoughts of that kiss. The one by the stairwell of New Jersey Transit. And how, God help me, I want him to kiss me like that all over again. And again, and again, and again.
“Alana?” I distantly hear my name and look up from the napkin I’m fiddling with. Ryan is staring pointedly at me. “Where did you go? You checked out for a second?”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking.”
“About what?” He’s guarded. Me thinking is never good, and Ryan knows it. I get lost in my own head and that is a very dangerous place to be.
“How long have you been dancing?” I fire away, no beating around the bush. I want to know. I want to know . . . everything.
His expression hardens. “About a year.”
He had to know this conversation was inevitable.
“Why do you do it?” I continued, sipping my wine for emotional support,
“Money, women, sex.” He shrugs.
Of course. The big three.
“I see.” His answer disappoints me. It’s so aloof. So shallow. So unlike Ryan. Or, at least, the Ryan I used to know.
“Well, I just do it for the money now.” He sucks on the skinny straw sticking out of his clear drink.
“Woman and sex suddenly lose their appeal?” Yes, I’m being surly. It’s painful visualizing the love of your life stripping off all his clothes for money, then fucking the women who stuffed the dollar bills down his pants.
“No, they’re still as important as ever, I’m just interested in having sex with only one woman now.” He states as if he’s laying claim.
“So, plural has turned into singular?” I’m snarky, still.
“Yes. Everything changed Saturday night. Everything.”
Everything?
“How many?” I push.
“How many what?” He searches my eyes. I know they’re smoldering and not from anything good.
“Women,” I clarify. “How many women have you slept with?”
Ryan just about shits. “Come on, Alana, do you really need to know that?”
“Yes, I really need to know.” I have to know.
Ryan exhales, his cheeks puffing. “I don’t know, a few dozen or so.” He throws out a number.
My heart races.
“A few dozen?” I swallow a huge gulp of wine. “What’s a few? And all from the strip club?”
“Most, yes. But not all. You have to understand.” He sits up straight, serious now. “This job, it’s money and sex and money and sex, and you get all caught up in the lifestyle if there isn’t anything anchoring you to the ground.” He leans forward, snatches my hand, and brushes the back side quickly with his thumb. “And I want so badly for you to be my anchor.”
A world war of emotions breaks out inside me.
“Do you understand how hard it will be for me if we’re together? Knowing you grind all over other women for money.” The waitress chooses the most inopportune moment to drop off our dinner. The older woman with thick-rimmed glasses shoots me a strange look when she places my plate in front of me. My cheeks blaze red. No one was meant to hear that comment.
“You make it sound so dirty,” Ryan shoots back when the waitress is out of earshot.
“Isn’t it? You strip off all your clothes and virtually dry fuck women all night long,” I hiss.
Ryan shakes his head. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s disappointed in me. Which is completely preposterous.
“You know, Alana, not every woman looks like you, has your brains, or your sexuality or confidence.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I huff.
“Not every woman has men falling at their feet like you.”
“Men don’t fall at my feet, Ryan.”
“I did. The first time I saw you, I would have done anything you asked. Even now. All these years later.”
“Ryan—”
“That’s part of the reason I do it. When women come to see us dance, it’s not just about me taking my clothes off. Some women are starved for attention, and all they want is for someone to notice them. And we do that. We make them feel good. Emily was having a damn good time with me until she found out who I was.”
“Can you please not bring Emily into this conversation? I’ve been working for days to scratch that mental picture out of my head.”
“You didn’t like it? Seeing me dance?” Ryan challenges.
Do I really have to answer that? I pause. Did I like it?
Yes, I did. He was sexy and alluring and I remember thinking to myself that goddamn he can move. But that was before I knew who he was. Before I knew he used to be mine.
“I liked it when you had anonymity.”
“Is my occupation going to be a deal breaker for you, Alana?” Ryan asks, his voice morphing into a sexy, manipulative tone. No doubt the same one he uses on all his women.
“What if it is? What then?” I offer up no ultimatum.
Ryan is clearly disappointed. “Then I’ll quit.”
“What?”
“I’ll quit. If it means I have to choose, I pick you. I’ll always pick you.” He squeezes my hand, making me realize he’s still holding it. He never let go. And neither did I. “You may have to support me for a while if I do quit, because I’m not going to find easy money like that anyplace else.” There’s humor behind his bold statement.
“How much do you make?” Ryan just royally piqued my curiosity.
“Anywhere from eight hundred to a thousand a night. But that’s on the high end. The average guy makes about four or five hundred.”
“That much?”
“It’s an expensive city to live in and not all of us are lucky enough to have Daddy to depend on.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not lucky, I’m just privileged. There’s a big difference.”
“And utterly lacking love.” Ryan pulls one of my cards. The most painful one. Fucker. I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings, and Ryan knows it. I guess that’s one trait my father and I do share. But just because I don’t show them, doesn’t mean I don’t have them.
“I love you.” He drops a grenade right on the table.
Boom.
“You don’t even know me anymore,” I argue.
“That’s not true. I know you’re still that girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone, especially me. Who deep down wants to help people, and who loves unconditionally when given the chance. That’s who I know.”
I glance down at our linked hands. I hate that it’s so easy for him. That it’s so easy for him to lay out all his feelings without fear or hesitation. But that’s Ryan’s way. It always has been.
“Don’t put the wall up, Alana, we’ve been there before.” He leans forward. “You know what’ll happen, I’ll demolish it with a battering ram.”
Arrogant fuck.
I bristle because I know he’s right. He’s the only person who can infiltrate my emotions. Who can break down that wall. The only person I want to let in. The only person I did let in.
“You’re as arrogant as ever, you know that? Maybe even worse than before.”
Ryan pops his eyebrows, like my accusation is something to be proud of. “And you’re as gorgeous and stubborn and smart-mouthed as ever.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Except maybe into my bed.”
“Only if I was one of your easy, strip club groupies.” I pull my hand away and grab for my wine glass. By the time Ryan is done with me I’m going to need AA.
“Ouch.” Ryan stabs himself in the heart, then gazes thoughtfully at me from across the table. “No, Alana,” he muses, “you’ve never been easy.” A slow, sexy smile spreads across his mouth. That freakin’ hot mouth that is so dangerous it needs a muzzle. “But trust me when I tell you, if I wanted you in my bed, you’d be there. Flattery or not.”
I find myself reliving all the ways Ryan touched me when we were together. How hot he could make my skin and exactly what degree he could make my body ache. Which is the Nth degree, if you’re wondering.
I lean across the table haughtily, every muscle in my stomach clenching at just the thought of Ryan touching me. “Tell yourself whatever you need to so you can sleep at night.”
He leans over boldly, as well, our noses three inches apart. “I haven’t been able to sleep in five years.”
“And why is that?” I’m staring blatantly at his mouth.
“Because I’ve been without a sexy, long-legged blonde for way too long. A feisty, fast-talking goddess who sets my world on fire.”
He’s rendered me speechless. Is that really how he sees me?
I slide my eyes up to his. They’re simultaneously dancing with humor and ablaze with desire. If I wasn’t programmed to be prim and proper I’d haul Ryan straight into a bathroom stall and have my wicked way with him. “Just to be clear, was that statement flattery or not?”
“Not,” he mouths so seductively, I think I just felt the proclamation hit my groin. Oh. “Just fact, counselor.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you wasting your efforts on something that’s not going to get you anywhere.” I fight to keep my breathing steady. It’s suddenly stifling out here. Are we in Midtown or the damn Deep South?
I don’t think I’m keeping my composure well because Ryan is eyeing me like he knows just how much he’s affecting me. Like it’s as blatant as the sun.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He reclaims my hand, lifts it to his lips, and presses a soft kiss on my overheated skin. But he doesn’t stop there. Continuing, he glides his tongue lightly down my index finger and sucks the tip right into his mouth. I’m pretty sure all my molecules just disintegrated. Quickly coming to my senses, I yank my hand away. My self-control is dwindling by the second.
Heaven help me, he touched me for a fraction of a second, and I’m tearing at the friggin’ seams.
My cheeks are flushed, my mouth is dry, and my panties are damp. I can’t even begin to imagine what will happen if I allow him free reign to roam my body.
I tremble internally from the outrageously tempting thought. Too fast. Too soon. I remind myself. I’m not that fucking easy. Am I? With Ryan, maybe.
Ryan extends a sinfully satisfied smile from across the table. Yup, the smug bastard definitely knows he’s affecting me.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Ryan throws his white napkin onto his plate. “I think we’ve done enough talking for tonight.” He leaves some money on the table, stands up, and stretches out his hand to me. Enough talking? What else is there to do?
I take his outstretched hand tentatively as my body temperature creeps back down to a comfortable ninety-seven degrees.
“And where are we going?” I inquire, suspiciously, as he pulls me to my feet.
Wrapping one arm around my waist, Ryan plants a firm kiss on my cheek. “I want to show you my place.”
“Wow,” is about all I can say when Ryan opens the door. “It’s so . . . girlie in here.”
The walls are light lavender and there are fresh flowers on almost every flat surface.
All the furniture is a distressed white, very Pottery Barn chic. The whole place is warm and inviting, and I have no problem picturing myself living here.
“Your gay roommate?” I probe.
“Well, she is gay.”
“She? You are just full of surprises.”
“Baby, you haven’t even seen the surprises I’m capable of yet.” Ryan hijacks a kiss before walking into the kitchen, leaving me all hot and bothered and brimming with angst.
Baby?
Surprises?
Yet?
Breathe.
“Do you want to stay with white?” Ryan voices with his head in the refrigerator.
White? What the fuck is he talking about? Oh, wine.
“Um, yeah, that’s fine.” I secretly hope he has a funnel. Being here, alone, with him, is making me so freakin’ antsy I can barely stand it. It’s like I’m in a beautiful cage and he’s my caretaker.
I make my way over to one of the windows and get a bird’s-eye view of the city.
“This is a great spot,” I comment as he hands me a glass of wine. Desperately needed wine.
“I know, I totally lucked out. Rent controlled and a parking space.”
“Who needs anything more?” I drawl.
Ryan leans on the windowsill then grabs my hip. “I can think of one more thing I need.”
I shift uncomfortably away from him. I’m not ready to talk about this. Us. What he needs. I’m still getting used to just being around him again.
“So, how’d you end up here?” I veer the conversation in a completely different direction.
Ryan’s disappointment is obvious, but he indulges me.
“I met Demi at the club. She was one of my regulars for a while.”
“I thought you said she’s gay?” I’m confused.
“Bi, actually. But she was just figuring that out at the time.”
I’m not sure the idea of Ryan having a bi-sexual female roommate sits well with me. Not that I have any say in the matter. And of course, my crazy brain can’t help but wonder if they have a past.
“Have you slept with her?” I bluntly ask.
“Jesus, what is with you and my sexual history?” Ryan drops his hand from my waist.
“Don’t evade the question. Just answer it.”
Ryan grunts. It more amused than anything else. “Yes. We’ve slept together.”
Of course.
“Does my sexual activity make you uncomfortable, Alana?”
Maybe.
“No,” I fib. “I just needed to know.” I need to be prepared.
“I guess that’s reasonable.” He warms up to me again, placing his hand back on my hip. “If you lived with a guy, I’d want to know if there was something going on. I’d probably want to kill him, if I’m being honest.”
I roll my eyes. “I do live with a guy.”
Ryan frowns, confused.
“My father,” I disclose. “And you should be more worried about him wanting to kill you.”
Ryan’s frown turns upside down. He’s not the least bit concerned about my father killing him.
“Your father’s scary, but he doesn’t intimidate me.”
“He should. He’s frightening in and out of the courtroom,” I warn. And if he had any idea I was here with Ryan now, there would be a nuclear explosion.
“There isn’t anything worse he can do to me.”
“If you think that, you don’t know my father very well.” The second he finds out about this, us, whatever’s going on here, all hell is going to break loose. And I’d really like to avoid that by any means possible, for both mine and Ryan’s sake.
“I can handle whatever he throws my way.” Ryan grips me tighter, and as much as I hate to admit it, I love the firm grasp he has on my body. On my soul. It feels . . . right. Ryan has always felt right. “The only thing I can’t handle is losing you again,” he professes. My insides turn rubbery.
I don’t want to admit it, not so soon, but I don’t think I could handle that either.
“Were you and Demi in a relationship?” I go on.
“No.” He shakes his head lightly. “It was a one-time thing. An experiment. We’re friends. There’s no sexual attraction between us.”
“An experiment?”
Ryan swallows uneasily. “There was a party in the VIP room at Culture,” he explains. “She and her friend propositioned me. I was curious. I didn’t say no.”
“You, Demi, and her friend.” I count each one of them out on my fingers.
Ryan nods, gauging my reaction.
Ahhhh. Ok-ay.
“Is that the only threesome you’ve had?” My eyes are unapologetically wide.
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?” Why I’m asking this, I’ll never know.
“Yes,” he answers cautiously.
“Is that a lifestyle you’re interested in?” I inquire apprehensively.
Ryan laughs at me. “No. I told you, it was an experiment.”
I breathe a little sigh of relief. I don’t think that’s a place I could ever go.
“Alana,” Ryan smooths over my name meaningfully. “The only lifestyle I’m interested in is a monogamous one with you.”
That statement makes my heart race faster than a thoroughbred. It’s nearly impossible resisting the one thing you’ve been chasing for so long. A second chance.
“How did you end up roommates?” I ask, ready for some lighter, less risqué conversation.
Five years sure has changed a lot of things.
“I answered her ad on Craigslist. I didn’t even know. Small fucking world, huh?”
“Minuscule.” I snicker. “So, where is she now?” I sort of want to meet her. Curiosity is killing the cat.
“Paris, I think.” He cocks an eyebrow. “She’s an international stewardess and usually gone. I don’t think she’s due back until Saturday.”
“I see.” I step back from Ryan and start to meander around the apartment, inspecting the photos on the wall and the knickknacks placed here and there. I just can’t seem to stand still, the trapped animal pacing its cage. “What’s down there?”
Ryan looks at the hallway. “The bathroom and the bedrooms.”
I turn around and immediately walk in the opposite direction. So not ready for the bedroom.
“Alana, are you okay?” Ryan takes notice of how fidgety I suddenly am.
“Fine.” I sip my wine hastily as I saunter back over to the window.
He hawks my every move.
Once I’m standing next to him again he shuffles over so our bodies are so close they’re touching.
“I love the way that feels.” He daydreams out the window as the sunset reflects off the skyscrapers in front of us.
“The way what feels?”
“You, standing next to me. Like, really being next to me.” He breathes. “I missed that feeling.”
“I did, too,” I confess.
“What do you want, Alana?” Ryan asks directly, still peering at the cityscape.
“With what?”
“With me.” He turns to face me, his eyes wide, sharp, and full of determination.
What do I want?
“I want to take it slow and get to know you again,” I reveal the truth.
Ryan pulls a blonde lock of my hair slowly through his fingertips, as he absorbs my response. It is crazy that I can actually feel our connection through even a thin strand of my hair. It’s so potent. So powerful. Impossible to ignore it’s there.
Ryan finally breaks out into a smile, the sunset shining through the window is lighting up his big, blue eyes.
“Good.” He’s content. He leans and kisses me, sealing the deal, and my whole body ignites, catching fire faster than lighter fluid. It’s just a soft, sweet kiss at first, but it swiftly becomes abundantly clear that both of us want it to be more. Before I even realize it, our arms are snaked around each other, our bodies are pressed tightly together, and our mouths are open and hungry. Starving, actually.
Ryan walks me over to the couch, our connection never breaking. I think I may just suffocate from lack of oxygen if it did, because right now, he’s the air.
We fall back onto the white cushions, Ryan shifting himself on top of me. I love the weight of his body on top of mine. His hard chest, insistent mouth, and roaming hands pinning me down. It’s a rush.
Things start moving lightning fast, and soon shoes, socks, pants, and shirts are scattered all over the floor. So much for taking it slow. But I have missed this in my life. Ryan was the gaping hole, and slowly, one small shovel at a time, he’s refilling the void.
Ryan kisses his way down my neck, my jugular vein on fire, then over my half-naked chest and down my torso. My pulse pounds in my ears as he teases me right above my underwear line, licking, sucking and caressing the skin with his finely skilled tongue. When he goes to slide them off, I freeze.
“No, Ryan, stop.” I’m suddenly dangling off a cliff high above the Grand Canyon.
“What’s wrong?” He snaps his head up. “Too fast?”
“No. Shit, yes.” I push myself up and scoot out from underneath him as I’m bombarded with images of Ryan with multiple women—touching him, kissing him, fucking him. Ugh. I drown in doubt and insecurity.
I’ve only ever been with him, once, and then one guy from college that ended in total disaster. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing or what to expect, and my intimacy issues are flashing like a red fucking light in my face.
“Ryan, I—” I rub my temples. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, and the last time we did this you disappeared. I’m kind of fucked up in the trust department when it comes to sex and men.” So much fun sharing that little tidbit about myself.
“Fuck, Alana.” Ryan yanks me into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.” He’s resolute. “And we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready.”
That’s my dilemma, my body is ready and willing. It’s my head that needs to catch up. I feel incredibly stupid right now. Here, the love of my life has been throwing himself at me for the last few days, and I shut him down the first chance I get. He told me he loved me not three hours ago, so why can’t I let him in?
“Do you have to go home tonight?” Ryan asks as he smooths over my hair with his palm.
“No, why?” I peer up at him.
He shifts to stand, pulling me with him. Without explanation, he leads me out of the living room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
“What are you doing?” I tug at his hand, anxiously.
“Taking you to bed.” He opens a door to the right of us.
“Ryan—” I begin to protest.
“Just to sleep, Alana, I just want to sleep. I want to hold you in my arms and make sure you know I will be here tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that. You need me to rebuild your trust, and I’ll do it, one morning at a time.”
How many times have I imagined that? Waking up and Ryan actually being there.
I gather my courage and step inside, crossing over the threshold.
His room is decorated vastly different from the rest of the apartment. The walls are a dark, dove gray, his bedspread a navy blue. It’s neat as a pin in here. There are no piles of clothes on the floor or cluttered furniture crowding the room.
But what grabs my attention most is the huge picture of an artist’s pallet hanging over the bed. Its bright brush strokes and colorful paint mixtures enliven the entire space. I love it immediately, because it’s so Ryan.
Ryan crawls into bed, motioning for me to follow. He props himself up on his pillow, his arms open and waiting. I hesitate for a beat, drinking him in. Scanning over his long, lean frame, his defined chest, and chiseled abdomen. He’s so much more a man. Maybe the mystique hasn’t disappeared.
The tattoo around his left bicep intrigues me most. That’s brand new. At least to me.
“When did you get this?” I touch the ink as I crawl into his awaiting arms. He hugs me into his chest, his jaw resting on my head.
“A few months after I got out.”
I trace the frayed black feather hugging his muscles and press on the splat of ink.
“I like it. The quill.”
“Thanks. I wanted something go with the quote.” He lifts his arm and shows me the cursive writing on the underside. I read the inscription aloud:
Let me be as a feather. Strong with purpose, yet light at heart, able to bend. And tho I may become frayed, able to pull myself together again.
“That’s very profound.” I swipe my thumb along the lettering causing Ryan to shiver.
“I was a mess when I got out.” Ryan hugs me tightly. “I had no direction, no drive. Nothing.”
“How did you get through it?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I thought about you every goddamn day,” Ryan reveals. “The memory of us kept me going. The quote is a declaration of whom I have to be.”
It’s fitting. With all the obstacles in his life, he still presses on. He’s still strong, he’s still Ryan. He’s still the person I fell in love with five years ago. The person who taught me to embrace my feels, not fight them.
“I wish you’d called me.” I dig my face into his neck, inhaling his warm, fresh scent.
“Me, too,” he sighs, the regret as potent as poison in his voice.
I think of Ryan locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. Losing precious years he’ll never get back, facing a future that’s all but ruined because of his criminal record.
Pity consumes me as I lie securely in his arms.
The lights of Manhattan twinkle in the darkness as Ryan’s breathing slows to a deep, soothing rhythm. He fell sound asleep. For some reason I find comfort in that. That he can still find comfort in me.
Staring out at the nightscape, I realize I have a hefty decision to make. If I want Ryan in my life, I’ll have to learn to trust him. I’ll have to let go of the last five years, and figure out a way to accept his profession.
Ish.
Ryan the stripper—Jack the Stripper. How in the hell am I going to deal with that?
It’s going to be easier to get over my insecurities, even though I’m not really sure who I am without them.
But I want Ryan.
I’ve always wanted Ryan.
It just drives me crazy that half of the women in New York City want him, too.
I rummage around Ryan’s kitchen looking for coffee. I finally find some Keurig cups on a top shelf. Black Magic, score.
I pop in a pod and listen as the coffee quickly brews. As I reach up into the cabinet for another cup I hear Ryan calling my name. He sounds a bit alarmed. His footsteps are heavy against the wood floor as he pads down the hallway.
“Jesus, Alana.” He drags his hands down his face when he finally finds me in the kitchen.
I peek at him over my shoulder. “Think I left?”
Ryan flies up behind me and wraps both his arms around my waist, tightly, securely, possessively, in only a pair of white boxer briefs.
“For a second, yea.” He plants a firm kiss on my exposed neck. My hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of my head.
“You look fucking hot as hell in my t-shirt.” He sucks on my skin and my nipples inconveniently harden.
“Thanks, I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed one.”
“You could live in it, for all I care.” Still holding me from behind, Ryan steals a sip of my coffee. “Blah, needs sugar, babe.”
“I don’t do sugar. In my coffee, anyway.” I flirt, secretly loving him calling me babe.
“Sleep okay?” It’s about the only thing I can muster to ask while his body is pressed flush against mine, a minimal amount of clothing separating us, allowing me to feel every inch of him. Like, every inch.
“Last night was the best sleep I’ve had in five years,” he murmurs, and I suppress a smile.
“What do you want to do today?” Ryan nibbles my neck. I pause, staring straight ahead at the white-tiled backsplash. Hmmm, that answer can have so many possibilities. Taking a deep breath of resignation, I turn slowly around and look him in the eyes. He’s about six inches taller than I am. His hair is a brown mess on top of his head, and there’s just a hint of stubble growing on his chin. His features are more mature now. But he’s still just as gorgeous as he was five years ago, even more so. He makes me weak.
I reflect on last night and the decision I made. If I want Ryan in my life, I’m going to have to let him in, no matter how challenging or terrifying that is. No pain, no gain, right?
“I thought we could spend the day getting to know each other,” I suggest with a gleam in my eyes.
Ryan’s jaw hits the ground, he catches my drift.
“I’m cool with that.” His smile is so wide I can’t stifle the laugh. Without wasting a moment, he removes the coffee cup from my hands with purpose, then runs his hands leisurely up my hips, as if re-familiarizing himself with all my curves. His touch is every bit as sexual as it is sensual. Every bit enlivening as it is illicit. My body temperature rapidly rises as the hem of my t-shirt catches on his forearms, riding up as his hands gradually travel over my torso, then my breasts, and come to rest in the middle of my back.
Breathe.
Ryan doesn’t kiss me throughout his venture. He just stares. Pinning me in place with impenetrable blue eyes. He wants me, and nothing or no one is going to get in his way.
My whole body springs to life. Every nerve, and every cell, and every molecule. That’s Ryan’s effect, pure vitality. I place my hands on his chest, looking down at the little scar on his left pec. I touch it, and his face splits with a warm smile.
“My little piece of you.”
It’s the scar my cigarette left the first night we met.
I press a lingering kiss over it, and he groans. Low and deep in his throat. The sound vibrates through me, reaching places that have been dormant for years. Need searing and desire scratching at the locked door.
Both reaching a prickly pinnacle, Ryan yanks me out of the kitchen. I’m in his room, being pushed onto the bed, before I can even process. He crawls slowly on top of me. Unhurried and predatory. He’s the hunter and I’m his prey.
Forcing my t-shirt over my head, he exposes my body.
“God, you’re still so gorgeous,” he rasps as he glides his hands over my shoulders, then down to my chest, stopping to tease my nipples with his thumbs. I moan languidly as he takes his sweet time exploring my body, stretching every inch into a mile. It’s incomprehensible how easily he can make me feel this aroused, this loved, this worshiped with only the tips of his fingers.
His exploration goes on for ages. It’s drawn out. Time consuming. Mind altering.
I finally reach the point his tender touch feels so good it actually begins to hurt. I’m panting heavily by the time Ryan begins to kiss me, and it’s not on the lips or cheeks or neck, but right where he left off last night. He senses my need. A blind man could.
“Don’t stop me, Alana.” He demands, his voice sending me straight into overdrive. And I don’t. I don’t stop him when he peels my pink, lacy Victoria’s Secret panties from my hips, or nestles his face right between my legs. I don’t stop him when I feel the first titillating thrash of his warm tongue against my sensitive skin, or the rush of excitement that saturates us both.
The sensations are enough to have me writhing. I close my eyes and tilt my head as he locks his arms around both my thighs to still my squirming body. Spreading me wide, he circles and rolls his tongue firmly over every inch of my buzzing flesh until I can barely stand it.
“Ryan!” I heave, as he sucks on my clit relentlessly until my vision clouds.
I glance down at him through the waves of pleasure to find him looking up at me, watching me, a lewd, salacious grin spreading across his face as he sinks his tongue deep into my burning depths.
“Oh, shit!” I bow on the bed with his lust-filled eyes locked tightly on mine. It’s all so dirty, and hot, I have no control over the high octave moans that escape my mouth or my trembling thighs that could be mistaken for an earthquake. I can’t hold on, he’s going to break me.
I grab onto Ryan’s wild hair and yank, submitting to the pushing, pulling, unyielding pressure. My heart beats out of my chest, my pussy throbs, and my head pounds in tandem as my screams echo around the room. Ryan shatters me to pieces, a thousand, tiny, little pieces, as the orgasm he unleashes blasts a hole right through me.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I’m completely spent. Ryan has managed to suck every bit of my climax out, leaving me only a pile of rubble on the mattress.
As I slowly come back down to Earth, I find Ryan lying beside me, his head propped up on one hand and a huge shit-eating grin on his face.
Cocky bastard. I may never live this down.
“I could do that all day,” he moans seductively in my ear.
“I could let you.” I laugh.
“I want to be the only person who does that to you.” He slides his nose up and down my cheek.
I bite my lip. “One thing at a time.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get.” He kisses me emotively and digs his hard-on into my hip. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”
A noise wakes me. It’s annoying like an alarm. I pick my head up to see Ryan reaching for his phone. We stayed in bed all day, and it was . . . amazing? Remarkable? Incredible? None of those words really encompass it.
No sex, just hands and lips and mouths and discovery.
Total body discovery. One hundred percent, unadulterated exploration.
Ryan turns the ear-piercing beeping off, kisses me on the forehead, and then slips out of bed.
“Where are you going?” I rub my eyes, groggy.
“Shower, then work.” He stands and stretches, all his miraculous muscles elongating.
I bolt upright. “Work? But it’s Thursday.”
“Yeah? I work Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.” He scratches his chest lazily, the quill around his bicep dancing.
My heart sinks into my ribcage as reality finally sets in. I have to share him. With other women. I cringe as I flashback to last week, watching him bump and grind all over Emily, mostly naked, tassels covering his penis. <Insert sour face>.
And now he’s going to go do that to some other girl tonight. I feel sick. After the unparalleled day we had, how am I supposed to let him out the front door?
“Alana, are you okay?” Ryan asks. “You look pale.”
I gaze up at him. He’s standing by the doorway now, a towel draped over his shoulder, looking all hot and sexy and deliciously edible.
Oh, God, oh, God, what do I tell him? Not to go? That I’m too insecure with his career choice? That the thought of his hands on another woman makes me want to break something? His face, mainly.
In one fluid, fast forward motion I throw the covers off, hop out of bed, grab my clothes, and dress hastily. Maybe if I get out of here fast enough I can pretend this day never happened. Pretend that Ryan isn’t on his way to dry fuck a dozen and a half other women and make big bucks doing it.
“Alana?” Ryan suddenly snatches my arm. “Don’t leave.”
“What am I supposed to do Ryan, hang around here by myself while you’re out humping other women?”
I’ll go nuts.
I bolt out of his room, down the hallway, and straight to the front door. But before I reach the doorknob, Ryan has me slung over his shoulder and is hauling me back into the bedroom.
“Put me down!” I pound on his naked back.
“Happily.” He tosses me onto the bed, and I land with a heavy bounce.
“I thought we talked about this, Alana?” He crosses his arms infuriated.
“We glazed over the subject, Ryan, we did not talk about it.”
“You can’t go.” He stands before me steadfastly, half-naked and completely glorious. “I told you, now that I have you back I’m not letting go of you again. And I mean it.”
“I can’t do this.” I try to slip off the bed.
“Why not?” He blocks me. It’s a cat and mouse game now.
I spring to my feet. “Why not? Ryan how would you feel if it was me prancing around half-naked for money?”
“I’d be a deranged lunatic.” At least he has the balls to tell the truth.
“Well, don’t you think that’s kind of a double standard?”
“No.”
“No? Explain.”
“It’s different. I don’t dance stark naked on a stage for singles. We can’t even get naked, Culture serves alcohol.”
“That argument holds no water for me. Other women still touch you. You still touch them!”
“Alana, they don’t mean anything to me.” He’s back-breakingly tense. “It’s just a job.”
“So you’ve told me,” I bite.
“Alana—”
“Ryan, don’t.” I shut him down.
“Alana, I don’t have anything else. I need this job.”
“And what about me?” I question.
“I need you, too. More than you’ll ever know. Just give me a little time,” he scrambles. “I’m trying to save some money so I can start my own business. You know, being a convicted felon, my future’s kind of fucked. No company worth a shit will ever hire me. And I don’t want to end up on my ass somewhere with nothing to show for my life.”
Shit. How do you argue with that?
“What kind of business?” I ask restlessly.
He crosses the room, opens a dresser drawer, pulls out a piece of paper, and hands it to me. My breath catches when I look at it. “Is . . . Is this supposed to be us?”
Ryan nods. Now, I can’t pretend to know anything about graphic design, but the picture I’m staring at is two people who look like avatars from a video game. They’re sitting on the beach, a handsome boy with light eyes holding a girl with long blonde hair. They’re watching the sunset on a blue and white hemp blanket, just like we used to do. The words stripped from you are scrolled across the bottom.
It’s almost surreal.
“You made this?” I peer up at him, my emotions bubbling like a Malotov cocktail.
“It was my final project. I got my associate degree in prison. Graphic design.”
I immediately recall an echo of a conversation from our past. Even though Ryan was three years older than me, he didn’t have a college degree or really know which direction his life was headed. He was so artistically talented though, always doodling on napkins or sketching something in the sand. So I suggested he do something with graphic design. And right now, I’m unexpectedly holding my advice in my hand.
The detail is beyond impressive. The color of the sand almost perfect. The sunset looks like watercolor over the ocean, he even captured the fluidity of the waves.
“It’s amazing.” I exhale.
“I want to start my own company. There’s a huge market out there for freelance artists. Book covers, web design, all kinds of shit. I think it could be lucrative.”
I run my hands through my hair, sighing with resignation. This is so fucking difficult.
“I also want something else.” Ryan pulls me into his arms, but I’m reluctant to go. “I want the wife and kids, the white picket fence, and all that American dream bullshit. And I want it with you.”
I wilt. “Me?”
“Mmm-hmm. I’ve always wanted it with you. I want to be the father I never had, and the husband my mother was cheated out of. So, if I have to take off my fucking clothes to make the money I need, I’ll do it. And I pray you want me enough to suffer through it. Because I promise, I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life.”
“Ryan . . .” I begin to crumble.
“Please, Alana, just try.” He drops to his knees, wraps his arms around me tightly, and presses his cheek into my abdomen. He’s not making this easy. Not a lick.
I stare down at him wracked with indecision, tangling my fingers in his soft waves.
“They don’t mean anything. You mean everything. There’s no emotion, no connection. It’s all clinical. A means to an end.”
I sigh again, twirling a lock of his hair around my index. I have always loved his hair. “Do you have any idea what my life is going to be like the next three years? I’m going to law school, Ryan. It’s a full-time commitment,” I tell him this because I want him to understand that he’s not going to have much of me once school starts.
“What does that have to do with anything?” He tilts his head up, regarding me with raw, blue eyes.
“I just want you to realize, having any kind of relationship with me is going to be a challenge.”
Am I trying to scare him off? I don’t know. Am I looking for a way out? Possibly. Am I just being a coward right now? Definitely.
Ryan scoffs, “You think I can’t handle you being in law school? That I won’t compete for your time?”
“I just want you to be prepared. It has to be my sole focus.”
Ryan smiles. A wry, arrogant smile. He’s straight-up telling me to bring it. “Alana, I lost you for five years, do you really think I’m going to let a little thing like law school get in my way?”
I shrug, unsure. Everything is different now. We are different.
Ryan slides his hands to my hips, rubbing his thumbs against my skin under my shirt. “Baby, when I look in your eyes, it feels like coming home. And I have been wandering for so long. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than law school to keep me away.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“I am sure of myself. I know what I want. And if you can deal with my challenges, I sure as hell can deal with yours. So, can we try?”
Try? I stare at Ryan blankly. Can we try?
“Maybe,” I cave, unsure about the outcome.
Ryan breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “I can live with maybe, for now.” He lifts my shirt and kisses my stomach right below my navel, then proceeds to move south.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I grip his hair tightly.
“Reminding you of how good today was.” He unbuttons my jeans. I allow him to do so, and so much more. Ryan slides my pants past my hips and then slides his mouth over my panties.
I drop my head back and moan as he slips his tongue under the dainty lace, pulling my jeans down to my ankles as he teases me. When my pants are a distant memory, Ryan runs his palms firmly up the back of my thighs, gripping my ass tightly with strong hands. “You feel so right,” he breathes, dragging me down to the floor. Capturing my face in his hands, Ryan skims the seam of my lips with his tongue until I open and allow him inside. It doesn’t take long. I melt from his touch, melt from any physical contact with him. Today has made that abundantly clear.
Ryan manipulates our position, pushing my back against the side of the bed.
“Spread your legs a little more for me, baby.” He guides my thighs apart, both of us still on our knees. The position makes me feel overly exposed, my tiny tank top not doing a damn thing to conceal my lower body.
“You’re so beautiful it scars me,” Ryan whispers as he glides his fingers into my panties and over my hot, pink, pulsing flesh. He knows exactly what he’s doing. What he does to me. “And soft.” He sighs in my ear as he circles his fingers around my clit making my knees weak. I grab onto his shoulders for support, the growing weight my body is becoming under his sanity-stealing strokes is almost too much to bear. I’m completely wet and throbbing as the ache swiftly escalates inside me. Dropping my head into the crook of his neck, I moan. A small, feeble sound that tells him how much he’s affecting me.
“Ryan, please,” I beg.
“You were going to walk away from me.” He slides one finger inside me, and I clutch onto him harder. He feels so good. “Don’t ever walk away from me, Alana.” It’s a demand.
“I was upset.” I mewl.
“There isn’t anyone else but you. Tell me you know that.” I clench my eyes shut as he works his finger slowly in and out of my slick entrance.
“I know,” I gasp.
“Promise me you’ll try.”
“I told you I would.” He slips two fingers inside me, and I feel like I’m going to splinter.
“Good. Because that’s all I want. Another chance to love you.” His voice is husky, and scratchy with lust. Obviously, I’m not the only one affected here. I look up into his mesmerizing, blue eyes finding them hazy with desire.
“I want to watch you come.”
He’s said that three times to me today.
“So, make me.”
I can’t get enough of his touch, and I’m pretty sure after this go-round, I will be completely dependent. Like a junkie. Stoned off Ryan.
Ryan picks up the pace of his fingers, only slightly, but enough to have my insides burning and my muscles clenching. When he rolls the pad of his thumb over my throbbing clit, that’s it. I implode. Burst from the inside out.
With my back pressed against the mattress and my face cupped in one of Ryan’s hands, he watches with delight as I fall apart, wringing out every drop of my orgasm with his skilled fingers. Demanding, insistent, oppressive.
“Ryan,” I nearly cry his name.
“Alana,” he echoes, confidently. He knows he has me.
I’m utterly spent. This day has destroyed me in the best possible way.
If he can make me feel like this with just his hand, I can’t even imagine what he will be able to do with the rest of his body. The thought excites and terrifies me all at the same time. I drop my face into the crook of his neck, panting, and nothing but dead weight.
Ryan wraps his arms around me and it’s only now I realize we are both still on our knees.
“Do you know how many times I dreamt about you? How many times I played our last night together over and over in my head?”
“Probably as many times as me,” I respond lazily. Nearly delirious.
“Reality is so much better.” He grabs my face and kisses me slow and hard. Crazy in lust.
“I agree.” Unwilling to break away from his delectable lips. “But in my fantasies my knees don’t hurt so much.”
Ryan laughs, his whole body rumbling. He pecks the tip of my nose before hauling me onto the mattress, rubbing each knee tenderly while still sitting on the floor.
“Do you want me to take care of you?” I hint, rubbing my foot against the tent he’s sporting in his boxers.
“I’ll never say no to you touching me,” he groans as I press a little harder.
“Come up here, then.” I pull at his neck and he crawls immediately on top of me.
“I know exactly where I want to come,” he informs lewdly, zeroing in on my mouth. But before we get a chance to start again we’re interrupted by the piercing sound of his phone.
“Fuck.” He shoots the dresser a dirty look, then moves to answer the call.
“Hey, man,” he says as he picks up his watch and checks the time. “Yeah, I’m on my way. I won’t be late, stop hassling me.” Ryan glances over at me. “Yes. Yes.” He smirks conspiratorially before looking away. “You’re an asshole, I’ll see you in twenty.”
“Who was that?”
“Divan, he was checking up on me. Thinks he’s my mother for some fucking reason.”
“Who’s Divan, exactly?” I’m confused.
Ryan smiles with a cagey expression. “You probably know him as The Dominator.”
Holly’s petrified eyes flash in front of me. Then I remember when he came to get Ryan while we were on the street.
“The one with the nice smile.”
“Nice smile? Not many women describe him that way.” Ryan laughs, sauntering back to the bed.
“Well, that’s what I noticed.” I look him up and down as he stands over me, all hot and bothered and hungry for what I’m about to give him.
“Well, don’t notice too much, okay.” Ryan leans down and kisses me possessively. “Take a shower with me,” he insists, grabbing my ass.
“That might make you late for work,” I tease.
“Fuck ’em.” Ryan yanks me off the bed and hoists me over his shoulder, making me squeal. “They can survive without me for a little while.” He traipses straight into the bathroom and turns on the shower. While the water warms up, he slides me down his body, making sure I feel every inch and bulge and curve of him. He digs his fingers into my pale blonde hair, pushing it away from my face and stares down at me infatuatedly. The look makes my heart prickle and tingle and swell. This day has been amazing, and I know I’m in complete fucking trouble. And I just don’t care. It’s the kind of trouble I want. The kind I’ve been missing my whole life.
“Promise me you’ll never walk away from me again.” Ryan drops an affectionate kiss on my lips.
“I can’t promise anything except to try,” I tell him as the steam quickly fills up the room.
“It’s better than casual, I guess,” he jokes, and I let out a huge laugh. That’s what I told him when he first met. I didn’t want to get involved even though my feelings for him were a surging force I couldn’t control. It seems not much has changed in five years, because I feel the revolver of my emotions firing directly at him. Again.
I step into the shower with Ryan watching me. He slips off his boxers hot on my heels. I turn under the spray and look up at him. “I just want you to know, I’m going to make you very late for work.” I grab his erection tightly then give it a long, slow jerk. He moans, dropping his face next to mine, bracing himself with one hand on the shower wall behind me. It’s so fucking sexy watching the water beat down on his shoulders and listening to the guttural sounds escaping from his mouth as I touch him.
“Do what you want with me, I’m yours,” he declares.
After a very long shower and even longer towel drying episode, Ryan and I finally make it out of the bathroom. We’re now dressed, and unfortunately walking to Culture. The club is a few blocks from his apartment and conveniently on the way to the train. It’s a warm, spring evening and there are more people on the street than one would expect for a Thursday night. As we make our way up to the front door, a line is already forming outside. I recognize Lorenzo checking IDs. He looks like a bad-ass Big Pun weighing in at three hundred pounds, sporting a thick, black goatee. We aren’t twenty yards from Culture’s entrance when the shouting and catcalling starts. Half the women know Ryan by name. Well, Ryan’s other name. “Jack! Jack!” There are whistles and screams. You’d think he’s a freaking rock star or something by the way they’re reacting. “Jack the Stripper! Take it off!”
Really?
I look at Ryan with wide eyes. He just shrugs. He’s not embarrassed or uncomfortable, and on some level, I know he likes the attention.
Ego.
“Alana,” Ryan murmurs into my ear as I look at the line of hungry women. “You’re squeezing the shit out of my hand.”
“Huh?” I glance over at him and let go. “Sorry.” I think I’m going into shock.
“Hey.” He pulls me behind Lorenzo where the girls can’t see us. “Are you okay?” he presses as my back brushes against the brick wall.
“This is all just a little overwhelming for me. I need to get used to it.” I’m looking everywhere but at him.
“Please, try,” he urges with a slight edge to his voice, spurring me to bring my eyes to his.
“I am.” I fidget.
“Look, this isn’t who I am, it’s just what I do,” he insists, trying to sway me.
“It’s okay, Ryan, I’m okay. Just go to work and we can talk later.”
“When am I going to see you again?” He slants his body into mine, his scent overtaking me. It’s a mixture of sweet and spicy and Ryan.
“Sunday?” I mutter.
He shoots me a dissatisfied expression.
“Saturday,” he negotiates.
“Sunday.” I hold firm. Even though three days away from him feels like an eternity, I need the time to wrap my head around things. Around everything. All of this.
“Morning,” he stipulates.
I roll my eyes and hold out on my answer.
“Alana.” He pressures me.
“Fine.” I smirk.
“You have a good game face, counselor.”
“I know.” I smile triumphantly.
“I like that expression much better.” Ryan leans in and kisses me, and it’s that slow, scorching kiss that makes me want to rip his clothes off right here on the street.
“Sunday,” I whisper breathlessly against his mouth.
“Morning,” he denotes, looking fiercely into my eyes as he steps aside.
I walk off. Away from the club, away from Ryan, and away from the screaming fan girls who are about to paw all over my man.
Fucking Christ, how am I ever going to deal with this?
I know tonight, I’m going to dream of Ryan Pierce.
And have nightmares about Jack the Stripper.