I STARE AT the screen of my phone. The words read:
Culture. Midnite.
Midnight. It’s when Ryan gets off work.
He and I have settled into a routine. I spend Sunday through Thursday afternoon in the city with him, and then hang out at home on the weekends while he works. It’s been a little over a month and things are getting pretty intense. Intense physically, intense emotionally, and intense psychologically. The past and the present are colliding and I don’t want to distrust the impact, even though I know it could be a disastrous outcome. Head-on collisions never end well, but I am a glutton for punishment and a fool for Ryan. He’s my Achilles’ heel. He always has been.
I sip my mimosa, waiting for Emily on the terrace of the Ocean Club’s restaurant. It’s a warm, June morning, and there’s not a cloud in the clear blue, sunny sky. The ocean is perfectly calm, and the air smells sweet and salty.
It’s a flawless summer day. The kind you savor. Soak in. Get swept away in.
My serenity is disrupted as Emily drops her bag on the table, plops down in the chair next to me, and huffs.
“Challenging morning?” I question.
“I can’t wait until this effing wedding is over. I wish we’d just eloped.” She digs through her bag until she finds her Chapstick.
“Alex being a PITA again?”
“PITA is an understatement.” She smears the pink, shimmery balm all over her lips before tossing the tube back into her purse. She then grabs my glass and helps herself to my drink, downing the whole damn thing.
“By all means, finish it.” I quip as I watch the orange liquid disappear out of the flute.
“You’d think he’s the goddamn bride.” She slams the glass down. “He’s driving me nuts. I don’t like that color, the centerpieces are too big, my shoes hurt,” she whines, mocking him. “Do you know how many pairs of shoes I’ve suffered in? Countless. But I never complained. I swear to God, he cries like a little girl sometimes.” Emily is exasperated.
I motion to the waitress for two more drinks. I may even order a pitcher if she continues this way.
I wait for Emily to finish her rant, huffing and puffing a minute more before she finally relaxes.
“Better?” I ask as the waitress places our glasses in front of us.
“Yes,” she moans, taking another huge sip of her mimosa. “I so needed to vent.”
“Clearly.” I smirk. Emily is always good for some entertainment. This wedding is weighing on her. But that’s what you get when you plan a Tony award-winning Broadway musical. This celebration is going to go down in history.
“Distract me. Tell me what’s up with you?” Emily slips on a pair of designer, cat-eye sunglasses as the ends of her long, dark hair flip in the summer breeze.
I shrug nonchalantly, staring down at my phone’s screen.
“Alana, spill. I don’t have patience for the pitiful little rich girl act this morning.”
“Ouch, Em.” I scrunch my nose.
She winces. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”
“Clearly. Maybe you and Alex should get away for a few days, just the two of you. To remember why you’re doing this in the first place,” I suggest prickly.
“Well, when did Ally McBeal go all Dear Abby?” She waves her mimosa all around as she speaks.
“When her cousin decided to go all bridezilla.”
“I’m not bridezilla.”
“You sure about that?” I kick her under the table.
“Ouch! Yes!” She laughs. “Maybe we’ll do that, it sounds like a good plan. Even if we just spend the night in a cabana.” She pops her eyebrows behind her dark sunglasses.
I look away. Too far. Not ready to go there.
“Okay, out with it. Trouble with Magic Mike?” Emily picks up on my reluctance immediately. I can’t hide a damn thing from her. Never could. She’s the one person who can read me like an open book. It’s fucking annoying. I like being ambiguous.
“Sort of.” I bite my lip. Fuck, I didn’t want to go into this, but Emily is the only person I can talk to. About anything. Even this embarrassing subject. Is there a hole I can crawl into before this conversation begins?
Over the last few weeks I have been reminded over and over that Ryan is the personification of sex. Like living, breathing, walking sex. And that would be no problem if I had even a fraction of the experience he’s had. But the reality is, he’s the only guy I’ve ever been with minus the disaster in college. So, that doesn’t really count, and it leaves me feeling less than inadequate. I’m used to excelling in everything. But sex? And sex with Ryan? It gives me anxiety.
“What? Are you afraid it’s not going to be good or something?” Emily attempts to interpret.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be good,” I painfully admit. “That I’m going to be some pathetic lay compared to the women he’s been with.” That sounds so bad, but it’s the truth. I’m inexperienced and he’s a god.
“Nonsense,” Emily snorts just as the waitress refreshes our drinks. “Let me tell you something about men, Alana. They like innocence. They like inexperience. It makes them feel like they own you in that Neanderthal kind of way. It probably puts Ryan on cloud nine knowing he’s the only one you’ve ever been with.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t really know that,” I mutter, fiddling with the stem of my glass. We never did pick up the evil demons conversation again.
“Keeping secrets in your relationship, cuz, I don’t think Dear Abby would approve.” Emily tsks. She’s loving this. Seeing me out of my element. Struggling with my insecurities and emotions. It makes me human. She usually teases me that I’m not. That I’m a robot. And up until a month ago she wasn’t wrong. I did what I was told, when I was told, and to the best of my ability. That is how I’m conditioned to be. What my father expects of me. And maybe I retreated into that because I was hurt and alone and unhappy. But just like before, Ryan broke those chains of resistance. He freed me. Forced me to feel and proved I’d like it.
I rub my temples, completely stressed. Here I am, once again, drifting through emotional waters with Ryan holding the ore. He always knows the direction, while I’m always struggling to figure it out. Being a robot is easy. I know what to expect. I know the direction I’m heading. Being human is . . . chaos. It’s confusion and commotion and disorder. It’s the paradox to everything I know.
“Want a little advice?” Emily unsolicitedly offers, taking a lazy sip of her orange drink.
“I’m not sure.” I scrunch my nose squeamishly.
“I’m going to give it to you anyway and you can decide what to do with it.” She’s direct. “Don’t be scared. Show Ryan who’s boss, then let him break you down. Let him know you can be strong and confident and still be vulnerable when you’re together.” She gestures to sex with her hands, just to make sure I receive the message. I’m nervous, not a numbskull. I get it. “It’ll drive him fucking nuts.”
I ponder this.
I suppose if I’m going to take advice from anyone about guys, it’d be from Emily. Lord knows she’s been with enough of them.
“What are you doing about BC?” she continues.
I nibble on my lip. “I started the shot last week.” I am nothing, if not prepared.
She nods. “Good. And him?”
“What about him?”
“Is he clean? Does he get tested?” She asked that a little too loud. I glance around to see if anyone is eavesdropping on our conversation. That’s the last thing I need. Someone my father knows running back to him, tattling that they overheard his pristine daughter openly talking about birth control, STDs, and sex.
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “The club makes him do it every three months. You’d think he’s a fucking porn star or something,” I mutter under my breath.
“He’s close enough,” Emily grunts.
I glare at her through my mirrored sunglasses. “You’re as bad as Jill, sometimes.”
“I believe she referred to them as hookers,” Emily retorts.
“He’s not that either.” I clench my jaw. His occupation will always be a sore subject for me, but I’m stronger than I look and I can handle it, and any ridicule that gets thrown our way. Joking or not.
“Well, anyway,” Emily changes the subject, “I’m just glad you’re being responsible.”
“Well, thanks, Mom.” I sneer.
“It’s what I’m here for.” She smiles, beautifully ignoring my annoyance as she motions to the waitress for another round of drinks.
Bring it on.
I walk up to the entrance of Culture, and like usual, Lorenzo smiles when he sees me. The doorman has taken a liking to me, and the feeling is mutual. He’s a big, warm teddy bear—when he wants to be.
In the past I’ve waited outside for Ryan, smoked half a dozen cigarettes, and hung out with Lorenzo while he checks IDs. It’s sort of my ritual. But tonight I’m feeling bold.
“Hey, chica.” Lorenzo grins as he shines a light on someone’s license. He’s dressed in his usual getup—black button-up shirt, black pants, and derby hat. Every time I see him I hear the lyrics to “Still Not a Player” in my head.
“Hey, Lorenzo.” I step in front of the velvet rope and look up at him, swaying back and forth in my heels. He continues to check IDs, turning away two underage girls with fake licenses. I swear, he can spot those things a mile away.
“Got something on your mind, girlie girl?” His light moves like a strobe back and forth over each patron’s identification.
I gnaw on my bottom lip. “I think I’m going to go inside tonight, Lorenzo.”
“Oh?” Lorenzo raises his eyebrows, surprised, surveying me. I’m under a spotlight now. He’s asked me several times if I wanted to go in, and every time I turned down his offer. Immediately. I was never interested in what’s behind the velvet rope, but tonight I feel differently. Tonight, I’m curious. Tonight, I want to cross boundaries and erase lines.
After a heavy beat, Lorenzo nods and unhooks the rope. The gesture feels like the Red Sea parting. I step past him with a small, appreciative smile and hammering heart, making my way straight through the front door.
“Why does she get to just walk right in?” Someone in line yells all pissed off.
“Because she’s VIP, ho,” Lorenzo snaps. Then his voice travels up behind me. “Shelly, no cover!”
I look at Shelly. She’s the girl collecting money. She’s a short little thing with curly black hair that’s so shiny it looks as if it’s been doused in Soul Glow. She smiles brightly, and I catch the glint of a gold tooth on her left incisor. I smile back timidly before stepping through the two black drapes behind her. Here we go.
Culture is one big, sprawling room packed with people. It’s a dark space with white and blue strobe lights dancing on the ceiling and half-naked men walking around everywhere in tight, little, metallic blue shorts.
Some are dancing with women, some are carrying trays of drinks, others are suspended overhead, spinning, twirling, and flipping from aerial ribbon like Cirque du Soleil. Okay. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. But it adds a bit of taste to the risqué environment. The strip show was so much raunchier than the club’s edgy atmosphere.
Bobbing and weaving through the dense mass of people I make my way through the room. Its crowd is dominated by mostly women, but there are some men, too. I look for Ryan, but come up empty. As I search, someone suddenly grabs my hand and spins me around. Whoa. The guilty party is a tall, dark-haired, hottie dressed in a metallic blue Speedo. The stranger slips his arm around my waist and begins to move his hips against my body. Paralyzed by momentary surprise, I allow the advance before politely pushing him away. That just felt weird. The dark-haired hottie lets go of me respectfully, but there is still a glint of persistence in his eyes.
“Do you know where I can find Ryan Pierce?” I yell to him over the loud remix of “Died in Your Arms Tonight”.
“Who?” he asks.
“Ryan Pierce!”
“You mean Jack?”
Oh, God. Yes. Yes, Jack the goddamn Stripper.
I nod.
He points behind me to a half wall hung with silver beads.
“Thanks,” I mouth and head off in the direction of the beads, when I feel a tug at my arm.
“If you can’t find Jack, you can always come find me.” He ogles. “I’m Nick.”
I smile awkwardly, shaking my head. Okay, Nick, thanks, but no thanks. I’m a one-stripper kind of girl.
I slip away into the crowd and head straight for the beaded wall, the smell of lavender incense assaulting my nose.
As curious as a cat, I brush some of the heavy beads away and peek behind the curtain. I only get a glimpse inside when someone grabs my hand.
“There’s nothing you want back there, honey.”
I glance up and recognize Divan, AKA The Dominator. He’s dressed the same as all the other men in the club—mostly naked. He’s tall, dark, and lovely, and when he looks at me, I feel completely at ease despite his alter ego.
“What’s back there?” I ask intrigued.
He shakes his head, and then assertively leads me a few feet away. “Looking for Ryan?” His deep voice resonates over the music.
“Yes, have you seen him?” I ask loudly. The beat has changed to a relentless thumping sound.
“No, but I can ask one of the bouncers to find him. They’re all mic’d up.”
I nod as he walks over to a guy standing in a corner who is absolutely huge, intimidating, and quite frankly a little scary. He puts his hand to his mouth to speak and the word STAFF plastered across his chest ripples as he moves.
Still curious about the curtain of beads, I glance behind me to find Ryan sliding out with a girl on his arm. They’re laughing and smiling, and before they part she gives him a long, drawn-out kiss on the cheek. My breath catches like someone just smashed me in the chest with a brick fist. As soon as he notices me, his expression twists into an ‘oh, fuck’ face.
Oh, fuck is right, my friend.
His whole demeanor changes in an instant as he saunters toward me. Morphing into someone powerful and intoxicating, someone who owns every cell, and atom, and organism in the entire room. He’s different here. His eyes, his face, his energy. It’s all different from the Ryan I know outside these walls.
In fact, he’s not Ryan at all. He’s Jack the Stripper.
Standing there stone sober he snakes one arm around me and nuzzles his face into my hair. “I would kiss you, but I don’t want to give the other women any ideas,” he hisses in my ear.
“Kissing is off-limits?”
Why did I just ask that?
“On the floor, it is.”
Why did he answer?
Ugh.
I blink rapidly at Ryan. I thought I could handle this. Seeing Ryan in his element, but I’m second-guessing my judgment.
I have all these crazy emotions and questions splitting me in two. On one hand this arrangement eats away at me, knowing he gets paid to spend time with other women. On the other hand I can’t help but be curious. What makes this so appealing? For him and for them?
My head is spinning from the environment, the change in Ryan, and the overpowering smell of lavender radiating off his body. Not to mention the fact he just admitted that kissing is permitted behind closed doors.
“Are you ready to go?” he digs his hip into mine. He’s dressed in jeans and a button up, unlike all the other men in the club.
I want to say yes, because I am, but I also want to know what the fuck is behind that beaded curtain.
I find myself trapped in a decisive moment. We’re so close to taking the next step, I have to know if I really can try with Ryan, or if I’m just fooling myself.
“What’s back there?” I thrust my chin in the direction he just came from.
“You really want to know?” He almost challenges me.
I consider for a beat and then nod. Yes, I really want to know. I want to know everything. Heaven help me.
Ryan’s eyes become intense, like two blue storms of sexuality. Holy shit. Hurricane Ryan is about to hit.
Ryan takes my hand and leads me toward the hanging beads, my pulse accelerating with every step. For a split second I consider that maybe I don’t want to see the wizard.
But my wavering is too late as we slip through the heavy room divider and into a hallway filled with more dangling beads. These strings are different though, all dense crystals in all different shapes and sizes with bright orange and purple lights beaming behind them. And when you look hard enough you can see the silhouettes of men and women doing scandalous things in provocative ways.
One term comes to mind as I follow Ryan down the hallway. Champagne Room.
We stop in front of some hanging crystals, and they clink as Ryan pushes them aside. “After you.” I feel each high-pitched sound in my spine as I walk under an orange spotlight and into a small space with a white leather couch wide enough to lie on. Ryan steps in right behind me, pressing his body flush against mine. My mind races as he wastes no time.
Is he really going to do this?
Am I really going to let him?
Can I even handle this? Five minutes ago he was with another woman. Quite possibly in this same room doing God only knows what.
“Why do you do this, Ryan?” I expel. I know he explained it in words, but I need to experience it to truly understand.
He ambles around me so closely, the only thing separating us is a whisper of air.
“I told you, the money,” he responds as he unbuttons his shirt.
“You said women, too.” I watch him cautiously, my gaze jumping between his eyes and his chest.
“That was before you walked back into my life. You’re the only woman I want to touch now. The others, like you saw, it’s just an act. A business transaction.”
“Doesn’t it make them feel used?” I flick my eyes up at him.
“It mustn’t. They always come back.”
“You like it. I saw your face. That wasn’t an act.”
Ryan stands right in front of me, his shirt unbuttoned and dangling open. “I won’t lie to you, Alana, I’ll never lie to you.” His tone is hard, but seductive. “I do like the attention, but it’s not real. It’s my job to sell attractiveness and fantasy, and I do it well. But that’s all it is, fantasy, and I know it. When I’m with you, that’s my real.”
My breath catches when he says the word real. I can’t help but find the irony in his words. I’m exactly to him what he is to me. Two people, one and the same, both living a double life to get what they want—a future, and each other.
And that is what I want. A future, with Ryan.
I try to place my hands on his chest, but he steps away shaking his head. “In this room, it’s all about you.” He ambles around, stopping right behind me. “You have to tell me what you want, Alana,” he whispers in my ear, and I almost go limp, the sound of his voice is erotic as hell.
I swallow hard, but can’t utter a word, because, truth be told, I have no freakin’ idea what I want. At least, not in this scenario.
Ryan starts to rub my shoulders, I’m positive he can feel my hesitation.
“Why are you so tense? This is supposed to be fun.”
Fun? The word rattles around in my head. Fun—a time or feeling of enjoyment or amusement. Something I so rarely experience.
Okay, let’s have some fun.
I turn around to face Ryan and our eyes lock. “Show me.”
“Show you what?” his tone dripping with sensuality.
“Show me Jack the Stripper.”
Holy fuck!
His chest starts to heave as his breathing becomes heavy. Ryan pushes me down, and I land on the edge of the white couch with a little bounce. As he slips his shoes off, I vaguely hear music playing in the background. A trippy remix of Muse’s “Madness.” The melody sounds like something straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie. I think it’s louder than I perceive, but I’m not sure. This whole situation is clouding my head.
Ryan begins to move, snaking his body to the dark rhythm. Slowly, he slides his shirt down his arms and drops it onto the floor, exposing his well-defined chest. It’s hard and toned and looks slick, like he rubbed baby oil all over it. Then he starts with his pants, undoing the button of his jeans with one deft, smooth flick. After that, he leisurely slides down his fly, teasing me with glimpses of his shiny blue briefs. His body is so agile and provisioned, each move tuned to exhilarate my senses. And exhilarate them it does. Because now he’s standing in front of me, one article short of naked.
Ryan is beautiful and powerful and seductive, and the worst part about it is that he totally knows it. He owns it. Using his intrinsic sexuality to his advantage.
My heart is racing because all I want to do is tell him what I want. What I really want. And that’s him, inside me.
My head is racing because everything I know is telling me this is taboo. Something frowned upon in my social circle. In my father’s social circle. My rationale and my desire are slicing me right in two.
When Ryan forces my knees apart and crawls on top of me my head and body go to war. Urging me back onto my elbows, all my nerve endings throb as his body overtakes mine. I grab onto his neck with one hand as he grinds and rolls, every inch of him surging against every inch of me. The quill on his bulging bicep rippling as he moves. It’s So. Fucking. Hot. I can barely stand it. But when I look up into his eyes I’m shocked at what I find. There’s no eagerness or excitement or passion, just emptiness, nothingness, a vacant stare.
Ryan really has given me what I want. He’s shown me Jack the Stripper.
My heart constricts, because this isn’t the Ryan I know, and definitely not the one that I want.
I hear Emily’s voice inside my head: Don’t be scared. Show Ryan who’s boss, then let him break you down. Let him know you can be strong and confident, and still be vulnerable when you’re together.
Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to take her advice.
I push Ryan off me and onto his back. “Alana, what the—”
“Shhhh.” I put my finger over his lips, silencing him, his eyes as huge as satellites as he stares up at me.
I run my fingertip down his strong jaw, over his hard chest, teasing his smooth skin, stroking and caressing the cuts in his abs until I reach the line of his shiny blue briefs. Ryan throws his head back, panting from my commanding touch. His reaction fuels me, spurring me to move.
No, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I am. This is the effect Ryan has on me. He pushes my hard limits, he always has. That’s why I love him. Why I’ve always loved him. He makes me feel alive.
I mimic his moves, channeling my inner Britney Spears. Rolling my body over his to the rhythm of the music, I bump and grind, amplifying the friction that’s already crackling around us. Ryan can’t keep his hands off me as I rub against him over and over. There’s heavy petting, mounting desire, and a power I’ve never felt before as we connect on a brand-new level.
I boldly sit up and straddle Ryan, shake my hair out, and smile temptingly. He runs his palms firmly up my thighs as I circle my hips in a seductive dance. I stop him with an impish finger wag before his hands travel too far. Ryan bites his lip and groans as I place his arms over his head. He strenuously watches my every move with parted lips, ragged breath, and a spellbound expression.
I begin to untie the string of my wrap dress—a white little sexy number I thought Ryan could have some fun with—ready and willing to break down all the barriers left between us. I want him here, I want him now, and I don’t give a shit that we are in the back room of a busy strip club. It doesn’t matter where we are, all that matters is that we’re together.
Slowly, still keeping with the seductive drum of the music, I unwrap one side of the dress, and then the other, revealing a blush pink, mesh bra with a diamond-studded front clasp, and panties that match. Both completely see through.
“Holy fuck, Alana,” Ryan growls, grabbing my hips and forcing my body down to his, showing me just how much he approves, his erection nearly busting out of his tight blue shorts. I brace myself with one hand on his chest and feel his heart pounding erratically underneath my fingertips. My heartbeat matches the pace of his. They throb in tandem. Calling to each other. I lean down and kiss Ryan, closing the distance between us. The physical, metaphysical, and the emotional one. If I wanted to truly know Ryan, I needed to walk a mile in his shoes, and I did. I ran a whole damn marathon. And I’m as sure now as I was five years ago that I’m committed to making this relationship work. No matter the challenges. Because we belong together. I have always known it, and tonight has proved it.
I begin to slip off my dress when Ryan suddenly stops me. “Not here.”
“Why not here?” I grip the material.
“One, because I want it deadly silent.” He traps my waist in his hands and thrusts his hips up forcing a small moan out of my mouth. “So I can hear each syllable of my name while I make you scream it.” Every single muscle south of the border clenches with searing need. “Second, I don’t want our first time to be on a leather couch that has a hundred thousand miles on it in the back of a crowded night club. Or anyone getting a glance of your ass in the air either. It’s mine.” He grabs my right butt cheek and squeezes, causing me to squeak.
“You also don’t want to give the other women any ideas?” I throw fuel on the fire.
“Something like that.” He sits up so we’re nose to nose. “You’re so fucking incredible.” Ryan kisses me slow and hard, boiling the blood in my veins and roasting the muscles in my body, signifying exactly where this night is headed. And I can’t wait.
“You ready to get out of here?” He wraps my dress back around me and ties the string, double-checking to make sure the knot is tight. I nod, reality setting in as I ingest the carnal, predatory look in his eyes.
There’s suddenly a lump in my throat the size of a boulder from anticipation and fear. Oh, God, sex with Ryan—and Jack the Stripper.
Reality has just kicked in.
We barely get into Ryan’s apartment with clothes on.
We did nothing but paw and pull and press on each other in the elevator and all the way down the hallway to his front door. My whole body is screaming for him to touch me, anywhere, everywhere. Right. Fucking. Now.
Ryan pushes me onto his bed and aggressively attacks my neck with kisses, stroking every inch of my body with persistent hands, shoving my dress up past my waist. He groans as he grinds his hips against mine. He’s ready. We both are. I think. Shit. That’s my problem, I think too much. I think about Ryan slipping out from between the beads with another woman, I think about what we did behind the curtain and wonder if he enjoyed himself as much with her as he did with me. I think about all the women he’s had, and how all I’ve ever had is him.
I need to stop thinking and get out of my own head. Shut it all off and go back to that moment where I was ready. Where I was confident. Where all I could think about was the next five minutes and nothing else.
“Alana?” Ryan breathes my name between kisses. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Nothing, why?” I attempt to kiss him back, but I’m losing momentum. Shit.
Ryan pulls away with a ‘don’t be a bullshitter’ expression. “Don’t lie to me, Alana. I can feel it, something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I try to pull his lips back to mine, but his head won’t budge. He just stares down at me with a forceful glare.
Fucker.
Resigned, I ball my fists over my eyes and sigh. “What do you want me to tell you, Ryan? I’m insecure? I’m trying not to think of all the women you have climbing all over you? Or of all the women you’ve had?” I so do not want to have this conversation right now, but I think it’s inevitable and it sucks. I’m an expert at detaching my emotions, except when it comes to Ryan. He’s the fucking antidote to my defensive poison.
“You’ve been with other people?”
“One other person, Ryan. One, other person besides you, and it was a total disaster. I don’t even think it counts.”
“What do you mean?” He’s clearly confused because we’ve never really talked about this.
We never did dredge up my intimacy issues or discuss my sexual past, if you could even call it that. One boy my sophomore year of college, the all-around nice guy I could never pull the trigger with. Even though I tried, desperately. I couldn’t muster up enough courage to go through with it. I was so messed up after what happened with Ryan, I completely shut down.
Sexually and emotionally.
We’d start but never finish. And the one time it got to the point of penetration I absolutely freaked. We stopped speaking after that, and I swore off men ever since. It was too hard. Burying myself in school was easy. Uncomplicated.
“Intimacy is hard for me,” I confess, “because I’m always afraid I’ll wake up, and whomever I spent the night with will be gone. I didn’t want to hurt like that again.” My voice evaporates. This conversation totally sucks. I don’t want to look weak. It’s a character flaw embedded by my father. Remington’s aren’t weak. They don’t show emotion. They don’t even have emotions.
I’m not a very good Remington.
“Alana,” Ryan coos, and I want to slap him. Maybe kiss him. I’m not sure which. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“You have to talk to me.”
“Talking isn’t my problem, Ryan.”
Thinking is.
“You didn’t tell me how you felt, Alana. Do you really think I’m not going to be here in the morning? After everything I’ve said? After everything I’ve done?” He swipes his thumb over my cheek. His tone is firm, but his actions are affectionate. Consoling.
I shrug, because for all intents and purposes, I do believe he’ll be here tomorrow, but there’s still a hurt, eighteen-year-old girl inside me who needs to come to terms with what happened. That Ryan didn’t leave because he wanted to. He made a choice that affected more than just me. And it hurt us both equally.
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” I mumble, turning beet red. I’m pretty sure when Emily told me to be vulnerable she didn’t mean like this.
“Alana, you could never disappoint me.” He shifts while still on top of me, his eyes holding mine hostage. “I may have had more lovers than you, and I may take my clothes off for countless women, but you are the only one who can strip me bare.”
I take a deep breath as his words wash over me like holy water. The statement a baptism to my soul.
His declaration is enough. And just like I reassured him all those years ago, it will be perfect, it’s with you, he has reassured me all these years later.
We’re even now.
I smile at him. A genuine, indisputable, unquestionable smile and pull his lips to mine.
There’s no hesitation on either of our parts. It’s right. It’s the right time, with the right person, in the right place.
Ryan rips my dress open, disintegrating the string. Both of us hot and heady and breathless, and in no time at all there’s nothing between us—no clothes, or doubts, or inhibitions.
Ryan trails light kisses all over my body, starting from my neck, over my bare breasts, down my trembling torso, along my outstretched legs, and around each ankle. My skin is tingling and my core is on fire as he retraces his steps, gliding the tip of his tongue up the inside of my right thigh. “I want to hear you cry my name, Alana. I want you to cry it all night long so everyone in this fucking city knows exactly who you belong to.” He licks a slow, hot drag between my legs and I nearly fall apart. “Ryan . . .” I gasp, yanking on his hair. I feel him smirk against my skin.
“Just like that.” He licks again, and my pussy throbs. Locking his arms around my thighs he tortures me with his mouth. Providing only enough pressure to make me wet and drive me mad.
“Oh,” I try to roll my hips, desperate to gain more friction, but my lower body is imprisoned by his iron grasp. My head, my heart, my muscles, and clit are all pulsing. “Ryan, oh, God, please.” I’m not even sure what I’m begging for.
“Please, what?” He flicks his tongue against my pounding little pressure point.
“Please . . . I don’t know.” I pant.
“Make you come?”
“Yes, that. Please.” I’m falling apart. Physically and emotionally. I want Ryan, all of Ryan. I want the pinpoint of pressure in my heart and between my legs to explode at the same time and I want Ryan to hit the button.
Ryan releases my legs and draws his face up to mine, his big blue eyes blinding me with lust.
“Spread your legs for me, baby. Only me.” I do as I’m told as he eagerly nestles his erection against my slick pussy. I moan on contact. Firecrackers are about to explode inside me.
“There is only one thing I know right now.” Ryan rocks against me.
“What’s that?” I shift impatiently underneath him, every inch of me humming with electrifying need.
“We’ve been apart for way too long.” In one powerful surge he sinks inside me and it’s a clashing of souls. My body bows from the forceful intrusion and my desire sings as it’s freed from its cage. Ryan groans as he moves inside me, his body trembling as violently as mine.
“I never forgot how fucking good you feel.” His words are clipped, strained from battling with his control. He moves gently, but commandingly providing exactly what I need. What I’m starving for. Him, all of him. Invading my body and my mind. Ryan is my real. He’s my peace. My escape. My every-fucking-thing.
“I never forgot either.” I force out the words as he grinds slowly and rhythmically, a shallow burn lighting in my core. Ryan dips his head, slipping his tongue urgently between my lips before outlining them in a slow, tortuous glide. He’s driving my senses wild with both his hips and his mouth as he feverishly drags us both to the height of pleasure.
I’m completely lost as every part of him touches every part of me, my whole body tensing and pulsating, all warm and ready and desperate for him.
“Alana,” Ryan moans, almost insufferably, as I match each one of his sensuous, stabbing, soul-consuming thrusts. Reveling in the sound of his rapturous voice, I suck on his skin and nip at his neck, straining in ecstasy as he drives me harder and higher until the shallow burn becomes a raging inferno I can no longer stand.
“Fuck, Ryan!” I erupt as my orgasm implodes.
“That’s it, baby. Let go. Let. Fucking. Go.” He bites my searing skin, punching in deep, over and over as I internally combust.
The climax is so fierce I literally see stars, my body quakes, and I scream each syllable of Ryan’s name audibly and uncontrollably. Just like he said I would. Just like he wanted. And now everyone in this city knows exactly who I belong to.
I barely register Ryan stilling inside of me until I hear the raw groan tear from his throat. We’re suspended in time until he collapses on top of me, the two of us sweaty and slick and panting in a frenzy.
“I love you, Alana,” Ryan breathes. “I swear to God, I never stopped loving you. You were the only thing that got me through.” He clutches me so tightly, he cuts off my air supply.
“I wish I could have been there for you.” I slide my fingers through his hair consolingly. The thought of him alone, rotting in prison, eats away at me. Moving my fingertips down, I softly caress his bare back, his chest rising and falling against mine from his labored breathing.
“Me, too.” Ryan buries his face in the crook of my neck. “Me, too.”
“I love you.”
Something is tickling my thigh and rubbing against my cheek. I flutter my eyes open to find Ryan staring down at me.
“Tired?”
“What gave it away?” I smirk lazily.
He drops his head and places feathery kisses all over my face, his fingers grazing up my naked thigh until they’re teasing the still-sensitive flesh between my legs. I hiss.
“How long have I been sleeping?” I glance at the window. It’s still dark.
“Too long,” he hums as his hand travels up the center of my torso to one of my breasts, and massages it gently.
Mmmm.
“Wake up,” he murmurs forcing my mouth open with his, tongue firmly brushing against mine. I lift my hand to the back of his head accepting the deep kiss that is stirring all my senses. “We have five years to make up for.”
Five years? “I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, am I?” I joke against his soft lips.
“You’re not going to be able to walk for a week.”
“I think I’m okay with that.” I laugh.
“Alana, you make me so happy,” Ryan announces abruptly.
“I can tell.” I roll onto my side and rub my hip up against his erection.
“Not just there.” Ryan grabs my hand and brings it to his chest, putting it right over the little scar on his left pec. “Here, too.”
I peer into his cobalt blue eyes shining with emotion, his heartbeat thumping steadily under my palm.
“I’m happy, too.”
“Good.” He draws me closer, slipping one arm around my lower back and one leg between my knees. I’m virtually trapped against his body, and I love it.
“I don’t think I could survive losing you again,” he professes against my mouth, his tongue skimming my bottom lip.
“You don’t have to worry about that, I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’ll never know how much it hurt being apart.” His tone is so raw.
“I know how much it hurt, Ryan. You left me, remember?”
“I didn’t leave, Alana. I was stripped from you.” Ryan rolls on top of me and pins my hands over my head with a fierce expression. “And it will never happen again.”
My heart beats wildly against my ribcage as I scan over his serious face. Ryan said he made a choice, but I don’t think it was ever a choice. Especially after that statement. He once told me Sean is the one person he could never turn his back on. And he didn’t, even when it meant he would lose everything. Which he did. But that’s Ryan. He’s ferocious and loyal and he loves intrepidly. How many people can you say that about?
“I hope not. Because if you leave me high and dry again, I’ll find you.” I wrap my legs around his waist, the force causing him to grunt on contact. “And when I do, I’ll make sure you understand the true definition of pain.”
“Feisty girl.” Ryan nips at my lower lip.
“Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t. I love you.”
Those three little words make my heart constrict because I never thought I would hear Ryan say them again. I never thought I would feel his touch or see his face. I thought we were over, but I know now we are just beginning.
“I love you, too,” I publicize with my hands still pinned over my head.
Ryan shifts so the weight of his upper body is supported by his elbows. He’s still holding my hands, but it’s gentler now. Connective. Secure.
“What was the guy in college like?” Ryan asks.
“EJ?” I frown. “Why do you want to know?”
Ryan shrugs. “Call it curiosity.”
I stare up into his inquiring, blue eyes and after a few conflictive seconds I answer. “He was perfect on paper.” And for some strange reason I feel guilty telling him the truth.
“Go on,” Ryan urges.
“He was smart, handsome, funny, rich. Ideal marriage material.”
I am incredibly uncomfortable talking about this.
“He sounds perfect.”
“I told you, on paper, he was.”
“But you didn’t trust him?”
“I thought that’s what it was.”
Ryan is searching my face for something. “But it wasn’t?”
“Looking back on it now, I thought my problem with men was that I didn’t trust them. And I’m sure on some level that was true after what happened with us. But I realize, it wasn’t just about my trust issues. The deep seated truth is, no one was you.” I blush from my admittal, the heat rising in my cheeks. I hate talking about my feelings, but with Ryan they seem to pour right out. “I never wanted anyone but you.”
Ryan clasps my hands tighter. “That’s all I ever wanted to be, your perfect.” He rubs his nose gently against mine. “And what an epic fail that was. I thought if I let you go, you could find someone who could give you everything I couldn’t.”
“Well, that plan worked out brilliantly.” There’s no controlling the resentment in my voice.
“I thought I was making a sacrifice. That’s what you do for the people you love.”
“Ryan, you didn’t make a sacrifice, you put yourself on a chopping block.”
“Call it whatever you want, I didn’t want you involved in all my fucked-up shit. You were leaving for college and had this big, bright, future ahead of you. I didn’t want to drag you down.”
“Don’t you think it should have been my decision as to whether I came or went?”
“In hindsight? Yes. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“Yes, there is.” I stare up at him. “We can put it behind us and move forward.”
Ryan smiles. A big, beaming, panty-melting smile. “I like those words.”
“Which words?”
“Us and forward.” He kisses me sensually, his tongue rolling softly against mine. I moan, instinctively flexing my hips, his erection digging into me. It’s a delicious feeling.
“You were my perfect, Ryan. You still are.” I deepen the kiss. All systems go. Ryan exhales a satisfied groan into my mouth as he slides into me slowly, sweetly, lovingly. Seizing every part of me.
“Only. Mine,” he grunts arrogantly, his satisfaction reverberating as he moves leisurely, torturously—in, then out, and over and over again.
I’m a total goner.
Emily was right, Ryan loves the fact I’ve never been with anyone else. And for the first time, I’m not ashamed that he’s the only man I ever slept with. He’s the only one I want to possess me, and he does. In every possible way. On the most elemental levels. Mind, body, soul, and heart. He always has.
I secretly hope he always will.