Chapter Twenty-Six
Sophie stared up at her ceiling when her doorbell rang. God, she hoped it wasn’t Maddie. She couldn’t take one more second of gentle inspiration. All she wanted was to be left alone.
It rang again.
She contemplated ignoring her, but since her friend knew she was home she had no choice but to answer. Maddie wasn’t the type to be dissuaded. With a sigh she rolled off the couch and walked like a zombie to the door, flinging it open.
She froze, mouth falling open. It wasn’t Maddie.
It was Ryder.
She blinked, wondering if he was a mirage she’d conjured because of all her obsessive thinking about him. But when she opened her eyes, he was still there. Dressed in the same clothes from this afternoon, hat still pulled low, he held a fast food bag in one hand, a large drink in the other.
She shook her head. “Ryder.”
His gaze flickered over her. “Let me in.”
It wasn’t a request and she blinked again. “What?”
He pushed past her and she stood there as he walked toward the kitchen. When he returned he was empty-handed. He came over, took her hand, and pulled her with him back to where he’d come from.
Startled, she frowned, but his fingers clasped tight on hers, so familiar and strong, she didn’t protest.
When he got to the table, he pointed to a chair. “Sit.”
She did, managing to squeak out, “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer, just moved around her kitchen, gathering a plate, napkins, and ketchup from the fridge before he returned. He opened the bag, pulling out a hamburger and french fries and placing them in front of her. He grabbed the drink and set it next to the pile of food.
She looked through the plastic top to see it was a strawberry shake. Her favorite.
He sat down on the chair opposite her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving until you’ve eaten every last bite.”
It was so like him, so incredibly him. It was everything she missed about him. Loved about him. Needed about him.
Her throat went tight and her eyes welled.
He frowned, pulling his hat lower. “You need to eat, Soph. Do this one thing for me.”
She shook her head, her throat so constricted there was no way she could swallow. “I can’t.”
“You can and you will.”
She didn’t know what to do.
Having him there in her kitchen, despite her misery, made her feel the best she had in weeks. Everything about him sitting across from her felt right. All her emotions bubbled inside her. She forced them back down, trying to contain them, but ended up taking a gasping sob.
“Fuck.” The word was half moan, half growl. He grabbed her and lifted her straight off the chair and into his lap before wrapping his arms around her. He tucked her close, kissed her temple, and whispered, “Let it all out, darlin’.”
And she did. She curled her arms around his neck, tucked her face into the curve of his shoulder and cried. Big, hot tears that streamed down her face and fell onto his skin as he held her tight.
This, right here, was why she loved him.
She had no idea how long they stayed like that, her weeping in his lap, but they didn’t speak. He didn’t try and talk her out of her breakdown or show any impatience with her. He just sat there and held her until she finally calmed and fell silent.
At long last, he stroked her hair. “Better?”
She nodded against him, clutching him tighter, not wanting to let him go.
He smoothed down her back, rubbing slow circles along her spine.
She pressed closer. She hated how weak she was. That nothing felt as good as his arms. That his palm, heavy on her back, made her feel safe. She barely moved for fear he’d stop. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath to soak in his scent, that spicy, clean smell. She needed to be close to him. She burrowed deeper.
His fingers brushed the bare skin where the hem of her shirt didn’t quite meet her shorts.
She gasped, her lips touching the skin on his throat.
He tensed.
The air between them thickened.
Heat cut through her sadness, making her ache all over.
He skimmed his fingers under the cotton of her top, and she felt him grow hard against her hip.
Their breathing quickened.
She shifted, fractionally, wanting to get closer. Wanting to sink into him.
His hand gripped her hip.
She arched, sliding her legs down his thighs so they parted.
He pressed his palm flat against her stomach.
Every movement between them was jerky and brief. As though that way they could pretend not to notice.
Her pulse hammered in her throat.
His fingers snaked under her top and brushed her belly.
She moved her thigh flush against his hard cock. He traced her ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
She hissed, all the air leaving her lungs.
Don’t stop. She squeezed her eyes tight. Please don’t stop.
His thumb kept rubbing the curve of her breast, not moving close to where she needed him most. She bowed, thrusting into his hand.
“Sophie.” Her name was a moan on his perfect lips.
She tilted her head.
He lowered his.
Their mouths met, not hard like she’d expected, but a soft glance. His tongue touched hers. Danced against her. His thumb swiped over her nipple and she groaned against the sensation.
All of a sudden he stiffened and pulled back, his hands retreating to safer territory and his head lifting, taking his sinful mouth away.
He shook his head. “This isn’t why I’m here.”
She’d never felt so rejected in her life. She’d have done anything to keep him touching her. There wasn’t anything on this earth that would have made her stop, but he’d pulled away.
She straightened and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
She got up from his lap, but he gripped her wrist, and pulled her back before taking her jaw and forcing her to look at him. When she met his eyes, she saw how shadowed they were, the blueish tint under his lower lashes. The strain in his face.
He suffered. Because of her.
“Sophie, you have to know I want you.”
She did. She wanted to say something light, something that didn’t reveal how emotionally on edge she was, but instead said, “I couldn’t have stopped.”
His expression searched hers. “It’s not because you want me more.”
“Then why?” She hated asking the question but couldn’t help herself.
“I want you to eat.” He let her go and she pulled away.
That explained nothing.
She sat down in her chair and stared at the food in front of her. She wanted to protest, but that was childish. Eating seemed like a concession. So she just sat there, damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.
Which pretty much summed up her entire relationship with Ryder.
“Eat. I can’t stand watching you waste away.” His voice was strained, worried and concerned.
She didn’t look at him but knew he watched her. Instead she stared at the food. This, right here, was something she could do for him. So she picked up a french fry and popped it into her mouth, chewing mechanically. Her stomach felt hollowed out when the food hit it. He was right. She was wasting away. And it was hurting him.
She picked up the hamburger and ate every bite, even though she felt like throwing up.
When she finished, she finally looked at him. She couldn’t deny she felt clearer. Not good, but not so much like she walked around in a fog, removed from the world. “Are you happy?”
His jaw hardened. “No, I’m not, but at least I don’t have to worry about you passing out for a couple more days.”
She crumpled up the hamburger wrapper, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Uncomfortable silence, now thickly laced with sexual tension, filled the air. Their gazes caught and held. He glanced at her mouth, at her chest, and then back up again. “I need to go.”
“Okay.”
He stood and she went to stand too, but he shook his head. “Don’t walk me to the door, Sophie. Just stay here until I’m gone.”
She did. Not because he asked, but because she didn’t trust herself not to throw herself at him and beg for him to take her. So she could feel him at least one more time.
To be connected to him for just a little longer.
How could he not want that too?
* * *
Ryder went home, changed, and went running to deal with his sexual frustration.
It didn’t work.
He took a shower, tried to read, but gave up, throwing the book against the wall in his agitation.
Now he lay here in bed, in the dark room, wanting Sophie like he’d never wanted anything in his entire life.
He knew she thought he’d rejected her. That he had some willpower over their attraction she lacked, but it wasn’t the truth.
He’d fought a mental battle of epic proportions in his head.
It was just too hard to be around her. And he’d been too worried it would set them right back to square one, so he’d managed to resist. But it hadn’t been easy.
He dragged his hand through his hair, remembering the last time she’d been in his bed. She’d been on top of him, her head thrown back, circling her hips as she rode him, driving him crazy. She’d kept stopping when they got close, slowing to a crawl to stave off—Fuck!
He punched his pillow. He needed to stop.
His phone chimed and he looked down to see Sophie’s name. Are you awake?
He went from hard to granite. He typed back. Yes, you too?
I can’t sleep.
He couldn’t help it. He fisted his cock. Why’s that?
It took thirty seconds for her to reply. I miss you.
He groaned. I miss you too.
I’ve been drinking.
Are you drunk texting me?
Her response was immediate. Yes.
He stroked his shaft, wondering if she was over there touching herself. It was foolish, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself. Are you touching yourself?
Yes.
Christ. Fuck it. Where?
Everywhere. Is your hand on your cock?
Grip tight, he slowed his movements. He was so on edge the urge to come almost overwhelmed him. Yes. Play with your nipples and tell me how it feels.
A minute went by and he waited, his breath too fast. He’d slowed his pace to a crawl. Even though it was stupid, he didn’t want it to end.
His phone beeped. It’s not as good as when you touch me.
He’d never sexted before, and he wanted to hear her voice, but if he heard those breathy little moans of hers, there was no way he wouldn’t go over there, so he resisted the impulse to call her. Knowing she was right next door, her hands on her body, thinking of him was enough for now.
Tell me why.
Because you touch me without fear.
He took his hand off his cock to type out his reply. I knew from the second I saw you how you needed to be treated.
How do I need to be treated?
Hard, and rough, and dirty.
I’m thinking about it now.
Which time?
In the bar, I can mimic how you rubbed my clit with my hand. It helps me feel like it’s you.
He groaned. Remembering how he’d pushed her, and how hot it made her, the way she soaked his fingers. He wanted her to feel that same ache.
Another text. Ryder . . .
Yes, Sophie?
This is the first time I’m going to come since the last time.
He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge of his body. But you’re still coming with me, aren’t you?
Yes. I don’t want to, not yet . . . but I’m so close.
Here in the dark, he could tell her I want you so bad.
I want you too.
This was crazy, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop. Tell me what you’re doing.
I’m touching myself the way you do, wishing it was you instead of me.
He stroked his cock. He wouldn’t last much longer. So he typed. Come.
Then he dropped the phone, and his fist tight on his shaft, he closed his eyes and got lost in the pleasure. Picturing Sophie in a million different ways, in a million different scenarios, going over the edge at an image of her, smiling at him, her hair bright in the sun, her brown eyes flashing.
When it was over, he lay panting for breath until he heard the beep of his phone.
Ummm . . . hi.
He laughed. It was so her. Be a good girl and get some sleep.
You are so evil.
Right back at ya, darlin’.
Good night, Ryder.
Good night, Sophie.
This woman, she’d be the death of him. No question about it.