Braylen
Still sitting on the table, Ryder’s face buried in my neck and his cock still jerking inside me, I realized there was no other place I’d rather be. Call it hormones, or the high from my orgasm, but something pulled me toward this man time and time again. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the connection was, and after trying to dissect it for weeks—months even—I came to the conclusion that it was inexplicable.
All I wanted to do was melt into the man pinning me in place, but I couldn’t release all of myself. Not completely, without reservation. Especially since there were so many things up in the air between us. We were like oil and water, and other than a few rare moments sprinkled in between, the only times we meshed as one were when we were having sex. Or leading up to the utterly delicious act.
As the pace of my heart steadily slowed, my eyes roamed around the space of Ryder’s home. His place exuded masculinity, rustic décor everywhere, yet I found it cozy. A hearty fireplace took up the center wall of his living room, a few pieces of camel-colored leather furniture surrounding the focal point. His kitchen was small yet updated, all the latest stainless steel appliances glimmering in the condensed space. One of my favorite areas of his house, however—beside his bedroom, of course—was his en suite bathroom. The antique claw-foot tub called to me each and every time I spent the night. Although I wasn’t sure I’d be sleeping over again anytime soon, not with the threat of him possibly maiming me in my sleep.
Hell, possibly worse.
From what I understood, most of the men in the club lived close to the compound, yet on their own parcel of land, with top-of-the-line security installed to deter any unwanted guests. Ryder’s house was no different. Sitting on three acres of land, he was housed in solitude yet close enough that he didn’t live in the middle of bum fuck Egypt.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mumbled before lifting his head to look at me. Several seconds passed of looking into each other’s eyes before he placed a chaste kiss on my lips. It was almost as if he wanted to tell me something but thought better of it. Ryder fell from my body, pulled up his boxer briefs and jeans and tucked himself back into place. He reached for a box of tissues sitting on the counter.
“What?” He pushed my legs apart to wipe himself from my inner thighs.
“Nothing. I just like when you take care of me after sex. It’s nice.”
“Nice?
“Yeah.”
He mirrored my expression, his smile melting my heart. Ryder was a tough guy, his appearance matching his personality. It was only during these tender moments that I glimpsed another side to him. A more intimate side I cherished because I knew it would disappear soon enough. I realized that sounded odd, seeing as how the act of sex was intimate, but sometimes sex was just sex. Primal urges between two people. It was the aftermath that could sometimes be more rewarding.
After he finished, he hoisted me off the table and helped to steady me until I found my footing. Grinning widely, he turned and moved to retrieve my clothes. Normally, I’d be self-conscious standing naked in front of a man. I had a little more junk in the trunk than I’d like, and my belly wasn’t as flat as it used to be—I was a sucker for sweets—but the way Ryder stared at me made me feel like the most perfectly shaped woman in the world. I felt sexy and confident whenever his eyes raked over me, clothed or otherwise.
Walking back toward me, he held my clothes but made no attempt to hand them over.
“Can I get dressed now?” I asked, extending my hand so he could pass me my bra, panties, and outfit.
“What’s the rush?”
“You’re dressed.”
“I kinda like you naked, though. You know, you can stay that way all night if you want. No complaints here.”
“Nice try,” I replied, snapping my fingers. With a loud sigh, he passed them to me, and within a minute I was fully clothed.
When I came to his house to cut his hair, I hadn’t planned on having sex with him. Not really. I knew it was always a possibility, but I thought my smoldering anger would’ve blocked my lust.
I guess that didn’t work out too well.
Ushering past him, I took a seat on his couch, crossed my legs and leaned back against the cushion. “We need to talk.” I tried like hell to appear as if fighting was the last thing on my mind, but the reality was we would most likely end up there.
“The four magic words every man loves to hear,” he griped sarcastically. Fiddling with the television remote, he clicked on a sports station before giving me his full attention. “What’s up?”
His question was guarded, and I couldn’t say that I blamed him. We still had a lot of unfinished business to discuss, and no doubt our conversation was going to turn heated. We were both stubborn, neither of us ever wanting to give in. When our fuses were lit, there was no stopping the explosion.
I wasn’t a submissive person—not outside of the bedroom, at least. And Ryder sure as hell was domineering. He’d said on multiple occasions how he wished I’d just do as he asked without issue, but he’d been with me long enough to realize that was not how I was wired.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I braced for impact, ripping off the Band-Aid and blurting out, “I want to know what caused you to do what you did the other night.”
His chest expanded as he inhaled a deep breath. Then his lips parted, expelling the air in the form of a shout.
“Jesus Christ! Are we goin’ over that again?” Pacing in front of me, he ran his hand through his newly cut hair. “I told you I don’t wanna talk about it. Look, I’m sorry for holding you down while I was dreamin’, but it won’t happen again.” The vein in the middle of his forehead bulged, his breathing increasing the more aggravated he became.
“You can’t say that.”
“Yes I can,” he gritted, tossing the remote on the couch next to me.
“If you talk about what’s bothering you, you’ll feel better.”
“Nothing is fuckin’ bothering me. Let it go, Bray.” The rasp of his demand should’ve halted any further discussion on the matter, but of course, I just had to push.
“You need to let me in if we’re gonna continue doing whatever it is we’re doing.”
“Fuckin’?” A look crossed his features so quickly I didn’t have time to dissect it. Was it disgust? Uncertainty? I just couldn’t be sure.
His choice of words hurt. Ryder was guarded, and I feared he always would be. If I was a sane woman, I’d just walk away, wish him well and move on. But I never claimed to be in my right mind when it came to the infuriating man.
“That’s what we’re doing? Nothing more than fucking each other?”
“Yeah. No.” He planted his ass on the arm of the sofa at the far end. “I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m not delvin’ into my deep-seated feelings about what may or may not be bothering me. And if you can’t deal with it, you can leave,” he said, pointing toward his front door.
My lungs seized, taking in air seeming too difficult a task. He kept spouting off at the mouth, hurting me more and more with every syllable. The muscles in my chin started to quiver, so before he bore witness to the tears that would surely follow, I rose from the couch, grabbed my keys and bag from the kitchen counter and hustled toward the door.
But not before tossing “Fuck you” over my shoulder, then disappearing outside and slamming the door behind me.