He used that same tone with me on our first night. It was the hottest thing I’d ever heard.
It’s also the same tone I imagined him using if he would have told me to pleasure myself while thinking about him instead of messaging me about it. We never talked about that again. I was flustered and didn’t bring it up, and neither did he.
But it was hot as hell, just like this is now. This time I got to see him while he said those naughty words to me though, and I’m two seconds away from melting into a puddle.
Talk about this chat taking a sudden turn. For the better, I hope. My body definitely thinks so, humming under my skin like Ryan alone knows how to make it sing.
Am I the only one affected by this exchange?
I press my legs together, too crazed to check.
I close my eyes, trying to will away the pictures my brain is throwing at me from all sides. Pictures of Ryan. On top of me. Underneath me. All over me. Devouring me with his mouth, his hands, his tongue.
“Harper, what are you doing?” There’s a crack in his voice, which isn’t helping me one bit to calm down.
When I open my eyes, he’s regarding me with a look I’d never seen in a man’s eyes before I met him. Heat. So much heat. And want. Every one of his touches, every one of his kisses . . . he’d wanted me. It was an expression I was mesmerized by for hours. And it never faded, neither when we made it into his hotel room, nor when we stood in front of each other out of breath. And definitely not right before we attacked each other’s clothes because we wanted to get the other one naked. The need to feel the other’s skin, the need to leave some kind of mark, was too potent to ignore for another second.
And that was just the beginning. That was before I had the best sex of my life. The moment I felt complete.
“Do you think about it sometimes?” My voice is low but steady. “About our night?”
He rubs a hand over his face, and my gaze gets stuck on his stubble for a second. It enhances his appeal. He drops his hand and gives me a quick nod. “All the time.”
“Me too.”
The air is thick between us, despite the fact thousands of miles are separating us. Why does this moment feel so monumental? Like we’ve crossed a line we can’t uncross?
“Do you regret it?” His words are like a slap in the face.
“What?” I almost screech, my heart beating wildly.
“I was wondering. I’m sure you weren’t planning on having this”—he waves a hand in my general vicinity—”to be the end result of that one night.”
I inhale deeply, taking a moment to think about it. It’s not like I haven’t asked myself this exact question before. And I always come to the same conclusion since there’s only one correct answer my mind conjures. I’m still not sure if it’s the correct or false one, or if it’s good or bad, but it’s my answer.
“No.”
He nods and releases a long breath. Was he plagued by doubts as well and that’s why he wanted to know? Or was this some sort of test before we continue to do whatever it is we’re doing? Because it felt like we were doing something, like we were going somewhere beyond the attraction that has clearly been there from the get-go. Maybe even beyond the friendship that has formed over the last few weeks?
Ryan Monroe.
Lover.
Baby daddy.
Friend.
More?
The base of my neck tingles as the need to know his answer gets too strong. “How about you?”
He shakes his head without thinking about it. “I’d be lying if I said I imagined my future to take a sharp turn like this, but no, I don’t regret it. I told you I really wanted to see you again, and I meant it. You had me wrapped around your finger before we ever left the bar. Now that I’ve gotten to know you better, I like you even more. I hate that our situation isn’t easier, but we’ll figure it out somehow.”
My eyes close for a moment as his words encase my thumping heart, squeezing it so tightly it’s hard to breathe.
Can this thing between us actually be real? What if I wake up tomorrow and this is all just a dream?