Eight Ways to Ecstasy (19 page)

The feeling built and built until finally he faltered. His lashes fluttered, a choked moan and a stuttering of his hips betraying him. “You feel so good.” He ground his hips into her harder. “Can you— I want you to—”

“Yeah.” She let her head tip back, focusing on the drag of his hips against her clit, the sweet ache every time he pressed flush against her.

“God, Kate, I need to feel it, want to hear you—”

His hands squeezed harder over hers, bearing her down, and she tilted her hips. Stared up into perfect, beautiful blue eyes.

And they were full of awe. Full of love.

Her whole body seized. Blackness rushed over her, and then his mouth was on hers, his breath pushing into her lungs as she pulsed and pulsed. Without a hand on her, without a tongue or a toy, and the deepness of it felt like it would pull her under. Like she'd never break the surface again.

He moaned her name, slamming in hard. When he came, it was with his body buried so she didn't know where he ended and she began, and that was fine. That was perfect. She didn't
want
to know.

She wanted to stay right here, in this golden, glowing morning, when it was just him and her.

When she could ignore the voice in the back of her mind insisting it could never last.

Okay. There were a few things Kate could get used to about staying at Rylan's place. The water pressure was definitely one of them.

Steam filled the air, making it sultry and thick, the hot spray washing over her skin, and she never, ever wanted to leave this room. This expansive, gorgeous marble-tiled shower.

This perfect little moment where everything seemed okay.

Her fingers were starting to prune, though.

Sighing, she leaned back against the other thing she could seriously get used to around here. Rylan hummed, the broad, naked expanse of his chest meeting her spine, thick arms curling around her. He kissed the spot beneath her ear, and she practically melted.

“Finished?” he asked.

“Do I have to be?”

“Never.” With a hand at her cheek, he turned her into him and into a deep, slow kiss.

They were long past clean. Phantom traces of his hands sliding lather across her skin made her warmer than the spray—nearly as warm as his lips.

Finally, even she started to run out of excuses to dawdle, though. With reluctance, she broke the kiss and reached for the shower's controls.

Apparently the wrong one. There were so many dials and nozzles, and the one she touched turned the smooth flow of water into a stuttering, pounding jet. Laughing, Rylan took over, turning a different handle all the way to the right and stopping the water altogether.

She scowled at the knob. “That was going to be my next guess.”

“Never doubted it.”

He slicked his hair back from his face, and she got lost for a minute, just staring at the droplets of water slipping over his body, the shifting of muscles in his shoulders and arms.

She zoned back in as he stepped out and passed her a fluffy white towel.

“Thanks.” She took it and swabbed at her face and neck.

Rylan made quick work of drying off while she stood there in a haze, barely remembering to move the fabric over her skin as she stared. He smirked to catch her gawking. Hanging up his towel, he leaned in for another quick kiss. “I'm going to go get dressed.”

Pity. But for now, it was probably for the best.

Nodding, she let him go, watching the round globes of his rear as he walked to the door and through.

The quality of the air in the room shifted once she was alone. She held herself up a little less straight, toweling off faster without the distraction. Wrapping the terry around her chest, she padded forward across the room, combing her fingers through the wet strands of her hair.

With a washcloth she cleared off a section of the mirror above the sink. Her gaze caught on her own dark eyes in the reflection, and for a long moment, she stood there, staring at pink cheeks. At the tops of her breasts and the patch of red Rylan's mouth had left on her neck.

And it was strange. Lying beneath Rylan, allowing him to snap image after image of her running her own fingers through the slickness between her legs, she'd been struck with this lilting vertigo. As if watching herself from above, barely able to recognize the girl she'd been when Rylan first found her. She'd been so terrified then, and the sheer wantonness of putting herself on display like she had this morning…It was something she never would've been able to do before. Rylan hadn't even had to coax her into it—she had been the one to start the whole game of taking photos of each other like that. He'd given her the confidence to do it, though. And she couldn't argue with the results.

Leaning against the counter, she studied herself more closely. She didn't
look
different. But she felt it.

“Kate?”

She stepped back, peering through the half-open doorway into Rylan's room. “Yeah?”

“Your phone's ringing.”

She scrunched up her face at herself in the mirror. “Coming.”

By the time she made it out there, her phone had gone silent again, and she almost forgot about it entirely. Rylan had tugged on a fresh pair of boxers, but other than that, he was still gloriously nude, dark hair messy and damp.

“I am just never going to get over that,” she mused, bringing a finger to her mouth.

“Hmm?”

“How good you look.” How good he made her feel.

His lips curled up into a soft, beautiful smile. “I don't think I ever will, either.”

She shook it off with reluctance, making her way to the bedside table where she'd left her phone. “Hope you don't mind me borrowing one of your shirts again.”

“Hope you don't mind me ruthlessly trying to take it right off you again.”

“I'd be disappointed if you didn't.”

She picked up her phone and flipped it open, then frowned. There were three voicemails in addition to a couple of texts. She glanced at the clock, and her frown only deepened. Even with their morning activities, it was pretty early for a Saturday.

Then she pressed the button to look at the messages, and all the blood rushed out of her face.

“Oh, shit.”

Rylan was up in an instant, sitting straight. “What?”

“Oh
shit
.”

The messages were all from her mother. She checked the date and went a little dizzy.

How could she have forgotten?

She swore a half dozen more times, paralyzed there in the corner of the room as the world around her spun.

Strong hands settled on her shoulders, and she couldn't help it. She flinched. Hard. Every neuron in her body braced, ready to look up into an angry face, and she could already hear it.
So stupid, what were you thinking, never pay attention—

She jerked away without even thinking, but the hands refused to yield, and she went stiff, turned her head away before the yelling started.

But then, Rylan was there. His face dipped down so there was nothing else in her vision, and his eyes were wide, the lines on his brow all concern. Not anger. Not yet.

“Kate.” There was an urgency to his tone, like this might not be the first time he'd tried to get her attention. “Talk to me.”

And maybe it was the steady calm of his voice that finally snapped her out of it.

“My mother's here.” She shook her head at the question forming on his lips. Paged through the increasingly frantic series of texts her mother had left. “Not
here
, but here. In the city.” Her head spun harder. “At my apartment.”

Crap. It was just like her father had always said. She was so careless, so scatterbrained, and between work and school and her terrible portfolio and Rylan—she'd been running around like a crazy person these last few days.

A hysterical bark of laughter forced its way past her throat. She'd gone to work at the diner that Monday and looked at the schedule and been so damn relieved to see these four days off in a row. Found time, she'd thought. A chance to get some painting done, or apparently to hole up with a guy she barely knew and that her mother was going to
hate
…

Except Kate had been the one to request those days. Her mother had sent her the dates for her trip, and Kate had put them on the calendar for work, had even taken off the day before so she'd have time to clean her apartment. Oh hell, her apartment was going to be a mess.

Scrubbing a hand over her face she sat down hard on the edge of the bed. She needed to call her mother back. She needed to get dressed. She needed to get over there, and it was going to take forever, the trains ran so infrequently on weekend mornings.

Just as her planning was threatening to spill over into outright panic, Rylan reappeared in front of her. He was on his knees, half-dressed now in an undershirt and jeans. With careful, gentle hands, he eased the phone from her grip.

“Is there someone who has a key who can let your mother in?”

Kate nodded dumbly. “Mrs. Stephens in 3A.”

“All right.” Rylan flipped open her phone, grimacing as he started to type.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting her back and telling her you're on your way and to try Mrs. Stephens's place.”

“I need to call her—”

“You need to get dressed.” He snapped the phone shut and set it down on the table, then pointed to a spot on the bed beside her.

And there, neatly piled, were her jeans from the night before and one of his dress shirts. A thin pair of what looked like athletic socks.

“There's nothing I can do about underwear, I'm afraid.”

She heard her own voice reply, “That's all right.”

He leaned in to press a single quick kiss to her lips. “We have this under control.”

With that, he rose to his feet. She was still in a daze as she watched him pull out his own phone and call for a car, ambling back toward his closet as he did.

And it struck her—
they
didn't have this under control.
He
did.

She'd managed to pull on her jeans and last night's bra by the time he returned. He'd finished dressing himself in a soft-looking gray sweater and a black pair of shoes, and it wasn't fair. Here she had to do the walk of shame back to her mother of all people, and he got to look like…well,
this
.

The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. “Why are you doing this?”

He came up short, furrowing his brow. “Doing what?”

“Helping me.”

For a fraction of a second, his eyes flashed dark, the point of his jaw flexing, and her breath hitched. Here they came. The recriminations.
I have to do everything for you, don't I—

But then his expression cleared. He came over to sit beside her on the mattress. Tucked a tangled strand of her hair behind her ear. “Why did you come help me move into this house yesterday?”

What did that have to do with it? “Because you asked me to.”

With an arm around her shoulder, he tugged her into his side, pressing his lips against her temple. “And if I hadn't asked, you would have offered.”

She shrugged. Probably.

“Because that's what people who care about each other do.” His voice and his grip both tightened as he said it. Like he was hearing it for the first time coming out of his own mouth. Like it was a revelation to him, too. “They help each other when they need it. Whether or not the other person asks them to.”

He held her there for a long moment. Then, letting out a huff of breath, he withdrew his arm and picked up the shirt he'd brought her, shaking it out.

With him looking at her like that, gaze expectant, confidence radiating from every inch of him, the panic that had all but incapacitated her finally eased. He didn't blame her or berate her for her mistake. Instead, he stepped in. He handled it.

All she had to do was trust him. And let him.

The car arrived while Kate was still upstairs. Rylan stood in the front room, watching through the window. As soon as it pulled up, he turned to call for her over his shoulder.

She emerged down the stairs a minute later, and he had to give her credit. She cleaned up well. Her head was held high, her hair neat. But there wasn't any hiding what was going on. She looked like exactly what she was—a woman coming home after a night spent with a man. If it wasn't her lack of makeup, it was the mark he'd left on her throat. The too-large, stolen shirt. Seeing his clothes on her was still sexy as hell, but it was sexy for a reason. His shirt on her frame screamed of possession, of his having had her less than an hour before.

“What?” she asked, pausing on the next-to-last step.

He blinked away the thoughts of how he'd laid her out in his bed, of the slow, soft love they'd made. Of how she'd looked at him as she'd clenched up around him and come.

He shook his head, stepping forward to get the door. She had her purse slung over her shoulder, as well as the camera bag, and he got distracted all over again remembering the pictures they had taken, but he forced those thoughts aside.

He hadn't met very many girls' parents. He'd rarely dated anyone for long enough. But he'd been dealing with people older than he was all his life, people with influence and power, and he was good at it. From board members to society types, he knew how to turn on the charm. He could do it with Kate's mother, too.

But when they reached the car and he extended his hand to get the door, Kate turned to him. “Thank you,” she said, and it wasn't a simple acknowledgment of what he'd done to help. “I'll give you a call—”

He interrupted her. “I'm coming with you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “But—” She snapped her jaw closed. “You don't have to. My mom, she's…” She trailed off, and Rylan frowned. She'd always spoken of her mother fondly. “She can be a little much.”

“I'm good with mothers.”

“Still.” She avoided his gaze, looking at anything but him.

And then it hit him.

Her mother didn't know about them, either. There were a hundred other explanations, but this was the only one she wouldn't want to say out loud. Especially after she kept them a secret from her friends, too. He swallowed hard against the low punch to the gut. He understood her reasons, but being her dirty secret like this—it
hurt
.

That was the only justification he had for gritting his teeth. For saying the first, most cutting, most effective thing to come to mind.

“Would you really rather show up looking like that”—he pointed to his shirt, to the bruise on her throat—“alone?”

His father would've been so proud.

God, he was an asshole. She flinched, and she'd been supposed to. There was no other reaction any rational person could have. He cursed himself in his head. Opened his mouth to apologize.

She threw the car door open herself before he could. He stepped back, prepared for it to slam in his face, and he'd have deserved it. Except then she did like she always did and slid across the seat. He hovered there at the curb for a wavering moment. Then, from within, she asked, “Are you coming or not?”