Eight Ways to Ecstasy (3 page)

“But not tonight,” he said. “Tonight…” He nudged his knee between her thighs, spreading them wider. Her nipples grazed the mattress as she sank. He made a show of switching hands before sinking two broad fingers deep into her sex, giving her a whole different kind of fullness. “Tonight, I want to fuck you here.” He leaned in closer until the searing line of his cock pressed to her skin.

He paused for a second, and she caught herself panting for breath.

“I'll take you fast. And hard. And when I come inside you?”

“Yeah?”

“You're going to come, too. One more time for me, beautiful.”

With the withdrawal of his fingers this time, she sagged, left near boneless without his touch. From behind her came the whispers of fabric, and then the sound of foil ripping. For half a second she almost considered stopping him. She'd gone back on the pill as soon as she'd gotten back to town, for all the good that had done her in her dry spell. She could tell him…

But no. Letting him take her bare—that was a hell of a leap from where they were now.

It was the work of a moment for him to roll the condom on, and then he was over her, on top of her. The heat of his chest pressed to her spine, his hard cock nudging at her entrance, and she was ready. Instinctively, she braced herself.

But before he took that first, long thrust, he paused, wavering. His brow pressed to her temple, and a tremor rocked the cage of his arms around her.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered.

And with that, he pushed inside.

Reeling, she bit down on her lip. She'd forgotten how big he was, and the part of her that still expected pain had her fingers digging sharp into her palm. But the slide was easy, her body open and slick.

He hit something as he filled her. Something deeper than the back of her sex and harder than his thumb sneaking back around to play with her rear.

Something that remembered this, and remembered what it had meant.

That summer in Paris, they'd been so close. She'd thought they had been, and she'd loved him so much. Had given him her body and her heart, and what had he given her? Orgasms, sure. But not his story. Not himself. Yet here he was, asking for more.

His hips eased back, the retreating stroke as massive in its impact as the one with which he'd entered her. He huffed out a breath that sounded pained before thrusting home again.

“Fuck, Kate, you feel even better than I thought you would.”

And he did, too, and that was the problem.

He took a few more slow, steady movements in and out, each one reaching the part of her body that welcomed him home and made her want to spread her legs for him, be easy for him. She shoved her fingers tighter into fists as her sex went warmer and slicker.

With his hips flush to hers, he stopped. “You ready?”

God, their first time around, she'd made the sex so difficult, but now it felt like the simplest part. Way simpler than the mess he'd made of her heart.

She nodded and clenched her eyes shut.

“Kate?”

“Do it.” She pressed back into him, forcing him that tiny bit deeper, and how did it feel even better, when inside she was falling apart? “Fuck me.”

He groaned, but instead of doing it, instead of doing as he'd promised and taking her hard, he wrapped his arms around her, hauling her up. She resisted. She was safe where she was. But he sat back on his haunches all the same, pulling her along with him until there was nowhere left to hide. Astride his lap, her weight pressing her down onto him even more, she was on display.

And he held her. Fuck, he
held her
.

“I need to feel you're with me in this, Kate.”

She laughed, and it sounded high and desperate to her own ears. “Where else would I be?”

“I have no idea.” He shook his head, stubble scratching her cheek as he tucked his chin against her shoulder. “You just felt really far away.”

As far away as he had driven her.

She bit her lip. “I'm right here.” And it hurt.

“Then stay there. Please.”

He gripped her tighter and flexed his hips, and yes. This they could do.

“Stay with me,” he pled again, picking up his pace.

But her throat wouldn't work. They'd said so much tonight already. She'd given him what he wanted. Couldn't she keep a piece of herself for her own?

As if sensing that he'd pushed far enough, he didn't ask her anything else as they settled into the rise and fall of bodies on bodies, flesh inside of flesh. It wasn't the hard, rough fuck he'd promised her, but the way he moved inside her—the way he moved her over him, clutching her tight and helping her ride him—was thick with intent. The pleasure she scarcely knew if she was ready for gathered low in her belly, close and yet unsatisfied.

He broke their silence with a rasp. “Touch yourself for me.”

She'd fought him on this once, but it felt too easy this time to lower her hand and slip it through the slick-hot space between her legs. Her fingertips grazed his length, full and hard as it buried itself inside her, and he moaned. Then she found her clit, and the gathering heat shot sparks.

“That's right.” He bit her throat. “Just like that. Feel it. Let yourself have this.”

She would. Fully prepared to lose it this time, when there was nothing left to do but let it go.

As climax barreled down on her, she tossed her head back. He caught it on the wide, strong expanse of his shoulder. He spoke her name and stroked her nipple once.

“Kate—” He gulped, swallowing air. “I'm going to—”

She fell over the edge with him, exactly how he'd said she would, blackness eclipsing her vision, muscles spasming as a pleasure too vast, too deep washed over her. Within the clenching furl of her, he throbbed, pulsing.

And then he was grabbing her by the jaw, pulling her into a kiss it felt like she'd been waiting years for. As they shuddered through their peaks, he held her face in his hand, his gaze locked with hers.

It was too much. Too close.

She needed to protect herself, needed to hide.

Yanking her head away, she closed her eyes.

For a minute, Rylan fought simply to breathe. Fuck, he had needed that. But even as his blood sang with satisfaction, worry tickled at the back of his mind, keeping him from sinking into any kind of afterglow.

The sex had been amazing, but it had been…different. She'd wanted to face away from him, and sure, it'd been hot as hell. But it hadn't been
her
. The first time they'd made love, it had been Kate and her misgivings that had prompted them to wait. He'd been patient for days in Paris, and in the end, he'd toppled right into a connection he had yet to claw his way out of—one he didn't want to, even. Being with her had been so much
better
than being with anyone else had ever been before. It made him want to throw caution to the wind, to ignore every lesson his family had ever taught him about how love was just an invitation to be discarded or used.

But maybe she wanted out.

Stroking his thumb across her cheek, he tried to will her eyes open, but it wasn't any use. She'd closed them right as their intensity had risen past the breaking point, had turned her face away. She was hiding from him, dammit all. Fire burned in his gut, a low twitch of annoyance at her for keeping him out.

And a red-hot brand of anger at himself. He had dug this hole, and he'd known he'd have to work his way out of it. She'd agreed to let him try. But all of a sudden, the gently sweeping road to forgiveness he'd imagined himself on took a steep upward climb. He swallowed hard and dropped his head, relaxing his hold as his brow came to rest against her temple.

How the hell was he going to do this?

Before he could begin to figure it out, she reached up to swipe at her eyes. His stomach sank as he pulled away enough to really see her. Dampness clung to her lashes.

“Baby…”

She shook her head. “It's fine.” Patting his arm, she wriggled her way out of his embrace. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from drawing her back. “Just intense, you know?”

Of course he knew.

His body slipped from hers as she climbed off his lap, leaving him cold. With her back still turned, she retreated to the edge of the bed to grab a box of tissues. She felt miles and miles away.

Without looking at him, she handed him the box. He pulled a couple of tissues loose and dealt with the condom. The silence tore at him.

It had never been this
awkward
before.

Well, fuck it. He wasn't going to let it be awkward now.

She'd already grabbed her shirt off the floor, but before she could tug it on, he clambered onto his hands and knees to come up behind her. Dropping the bundle of tissues in the waste bin, he wrapped both arms around her, prying the fabric from her hands and tossing it across the room.

“Hey—”

“You don't need that.” He kissed the spot behind her ear.

She fixed him with a look, brow arched. “It's actually kind of chilly in here.”

“That's what I'm for.” Him and a pile of blankets. He tried to pull her down to lie beside him, but she shook her head.

“I'll fall asleep.”

His heart panged. That sounded ideal, honestly. Chilly or no, his bed had been cold for months without her there. “And what would be so bad about that?”

She looked away. “Where are you staying, anyway?”

It took him a second to catch up, but when he did, he sucked in a breath and clenched his jaw. His suitcase still stood in the corner where he'd left it, looking stupidly hopeful. Homeless.

“I hadn't figured that out yet, actually.” He forced himself to relax his mouth and stroked his palms up and down her arms. Made his voice soft to conceal the disappointment gnawing at him.

It wasn't that he'd expected her to invite him to stay, precisely. But somehow, he hadn't expected her
not
to, either.

“Oh,” she said.

“I was kind of busy. Had a girl I was in a rush to get to after all.”

He stroked her hair back from her face. It gave him a better view, but unlike before, he couldn't seem to see in.

And then her stomach gave this long, rolling growl.

It stopped him short. “Um.”

“Quiet.” She huffed out a little half laugh and rubbed the heel of her hand into her eye before pointing in the vague direction of the kitchen. “I barely got to eat my terrible soup.”

Ah, yes. She'd insisted that they eat ramen for supper—something that came in a packet and tasted like salt and despair. And when he'd been tempted to hide how terrible he thought it was, she'd exploded, as if instant noodles were the root of their problems.

Really, taking that cup from her hands had been him doing her a favor. “You're welcome?”

“Hardly. It's not like I have much of anything else here to eat.”

Maybe he should offer to buy her some groceries. It struck him, though—did she cook? They'd gotten this far and there were so many things about her life he didn't know. But he wanted to.

Paris had been a whirlwind of sightseeing, but both out there in the city and alone in their hotel room, they'd gotten through only the highlights.

He wanted the unabridged version now. The off-the-beaten-track insider's guide. The view of a city—the view of this girl you only got after years of exploration. He wanted to discover everything there was to know about her, piece by piece. He just needed her to give him the chance to.

For now, he hugged her tighter and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Order something then.” He hesitated before adding, “My treat.”

She rolled her eyes, but at least she didn't freak out. “You don't have to do that, you know.”

“Of course I don't.” Didn't she understand this? “I want to.”

He wasn't going to hide who he was this time. He'd already promised her that. If money wasn't an issue for him, why couldn't he choose to share it with her?

“Come on,” he said. “Something simple. Pizza?” Now there was an idea. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and outright pouted. “I haven't had a decent New York slice in a year.”

“Now that really is a crime.” Her tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, too.

So he pulled out his secret weapon. Pressing a kiss beneath her ear, he asked quietly, too fervently, “Please?”

The warm wash of his breath across her skin made Kate shiver.

His offer was so tempting, really. She was starving, and the idea of letting him take care of her for a little while made a tired, jagged piece of her heart sigh with relief.

But ordering a pizza meant waiting for delivery, which meant more time alone with him—probably naked if his reaction to her last attempt at getting dressed was any sign. The vulnerability of it made her skin itch. She couldn't defend herself like that, and she desperately needed to this time around.

“Actually.” Her voice cracked, anxiety making her breath go tight.

His arms went stiff around her.

Stomach roiling, she shifted inside his embrace, twisting until he let go. Unable to look at him, she crossed the room to where he'd thrown her top. She picked it up and pulled it on. It was long enough that she felt at least a little bit covered.

“Actually?” he prodded.

Steeling herself, she crossed her arms and turned to face him. “Actually, I have a lot of work to do.”

His expression scrunched up in confusion. “But you just said you didn't have any food. It's only dinner.”

Right. Just dinner. But even if she managed to survive the wait and then a meal with this man, she knew how he worked. She knew how weak she could be. Their first round had left her boneless and sated, but one look from him and she'd be ready to move straight into a second—after her recent dry spell, maybe even a third.

And then there they'd be, naked in her bed, and she'd be exhausted, and he didn't really have a place to stay, so he'd might as well crash at hers. Just for the night.

A different kind of shiver racked her frame.

It was exactly how things had gone in Paris, with them falling into each other's pockets, going on one sightseeing adventure after another until it had only felt natural to spend every waking minute together. Until she'd had to let him down to get a couple of hours to herself to draw.

Somehow, she'd managed to mistake all that time together, all those pieces of herself he'd convinced her to give away, for intimacy. His stunted, guarded replies to her most basic questions for reciprocity. It was how she'd gotten her heart broken.

She had to hold him at arm's length this time, no matter the temptation to do anything but. She'd be grateful, later, that she had.

Standing firm, she set her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Like I said, I have work to do.” She gestured idly toward the stacks of canvases she'd turned toward the walls. “I have an assignment for one of my classes, and—”

“So you decided to go.” His voice cut her off. The sheer wonder in his expression made her pause. “To grad school.”

Oh, hell, that was right. Last he'd known, she'd still been making up her mind between an office job and an MFA.

“Yeah.” She nodded, fidgeting. “Things went so well on my trip.” Her heart had been left a mess, but her sketchbook had been full to the brim. “And you told me…”

It was the one good thing to come from the whole sad affair. Rylan had looked at her drawings—really looked at them—and he'd told her she'd be a fool not to follow her dreams.

Licking her lips to wet them, she met his gaze. “When I told you I was considering it, you acted like it shouldn't even be a decision. It just…” He'd given her that extra shot of confidence she'd needed. “It meant a lot.”

“I'm so glad.” His eyes shone. “I spent all this time wondering, hoping you'd made the right decision.”

She rolled her eyes at herself. “I'm still not sure it was the right one—”

“It was. Absolutely.”

His unwavering confidence in her after all this time threatened to crack her resolve. But she had to stay strong.

“I'm glad you think so,” she said, squaring her shoulders all over again. “But it's a ton of pressure and a lot of work, and I just—I don't think getting pizza with you is a good idea.”

He tilted his head to the side, and for all the world, it felt like he was trying to peer clear through her. But then, instead of arguing, he rose to his feet. Her heart got stuck in her throat as his full height unfurled, muscles rippling across his chest. He found his boxers and pants and pulled them on, then crossed the remaining distance to her and ducked to look her in the eye. “Why?”

She blinked at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Why? It's not the work, so don't try to tell me that it is.”

An irrational panic tore at her throat. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You want me to go. I want you to tell me why.” He said it like it was a completely reasonable thing to request.

And maybe that was what made her snap. Uncrossing her arms, she flung them out at her sides, stepping back, pulling away.

“Because—because you can't just,” she sputtered, “just show up at someone's apartment after the way we left things. I told you when I let you in. I'm still—God, I'm still so mad at you I could—” Could what? Shake him? Deck him?

Retreating farther, she dug her nails into the meat of her palms.

“Because I don't trust you,” she said. Her rib cage echoed with the words, because really, that was what this all boiled down to. “I know we had something.” They'd had a connection like nothing she'd ever felt before, but finding out it hadn't flowed in both directions, not as freely as she had thought—nothing could come out of that entirely intact. They hadn't. No matter how much he seemed to want to pretend. “We had something incredible, but you don't just get it back by asking for it.”

“I told you. I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

“And tonight, what it's going to take is you leaving.”

His eyes widened, and a beat of silence passed as they sized each other up.

Then, all power and precision, he stalked the rest of the way toward her. She held her ground, working not to betray how inside she shook like a leaf.

He reached to curl a hand around her neck, and drew her into a soft, gentle kiss.

After a minute, he released her, and her heart leapt around inside her chest. She cleared her throat, but it did nothing for the fog he left in her head. “I just need some time,” she said. And some distance, to give her any hope of keeping her feelings in check when he had the power to turn her to liquid like this. “It's a lot to take in, you know.” She gestured between the two of them.

“It is.” His smile went sad. “And time's exactly what I asked for from you. Time to prove myself.” Seven nights to be exact. “It'd be pretty bad if I weren't willing to give you some to think this all through.” He dropped his hand, leaving her skin singed. “Don't think I'm happy about it, though.”

She wasn't entirely sure she was, either, honestly. But she had to hold the line this time.

Rylan finished getting dressed as she watched on, leaving only his tie undone, the fabric hanging loose around his neck. When he was put together again, he turned to her.

And something cracked behind his eyes. “It's not just the money, is it?”

“What?”

“That's not why you don't want me here. Because it doesn't really matter. I'd be happy with you in a hotel in Paris or a studio apartment in Brooklyn, or in a cave for all I care. It's just details.”

It was the kind of thing only someone with money could say.

Suddenly, her lack of it felt like a brand.

“It's not the money,” she managed.

“All right.” He captured her lips one last time, tongue softly seeking in her mouth, body firm where it pressed to hers.