Only when its us, p.27
Only When It's Us, page 27
Fear tunnels through my body, and yet I want to push back on it. I’m scared shitless, but I also can’t lie anymore. I can’t say I don’t want to try somehow to make sense of what this is between Ryder and me. How can I even begin to do that if I never take the first step on the path of possibility?
I need a solid first move. It can’t be small. It can’t be half-assed. This is me we’re dealing with. The only thing I can think to do is what we’ve always done, to see Ryder’s bet and raise him.
Standing, I set my wine on the counter and drag my hoodie off, over my head. Next my long-sleeve shirt. I’m wearing a white tank top and no bra. Ryder’s hand holding the knife slows, then comes to a stop.
“What are you doing?” he croaks.
I bend to remove my sweatpants, then toe off my fuzzy socks. Now I’m down to panties and a tank. “Well, if I’m going to freeze all night long, I might as well warm up in that hot tub first. Looks mighty toasty.”
Ryder makes a strangled noise.
Stepping away from the counter, I saunter toward the glass door and push it open. The hot tub’s a mere five feet away, the sky a black dome dappled with bright stars, so far from city lights. With my back to Ryder, I stare over my shoulder. I hold his eyes as I peel off my tank top and let it fall to the floor.
Ryder’s head drops. His hands brace themselves on the counter.
“I’ll take my dinner outside, Brawny. Thanks.”
27
Ryder
Playlist: “God is a Woman,” Jamie McDell
My hands shake as I set the chicken in the pan. The skin snaps and pops when it hits the heat. It sounds how I feel, watching Willa lean her head back in the Jacuzzi. Hot, agitated.
Dangerously close to bursting into flames.
She’s completely naked in there. I can see her panties and shirt puddled like spilled milk on the dark patio deck. Moonlight bathes her skin blue, and the curve of her breasts peeks above the tub’s bubbling water.
I’m so hard, my dick’s about to bust my zipper. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe so I don’t pass out into a pan of seared chicken and add third-degree burns to my head’s stunning repertoire.
I can’t stop imagining what she looks like, and I’m dying to touch her. She stripped, all right, but I didn’t see it happen, not fully. I averted my eyes when those thumbs hooked inside her panties. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let the first time I saw Willa naked be such an incomplete moment. When I see her, it’s going to be on even ground and she’s going to be just as goddamn hungry for me as I am for her. This is one game I won’t play under.
I’m nice enough to bring Willa her wine. She smiles up at me and shifts beneath the bubbles as she accepts the glass. She makes zero effort not to stare at the state of affairs in my jeans.
“Yikes, Lumberjack. That log looks uncomfortable.”
I scowl at her, then storm back inside, aggravation mounting when I hear her throaty laugh. I add finishing touches to the food and then plate it for both of us. Double-checking the burners are off, dishes in hand, I tuck my beer under my arm and walk out to join her. Willa’s staring at the stars, one arm stretched along the ledge of the tub, spinning her wine.
When her eyes meet mine, they’re softer. Warm, chocolate brown, with flecks of caramel. Her glass is almost empty. Wine makes her a little pliant, and by the look in her eyes, a lot horny. Wine leads to horny eyes. You bet your ass I file that away for future use.
As I hand Willa her plate, she smiles up at me. “Thanks.”
We eat in silence for a few bites, me on a neighboring Adirondack chair, Willa in the tub, her plate held over the bubbles. She uses her fingers to eat since she can’t use her lap and cut with a knife and fork. First the chicken, then she slides a few green beans between her teeth and chews. “Damn, you can cook, Ry.”
I make a noncommittal noise as I take a swig of my beer.
“Ryder.”
I glance over at her. “Hm?”
Her eyes soften further. Her irises shift to pale, golden candlelight. “Come in here.”
Our gaze holds for a long time. My finger taps my beer bottle.
“Why?” I finally manage.
Willa doesn’t blink away. She just takes one long breath and sighs. “Because I want you.”
I almost drop my beer. Setting down the bottle and my plate, I look at her once again. “I need more than that.”
Willa bites her lip, then blinks away, staring into the dark horizon. “I want Ryder Stellan Bergman. Flannel king and fearless mountain man. I want my Business Math buddy. I want the guy who ruins guacamole and who knows how to touch my hair. I want the asshole who whistles at my games and hugs me so hard my lungs feel like they’ll pop.” She swallows. “I love that feeling when you’re so close to pushing too hard, squeezing too tight, then you know exactly when to stop. You know when to battle and when to say sorry.”
My breath comes out jagged. My heart is smashed in a vise of emotions that Willa’s words only twist tighter.
“I want Ryder who read to my dying mother,” she whispers. “I want Ryder who brought me whiskey and peanut butter cups and was the first man to ever slow down and hold me and help me feel safe enough to fall apart. I want the man who carried me down a mountain today. I want his quiet strength and his big heart. I want you.”
I stand. Willa does too. And everything changes.
Air rushes out of me. She’s so beautiful, there aren’t words. There aren’t words to describe what moonlight looks like on the lines of her muscles in her shoulders, her stomach, her legs. No words to capture the soft dip and swell of her hips, the curve of her breasts and her taut nipples which tighten in the cold.
Her fingers dance by her side as she waits. I know I’m breathing because I’m still alive, but it doesn’t feel like it. I’m stunned.
“Ryder,” she says quietly.
My eyes meet hers, and my heart burns with knowledge. I love her. I’ve known I loved her, but the truth bursts inside my chest, surges up my throat, and beats a violent tattoo inside my mind as I stare into her eyes.
“Come here,” she whispers.
I step closer. Willa does too. She leans onto the ledge inside the tub, placing her at eye level. I hold her gaze as her hands settle on the first button of my shirt that’s still done, working them open, one by one.
Halfway done with my buttons she pauses. She presses a kiss to my forehead and wobbles. My hands go to her hips, holding her steady as she resumes unbuttoning my shirt. Her skin is smooth and taut, hot from the water. When she presses my shirt off my shoulders, I shake it off and finally do what I can’t avoid doing anymore.
I drag my mouth hungrily over her breast and taste her skin. Her nipple’s hard, the most beautiful berry pink. I plump it in my hand and roll my tongue across its surface.
Her hands are in my hair, and air rushes out of her.
“Oh, God,” she moans.
Willa drops to her knees in the water, furiously tugging at my buckle, yanking open the button. She drags down the zipper and shoves my jeans off my hips. I tug them down the rest of the way, shucking my boxers next.
Willa’s eyes are wide as she stares at me. It’s the hardest I’ve ever been, my length so tight and thick, it smacks into my belly button as it springs free.
A slow smile brightens her face. “Well?” she says. “What are you waiting for?”
Hot tubs are relaxing, but they’re not great for this. I want to see her well. I want to take my time. I need my wits about me, and Willa’s naked body all over mine in a Jacuzzi spells disaster for that. Not to mention, hot tubs are also terribly unhygienic for anything sex-related, not that I’m telling Willa that. She’ll give me shit for my neurotic cleanliness.
My hands slide down her shoulders to her waist, as I hold her gaze. She yelps as I haul her out of the water, wrap her around my torso and step back through the door.
Willa’s smile is infectious as she locks her arms around my neck and squeezes her thighs. I have to bite my cheek not to lose my senses because she’s centimeters from sliding along my cock. “Where are we going?” she whispers.
I shoulder open the door to the massive first-floor bathroom. A glass shower with a tiled bench and two waterfall spouts winks from the far end of the room.
Willa’s eyes follow mine. “Wow,” she says breathily.
I set her down and flip on the light switch. Turning on the water, I adjust it, then turn on the towel warmer. Willa shivers a little, and I drag her with me toward the echoing space.
She looks around, her hands running along my arms distractedly. “Why aren’t you coming in?” Her eyes follow my hands as they reach into my hair, near my ears. “They have to come off.”
I nod.
Willa hesitates, then steps closer, gripping my arm. “Do you want me to get out, so you don’t have to—”
“I’ll never be able to. They’ll fall off with…with that kind of movement.”
Willa blushes, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. “So you won’t hear—”
“I’ll hear you fine, Willa.” I kiss her wrist, never letting my eyes leave hers. “Always have.”
Carefully, I detach my auditory processors and transmitters, setting them on the counter. The world’s sounds telescope once again. Gone are those many ambient noises I’ve already begun to unconsciously take for granted. I’m left with the tug of my breath, the husky whisper of Willa’s. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
“Come on, Willa.” Slowly I lead her into the shower, letting water tumble over us.
Her eyes snap up and hold mine. “You said it.”
I know what it means to her, to talk, to say her name when I have very little sense of how it sounds. Before the implants, I never did that, not once. I was too embarrassed, too insecure about having lost the sound of my voice. But I want Willa to know that fear and hesitation aren’t here between us anymore. I want to show her walls can come down, even after you’ve put time and energy into building them.
“Ryder.” I see my name on her lips more than I hear it. I feel its sound vibrate across my chest, and settle in my heart.
She reaches up on tiptoe and gives me a kiss I’ll always remember. It’s not a wild clash of tongues and mouths. It’s not a battle for control. It’s gentle and it’s scared. Hopeful and fragile. Her lips are so impossibly full as they slide and press against mine. Tugs and bites, quiet puffs of air that dance over my face.
I cup her neck and lean between her legs. My thumbs gentle her cheeks as her hands wrap around my waist and pull me closer. I taste an indescribable sweetness that’s just Willa, as I suck on her bottom lip and slide my tongue along its fullness.
Her moan dances over my skin and makes me shiver. One last kiss, before I pull her tight against me. She glances down between us, then back up to me with a massive raise of her eyebrows.
It makes me laugh quietly. I shake my head, lifting my hand, so she knows I plan to touch her this way, not take it home. Not yet. It’s seamless, our jump back into our original dynamic—body language, eye contact, unspoken understanding.
Her breasts are full and soft, begging for my mouth. I kiss them, sucking her nipples roughly as I drift a hand down her waist and find her, warm and smooth. My fingers part impossibly silky skin, one finger, then two, sinking inside. Willa’s hands clamp onto my shoulders. She falls into me, her chest smashed to mine, her mouth open against my neck.
My thumb finds her clit and swirls in a slow, featherlight circle. I feel each burst of hot air, the gift of her sound as she brings her mouth to my good ear and gasps against it. Willa’s hand leaves my arm and wraps tight around the base of my cock.
I groan and throw my head back as she squeezes, then drags her grip up to the head. Her thumb sweeps over the tip of my cock as a sound leaves me that I couldn’t care less about. Willa’s mouth stays pressed to my ear, each desperate noise of hers mine to drown in. Her grip is perfect, her touch just slow enough to torture me. Her thighs begin to shake, her breath gets choppier.
My hips rock in her grip. My mouth turns and finds hers. We kiss, and breathe against each other as we learn under the spray of water—fumbling and laughing a little, as we find that touch there that makes the other come undone. I hold her tight to me, my eyes glued to hers as her hips falter, as her nails dig into my skin.
Her eyelids flutter. A rosy flush sweeps up her chest, then pinks her cheeks. I watch her full lips say, “C-close,” and curl my fingers tighter, rub inside her, harder, faster. Desperate heat soars up my legs and sizzles low in my spine. My body’s taut as a wire, and her soft, small hands tight around my thick length makes me dizzy. Willa begins to tremble as her eyes widen, her mouth falls open. She comes around my hand, shaking as she moans into my kiss, and watching her go over sends me with her. One last thrust into her tight fist, then I spill for a small eternity against her stomach.
Willa leans into me, curling her arms fiercely around my neck. Her lips press to my ear, my cheeks, my mouth. Our foreheads rest against each other’s before she steals one last kiss. She pulls back, flushed and breathtaking as a shaky smile brightens her eyes. Then, her hand sweeps over her face, before it pinches and flicks into the air.
She knows what it means now, and I can’t help but smile back.
Beautiful.
I caved and made a fire. Seeing as we crossed the Rubicon back in the shower, I have a hunch Willa’s going to let me big spoon her in bed in a few hours anyway. She lies stretched on the couch, her feet in my lap. Her toes wiggle as I slide my thumbs up the arch of her foot.
“Let’s play a game,” I tell her.
Willa turns from staring into the fire and faces me. “A game?”
I nod. “It’s called fill in the blanks.”
“Fill in the blanks of what?”
“Your life.” Her foot starts to pull away but I grasp it. “Willa.”
Her eyes turn darker, boding anger. “What?”
“Talk to me. What upsets you about that?”
She sighs, her head dropping back to the sofa’s arm. “I don’t like talking about myself.”
“Yes, but when the kids are older, who’s going to explain to them why Mom always gets weird around corn dogs and tough conversations and grizzly bears?”
“Okay, I don’t get weird around corn dogs. They’re just gross. And grizzly bears—though extinct in the state of California, allegedly—are still terrifying.”
“And tough conversations?”
Willa scowls. “I was going to take issue with the kids portion of that statement, next.”
“You said you needed time, and I’ll give you all the time you need, Sunshine. I’ll wait until you’re done winning Olympic golds, then, when you’re ready, I want crazy-haired angry ankle-biters running around.”
Willa’s scowl deepens. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Completely agree.” I tug her legs deeper onto my lap and switch to rubbing the other foot.
“Ryder…” She scrubs her face. “Ugh. Feelings. Talking.”
I pause my massage of her foot and tap it so she’ll look at me. “Baby steps, okay?”
Willa’s expression wobbles. She looks so scared, my chest tightens in a protective reflex. I rub her heel and work my way up to massaging her Achilles tendon. Her eyes drift shut as she groans. “Where were you born?” I ask.
“Tulsa,” she says quietly. “You?”
I smile. “Here.”
Willa’s head snaps up. She glances around, looking disturbed, as if evidence of a traumatic birth is still somewhere littered across the wood floor.
“The story goes, Mom said her back hurt, stood up from the sofa and made it halfway to the door before she sat down and pushed me out, right at the bottom of the steps.”
Willa stares horrified at the landing. It makes a belly laugh tumble out of me. “I mean I was number four. It’s kind of an automatic process by that point.”
“Spoken like the half of our species that will never have to shove the next generation out of their vagina,” Willa says flatly.
It makes me laugh harder. “I’ve traumatized you.”
“Jesus. Okay.” She shakes her head. “So. My turn.” Her fingers tap her lips. “I want to know exactly what happened with your hearing.”
It’s like a bucket of ice water over my head, but I’m asking her to be brave. I have to be, too. “Bacterial meningitis. I was halfway through summer training for my freshman season at UCLA. I spiked a horrible fever, developed a headache that was so painful I couldn’t open my eyes. My parents took me to the hospital. I dropped out of consciousness at some point, and when I came to, my hearing was like this.”
Willa blinks away tears. “God. I’m sorry, Ryder.”
I shrug. “It’s okay.”
“No it’s not,” she says urgently, sitting up straighter. “You lost something you loved.”
“I know. But I grieved. Sometimes I still feel sad, but I moved on. There’s nothing to be done now. Just life to live in this new direction.”
She hesitates for a beat, her hands seeking my legs. She rubs up and down my shin bones like she’s always done it. Like we’re used to tangling our legs together in front of a blistering fire, shacked up in the glorious middle of nowhere.
“What position?” she finally asks.
“Defense. Left back. I’d have your number, Sunshine.”
Her eyes spark. Feistiness crackles off the ends of her hair. “The hell you would.”
I laugh into the mouth of my beer bottle before I take a drink. “I guarantee you.”
“You’re on.”
Lowering the bottle, I meet her eyes. “Tomorrow, then. It’ll be warm by midday. We’ll head down to the field.”
Willa gapes. “You have a field?”
