Kate
Here’s the thing about having sex with Ryan Riggs: It’s never what you think it’s going to be. When you think you’re going to get a one-night quickie from a stranger, you get a long night of orgasms instead. Then you get hot and dirty in the laundry room, his filthy words in your ear. Then, when you think he’d be cocky and have every reason to get you in bed again, he respectfully keeps his hands off you. And when you finally throw yourself at him, you get a different man yet again.
The fact was, I’d been thinking of different ways to throw myself at him ever since that laundry room encounter. I pictured myself surprising him by getting naked into his bed—the direct approach—or taking a more subtle route by asking him out for a drink or something. I could “bump into” him when he came out of the shower, maybe. All of these things required Ryan to be gullible, me to be outrageous, and Dylan to be gone. Preferably overnight.
I had so many crazy plans in my head that I came home from getting my color done at The Big Do, Lauren and Emily’s salon—I got the discount, as promised—and realized that I’d forgotten that Dylan had a sleepover tonight. Dylan was gone for the night, and I’d actually forgotten. The shower upstairs was running, and my hair looked nice. Ryan and I were alone. I had a few minutes to come up with something. I had to improvise.
So I stripped, pulled out the only piece of lingerie I owned—it wasn’t spectacular, but it was better for seduction than a T-shirt and sleep shorts—and I walked upstairs to his bedroom, waiting for him to get out of the shower. It wasn’t elaborate. It was simple. I just hoped it worked.
It worked.
Ryan Riggs might be complicated, but in some ways he was very, very simple. I pulled off my lingerie and he jumped me.
He yanked off his towel—oh, praise God, he was spectacular—and grabbed me, tossing me onto the bed. Then he climbed on and kissed me, long and deep and hard. I dug my fingers into his hair. It got hot very fast, his damp skin against mine, his taste in my mouth. It wasn’t a sweet kiss—it was slow and dirty, possessive, but at the same time he was reading me. He broke the kiss and nipped my neck as I ran my hands down his bare, taut back.
“Okay?” I asked him, because I could feel something fragile in him.
“Do not change your mind,” he growled into my skin.
I wrapped my legs around him, felt his cock sliding against me, his hard weight on me, and a pulse of pleasure moved through me. “Don’t change your mind,” I said.
I like your lip gloss. He’d remembered. He hadn’t even had to try; he had those silly words branded into his memory, just like I did. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gone through with it. I couldn’t.
But here we were. He was all smooth, sleek muscle, every part of him, his chest and his stomach, his hips and his legs. His back rippled under my palms. I ran my hands up to his shoulders, then down to his ass, which I’d wanted to grab for weeks now. It felt as good as I remembered.
He made a delicious noise in his throat, like I was driving him crazy, and then his hand was on my breast, cupping it expertly like he’d done the other night, my flesh spilling just right over his palm. He bent down and sucked the nipple into his mouth.
I arched my back as arousal cracked through me like a flash of lightning. “Jesus,” I said.
“These,” he said, cupping both breasts, then stroking the nipples with his thumbs, “are so fucking perfect.”
My cheeks went hot. He’d been looking? “Well, I—” He sucked the other nipple into his mouth, and words left me, replaced by a pathetic mewling sound.
He stroked his hands down my ribcage, my waist, my belly, his big palms warm and sure. He followed his hands with kisses down my skin, making me shiver. “Grab the headboard,” he said. “Hold on to it.”
I glanced up. The headboard was metal with spindles. I reached up and pushed my wrists through the gap, holding on. The pose changed the shape of my body, pushed my breasts up and out, arched my back. I felt on display, which was obviously the idea. Even though I was just as naked as I’d been a few seconds ago, I felt like I was spread out for him. The thought made me hot and needy.
I looked down and saw his dark eyes on me. His hair was mussed. He had a five o’clock shadow, which made him look a little like the bad boy he was.
He ran his hands over me again, obviously liking the pose I was in. It felt like I was tied up, except I could let go whenever I wanted to. “Don’t let go,” he said, reading my mind. “I like this.”
“I want to see you,” I said.
He smiled. It was devastating, that smile. He braced himself over me on straight arms, looking down at me, so I could see his chest, his washboard stomach, the V of his hips that led down to his cock. “Like this?” he said, teasing.
I let my gaze crawl him shamelessly as I remembered to breathe. “Not bad,” I managed.
“Not bad,” he agreed. “Open your legs.”
They were already open, but I pushed them wider. Now I was holding the headboard, my legs spread, completely on display for him—and he was braced above me, on display for me. We both watched as he lowered his hips and pressed his cock through my wet folds, rubbing me. I gasped and I watched his muscles bunch, his jaw twitch as he kept control.
He slid over my pussy again, and it was so good, but I wanted more. My hips pulsed up and he made a little sound of pleasure, moving with me.
“Fuck, yes,” he said softly. “This is better than the fantasies.”
I huffed a surprised and turned-on laugh. “You had fantasies?”
“Every fucking day,” he said. “Didn’t you?”
I couldn’t answer, because he was rubbing my clit with the head of his cock, and I couldn’t speak. He moved his hips in little circles, hitting it just right, and my head fell back, my eyes closed. “Oh, God,” I said.
“Keep talking,” Ryan said, still moving.
“Don’t stop. Please.”
“Very nice, Kate,” he said. “I like to hear you say it.”
He was commanding, in control, and at the same time I knew I had him. It was me he wanted—only me. I was turning him on. I was making him crazy. This big, hot, muscled man was all mine.
“Kiss me again,” I told him.
He leaned down, and this time the kiss was slower, almost sweet, his tongue gentle in my mouth. It contrasted with the very, very dirty way he rubbed his cock on me, the slick sound it made, the way I could feel it pulse hotly against my pussy, the way the head hit the nerve center of my clit, sending waves of pleasure through me.
Ryan broke the kiss. “Good?” he asked against my mouth.
I couldn’t form sentences anymore, I wanted him inside me so bad. “Please,” I said. “Please.”
“Ask and you’ll receive,” he said, and then his weight was off me as he rolled to open the drawer of the nightstand. I was on the pill, but of course he wouldn’t do it without a condom. He’d made that mistake once before.
He came back, ripping open a condom wrapper. “You have condoms in the nightstand?” I managed. “We just moved in.”
“Kate, Kate,” Ryan said, shaking his head as he pulled the condom out. “I’m nothing if not hopeful when it comes to you. Don’t let go of that headboard.”
I didn’t. I held on hard as I watched him roll the condom on, watched him smooth it over his cock. I’m nothing if not hopeful when it comes to you. “I should have jumped you weeks ago,” I said, just realizing it now.
“You should have jumped me the minute I opened the door that first day,” Ryan said, as if this was obvious. “But we’ll make up for it now.” He hooked my knees over his elbows and pushed slowly inside me.
I let my head fall back, my eyes close. “Oh, fuck,” I panted. This wasn’t like last time. Last time there had been lots of kissing, lots of stroking to make sure I was ready. We’d done it under a sheet. Ryan had been almost gentlemanly, considering we’d started with his face between my legs, making me come.
He wasn’t being gentlemanly now. There was no sheet. I was naked and spread for him, and he was on his knees between my legs, fucking me, and we were both losing our minds. I could feel myself clenching, squeezing him, and I could hear the sound of primal pleasure he made as he pushed all the way in. I was wet for him, but there was still intense pressure, which made the pleasure even keener.
“You’re so tight,” he said, his voice a strangled rasp. “Okay?”
“Yes.” I was more than okay. “Yes.”
He unhooked an arm from my knee and used it to brace himself over me, keeping the other arm under my knee, keeping me open. “I’ll go slower next time, but this will be a rough ride. That good with you?”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Definitely.”
His pupils darkened, and he leaned down and kissed me. Then he started to move.
It was a rough ride. There’s one thing about fucking an athlete: they’re extremely fucking strong. And coordinated. He pounded into me and everything went white, my thoughts stopped, and all I wanted was more of this, all the time. My hands were slick where I held the spindles of the headboard, and I was glad I was holding on, because otherwise we might drive it into the wall.
And surprisingly, I could feel my orgasm building. He hit me just right with every thrust, and I could feel my hips moving, my muscles going slack and giving in. I panted his name.
“Come on my cock,” he said, like he was reading my mind.
It took another minute, but I did. The orgasm came in slow, hard waves, and I dug my heels into the bed. I felt myself squeezing him, and Ryan slowed, stopped, buried his face in my neck as he came seconds after I did.
I lay there, dazed and orgasm-drunk, as I felt him get off the bed and go to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. There was a moment when I wondered if he’d be cold. Well, Kate, that was great, have a nice night. He’d been with a lot of women. He hadn’t been cold with me five years ago, but he had left. He never asked for my number, and I didn’t see him again.
I hadn’t wanted to see him again. That night had been too raw for me. But that was then, and this was now.
He came back to the bed and turned off the lamp. Then he got in, flipped me easily onto my side, and curled himself around me, spooning me. His muscled arm curled around me, and his hand found my wrist, gently rubbing it.
I went soft against him. He was warm, and he smelled so good. Our bodies fit. We lay there in the darkness. I was sore and happy and drunk on him.
“We’re doing that again?” I asked him.
His hand moved up my arm, rubbing. It was sweet, almost affectionate. “We’re definitely doing that again,” he said. “Rest up, woman.”
I smiled in the dark. He rubbed my shoulder, touched his fingers along my collarbone. I wanted to tell him how good it felt. But I was already falling asleep, and then there was nothing but darkness.