Among the Echoes (Wrecked and Ruined #2.5)(44)

"Yes, I like cottage cheese," I answer matter-of-factly but then smile and signal for her to ask away.

"Why don’t you like to be touched?"

"Wow. You really did do your research on me." I roll her to the side and prop myself up on an elbow, facing her.

"I read it in a few articles. Then I watched some of your old fights online and noticed you always flinch when fans touch you." She leans forward, giving me a reassuring kiss of her own.

I take full advantage of her mouth for a moment. I’m willing to take whatever comfort she is offering—even if I don’t need it.

"I wish I had some grand story to tell you, but the truth is, I just don’t like it. I’m a really quiet guy. I like my privacy and personal space. When I was growing up, my mom was very loving but not very affectionate. I guess I just got used to it. What is it with everyone needing to touch people? All that hugging and touching. A wave and a friendly smile work just as well."

"You let me touch you." She wraps her arms around me, dragging her nails up my back in the way she knows I love.

"That’s because I wanted to touch you. I’m not some hermit who can’t stand the human touch. It just makes my skin crawl when people I don’t know feel the need to grab me or hug me. I’m a person, not an animal who needs to be petted."

"I like to pet you." She throws a sheet-covered leg over my hip.

"Show me." I reach around and grab her ass, grinding my cock into her core. "And get rid of that damn sheet," I growl as she rolls over on top of me. I quickly flip off the light.

I glide my hand over her breast. I would rather slide it between her legs and into her *, but I saw the list. I fully intend to shred that paper soon, but for now, I won’t push her.

"One of these days, beautiful, you’re going to trust me."

"I do trust you." She leans forward, pressing her breasts against me.

"No, I mean really trust me. And when you do, I am going to f*ck you with the lights on and door open while touching every inch of you." Her whole body stiffens on top of me. "But despite my initial reaction, I’ll wait for you to be ready." She gives me a weak smile that I can barely make out in the darkness. "Now, tell me. Are you wet?"

"I would be if you got naked again."

I quickly peel off my clothes and roll on another condom from the nightstand. Riley watches my every move, licking her lips.

"Show me you’re wet. Give me another taste."

She takes my mouth in a rough kiss. Her tongue slides over mine, and I can feel her hand brush over my cock as it moves between her legs. A second later, her fingers are snaking between our tongues. I groan, sucking her fingers all the way into my mouth just as she slides down onto my cock.

Riley slowly rides me until she finds her own rhythm. Her pace quickens, and I grab her ass to slow her, but she throws her head back, lost in the feeling. It’s f*cking beautiful to watch this woman, who is normally so closed off, unravel around me. I pull her forward to take her mouth. Gripping her hips, I thrust hard, taking complete control of the situation even though she’s on top. It doesn’t take long before she begins to tremble through her orgasm.

"Slate," she moans, dropping to my chest.

"Fuck, beautiful." I thrust into her one last time before finding my own release.

We lie down, sated, trying to catch our breaths for a moment, but Riley suddenly sits up with a bashful smile.

"I love that you called me beautiful when you came."

"Well, it’s fitting, and you told me not to call you Riley." I reach up to tuck a hair behind her ear.

"I also really like when you take control from the bottom like that." She pauses to look away.

"That’s good to hear too, because one of these days, I want to kneel between your legs and watch you take control of my cock while you f*ck me from the bottom."

"Jesus, Slate," she sighs. "You know, for a quiet guy, you have a deliciously filthy mouth." She begins to giggle, and I can’t help but laugh along with her.

Just to watch her subtle transformation from only hours ago is amazing. No tears this time, and that hits me deep. I’m f*cked—literally and figuratively.





Three weeks later…





"Hey, beautiful," Slate says, walking in the door.

He never knocks, but he always shouts my name from outside the door. At first, I thought he was crazy, but then he produced that silly list clearly documenting my fears.

"Hi," I respond, looking up at him through my brown contacts.

He gives me a deep, lingering kiss and scoops me up off my feet, causing me to immediately wrap my legs around his waist.

"How was your day?" he asks, kissing my neck.

"Terrible."

"Pretty in Pink," Dave answers from behind us. He’s wearing the same smirk he does every time he sees Slate and me together.

The day after Slate made things clear that we were building a relationship, Dave called off the move. I told him that I didn’t want to leave, and he spent the next thirty-six hours shouting at people over the phone. I didn’t ask and he didn’t elaborate, but if possible, I fell in love with him even more because he fought to give me more time with Slate.