Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(34)
“Sleeping next to this thing felt like having a cuddling threesome with a forest creature—”
Ryder sputters. A hoarse cough of a laugh leaves him.
“Not that I’d know! About threesomes, that is…” My cheeks darken. I’m beet red. I stop talking before more nonsense falls out of my mouth. Burrowing deeper in his arms, I hide my face and soak up every tiny noise of amusement that leaves him.
Ryder’s laughter finally fades on a breathy sigh. He uses a thumb to wipe a tear out of the corner of his eye. Then, he types again, arms extending so that the phone is held over my head. It gives me a very exclusive look at all the burly muscles and tendons that make up the lumberjack’s arms.
You don’t like the beard?
I peer up, seeing he doesn’t have the hearing aid on, and tip my face so he can read my lips. “I’m…” Combing my fingers through that soft blond hair, I tease the pad of my pointer along his lips. “Curious. If it tickles. What’s beneath it…”
His eyes grow darker, his breath faster. Unexpectedly, he sets his teeth on either side of my finger and dances his tongue against the tip.
Something like unghh leaves me as I shamelessly rub myself against him. Ryder’s eyes drift shut. And we’re zero to one hundred in three seconds flat. He’s panting, I’m rocking against him, and now my wet finger’s trailing down his throat, down, down the V-neck of his shirt, until I pull it aside and swipe the damp, chilly tip around his nipple.
Somewhere between a groan and a gasp bursts from his mouth, more faint sounds that I soak up hungrily. We lock eyes, sharing a long, unbroken study of each other, jagged, shared bursts of air as we move. His hand slides down my back and cups my butt, easily hiking my leg over his hip.
We pick up right where I’m pretty sure we left off last night, and it’s dizzying. My toes curl. My back arches. I’m so close, I don’t even want to breathe. But then the door bursts open, making me shriek.
Becks stands ten feet away in tighty-whities and it’s burned into my retinas. I’m still shrieking as Ryder spins off the bed, whipping the comforter over me so that I’m covered in one smooth motion. His echoing double clap and a few gestures that clearly don’t mean nice things shoo Becks out. I watch with an unresolved heaviness between my thighs as he strolls out of the room, black sweatpants low on his hips, that white V-neck clinging to every long, defined muscle of his back and arms.
Falling back onto the bed, I huff a desperate sigh. I’m right on the edge, torturously close. One sweep of my finger and I’d tumble. I could come so easily.
But I want so much more than an orgasm at my fingertips, fueled by the sight of a beautiful man. I want Ryder to send me over. For it to happen when it’s more than just two bodies getting off on each other. That’s a problem, that I want to have not just part of Ryder Bergman. I don’t do that. I don’t want more from someone. I don’t set myself up for heartbreak and disappointment. I take what I want, I shield my heart, and I move right along. Ryder seems to operate just as guardedly.
What is wrong me with? I sigh shakily and chock it up to hormones. Lust. Hate-crazed sexual attraction. My hand splays across my belly. I don’t move. I lie still until the torturous pulse between my thighs subsides and I’m thinking straight again. My heart locks tight, the key turns with a click that rings in my ears.
Safe and secure, once more.
While Ryder’s still out in the hallway, ripping Becks a new asshole, I use my finger and Ry’s toothpaste to brush my teeth. Next, I swipe one of his hair ties to pull back my insane hair—seriously, how did he even look at me this morning?—before I realize that this red dress needs to be burned into the shameful annals of hooker dress history.
I peer at my backside and am horrified by what little is left to the imagination. There is no way in hell I’m waltzing past Becks, probably Tucker, and definitely Ryder in this getup. So, hastily, I riffle through Ryder’s drawers, huffing the incredible pine forest scent as I look. Finally, I find a black shirt that’s so long and big, it works as a shirt dress. That will go best with the hooker heels.
Throwing open the door confidently, my red napkin dress folded under my arm, I stroll into the living room and am promptly met with three pairs of male eyes.
Tucker’s widen, then dance away. Becks squints like he’s trying not to see double of me. But Ryder’s gaze starts at my hooker shoes, then slowly drags up. A long single sigh leaves him. His expression is a portrait, titled, Why the fuck didn’t I hit that last night?
I’ll be damned if I know what’s going on between us right now, but his undeniable lust puts a small triumphant smile on my face. I add another scratch to the mental tally I’ve been keeping since Hearing Aid Gate. Point for Willa.
Tucking a rogue curl back into my bun, I smile at the guys. “Good morning, fellas.”
I pause next to Ryder, whose gaze is locked on my mouth. “I’m going to either find my phone or buy a new one, but I have my laptop, okay?”
He nods slowly. Okay, he signs.
I take his hand in mine, squeeze it tight, then leave.
After an Uber ride of shame home, I shower and line my liquor-singed stomach with some toast and a cup of weak tea. I wish I could tolerate coffee, but after a night of that kind of drinking, I’ll puke. When the carbohydrates and paltry caffeine hit my bloodstream, I feel conscious enough to find my phone. Eventually, I discover it in the laundry basket, shoved into the pocket of my jeans I wore to the hospital yesterday evening.