Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(60)

“Hmm.” It’s the faintest noise that rumbles in his throat, but it turns me molten hot.

Ryder’s touch is measured, exploratory. He watches me, what makes me shiver, what makes my breath stick in my throat before it rushes out and I’m saying it again.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I kiss him as his touch drifts to the edge of my panties until warm skin finally meets warm skin. Both of our mouths fall open, as one long finger, then two, curl inside me, and his thumb swipes across my clit. Gentle, teasing flicks.

I can’t believe it’s happening. I mean, in some dim corner of my mind, my brain’s saying Duh, Willa. You dry-humped through bedsheets and nearly came like a train. He more or less told you he knew what it took to make you come. What did you expect?

I’ve never orgasmed with a man before. And now I believe Ryder. It wasn’t me. It was them. Other guys did it wrong. They were wrong. They weren’t Ryder, so used to reading me for each tic and vulnerability, that observing my every move is second nature to him. They didn’t tease me as if time was something they had no regard for, as if their pleasure was the last thing they were focused on. They didn’t pause and wait for the slightest shift of my hips so I could chase that feeling, so I could climb and climb and—

“Ryder,” I whisper.

Another quiet hmm leaves his throat and I swallow it with my kisses. Current jolts through my system, white-hot light dancing in the tips of my breasts, the span of my pelvis, every square inch that he touches.

“I’m c-com—” I can’t even finish my words as I arch into his touch. A shockwave bolts through my body as I buck into his chest, his powerful arm holding me tight. Wave after powerful wave, and it doesn’t stop. Ryder’s fingers tease gently inside me, his thumb sweeps, perfectly faint.

His kiss is reverent, and I feel the smile in his mouth as he pulls away. When he lifts his hands from my sweatpants, I expect another one of his gentlemanly hankies to appear. Instead, I have to scissor my legs, as Ryder locks eyes with me and licks each of his fingers clean.

“Jesus Christ.” My voice is so husky I sound like I smoked a pack of cigs. “You’re a filthy lumberjack.”

He lifts a shoulder, pulling out the last finger with a pop. I’m in a daze, and I startle when my phone buzzes again.

Come on, Sunshine. You’re tired. Off to bed.

I fumble for my phone, relying heavily on autocorrect because post-orgasmic Willa can’t type for shit.

My turn. It’s only fair.

Ryder frowns when he reads the text. His fingers slide beneath my chin and tip my head up so that our eyes meet. No, he mouths.

“Then you’re ahead!”

He rolls his eyes and types, This isn’t a competition, Sunshine.

“Everything between us is a competition.”

I immediately regret saying it. Historically, it’s true. We’ve been neck and neck, tit for tat. A brutal running tally of pranks, jokes, and barbs. Until something shifted along the way. What I said makes this and the waterfall sound tactical, calculated. Heartless. Much as I wish it was, I’m beginning to fear it isn’t. That something is there between us, as much as it scares the shit out of me.

Ryder’s expression shutters as he reads my words. When he looks up, it’s as if the flame brightening his eyes was extinguished. He bends over his phone before mine buzzes.

You don’t owe me anything. I wanted to.

I stare at the words: I wanted to.

Ryder extricates himself from behind my body, setting the whiskey and peanut butter cups carefully on the coffee table. I give him a big pouty frown which he ignores, answering with one of his double claps before he points to my bedroom.

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl up at him, kicking my legs when he sweeps me into his arms. “Don’t you go thinking just because you gave me my first manmade orgasm that you get to start bossing me around, Bergman. I’m an independent woman, and if you’re under the impression I take orders—” A massive yawn interrupts me, somewhat diminishing the impact of my rant that I’m pretty sure he can’t even hear. “You’ve got another thing coming to you.”

Ryder grins as he whips back my sheets, and sets me on the bed.

“I didn’t shower,” I whine.

He lifts off my hoodie and kisses my forehead.

“I stink.”

Off come my sweatpants.

“I can’t sleep like this,” I groan through a yawn.

The blanket creeps up to my chin. The softest kiss yet presses to my hair as he breathes deep. My eyes won’t stay open, and sleep swallows me up.





19





Ryder





Playlist: “Lost In The Light,” Bahamas





My visit to Willa’s was impulsive and instinctual. It was also extremely unlike me. I’m cool-headed, methodical, analytical. I don’t do shit I haven’t exhaustively considered. Except when it comes to Willa.

I don’t regret what I did. I told her I wanted to, and I fucking wanted to. It just wasn’t the greatest timing to raise the stakes that much higher, the day before my surgery. I’ll be out of commission for the next week, recovering from cochlear implants which my parents finally convinced me over Thanksgiving that we could afford to do. I pushed back, citing the exorbitant cost, saying I’ve gone this long deaf and mute, I could last a few more months until we got medical coverage. They informed me insurance had finally come through, and with the semester dwindling, the timing was perfect.