Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(49)

His expression is full of anguish and distress.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t quite it.

“No. Jesus Christ, Farrington, NO!” Ryder rips the blanket from the bed and quickly wraps me with it. As he covers my naked form, his throat makes a strangled sound and his green glass eyes gloss over. “It’s not going down this way,” he growls angrily.

I don’t understand what he means, but I do understand that for me, the hourglass is almost empty.

“Don’t you find me attractive at all?”

“How could you even ask that, Farrington? Of course I do!” He sounds furious.

“Then make love to me.”

He pulls the blanket tighter. “You’re coming back from this.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know that, Ryder. No one knows when death will take them. And I’ve been too close too many times now to think I can defy the reaper again.”

Ryder crushes his eyes closed as he gathers the edges of the blanket into his fists and pulls me closer towards him until his forehead rests on mine.

It’s our first real intimate physical exchange, and I relish it—a moment of silence that suspends us over the situation and binds us together in the face of our impossible odds.

“I don’t want to feel like I missed something special in this life. And if I die without having kissed you it will be my greatest regret.”

Ryder breaks.

The seam of his thick, full lips presses over mine. I close my eyes—as I’m swept into the raging storm of his passion and his torment.

My eyes fall closed while my mouth opens and my lips part to receive him. His mouth takes my lower lip, slowly, purposefully.

A moan escapes me, a cry of desire, a plea for more.

“Farrington.”

“Rachel.”

Ryder stays tethered to the blanket he has knotted in his hands as a moment of silence slices between us.

But instead of pulling back, he closes the distance.

“Rachel.” The sound of my name spoken in the sexy, rough, resonant gravel of his deep voice with yearning hunger overwhelms me—it was well worth the wait.

His fingers loosen on the fabric twisted over me, and the blanket tumbles from my shoulders, landing in a pile at my feet.

Everything that is Ryder, everything inside of him, everything that has molded and shaped his life looks back at me through the soul of his eyes.

“Oh God, I can’t hold you like this.”

“I want you to.”

“I don’t belong in your arms. I’m not the one you need.”

“I can be the judge of what I need. And I need you, Ryder.”

“My life . . . is cursed. I’m a curse.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my hero, and it doesn’t even matter whether or not you can pull off a daring rescue tonight. What matters is this moment.”

He touches my face. “Rachel.” My name caresses his tongue like an oath.

“Let me touch your ink.”

Without a word he keeps his soulful gaze locked with mine and strips the charcoal fitted t-shirt over his head. Out of the corner of my eye I see the shirt hit the floor behind him.

I allow my right hand to hover mere inches from the heat of his flesh. In another time or place, I would have been shy and timid to reach out and lay my hands over the corded, sculpted muscle. I would have second-guessed what I was doing, if this were the right thing, what he’d think of me tomorrow . . .

I don’t have such luxuries any longer.

I don’t feel any of that; instead I experience a reverent awe as I stroke the tips of my fingers along the edges of the ink that enshrines his body and follow the contours and lines that form Ryder’s silhouette.

I’m acutely aware of my bare breasts and the erratic breath overcoming me that causes them to heave and dip.

It’s almost impossible that he’s real—he’s made of the stuff of myth and legend—but he’s true flesh, ink, blood and bone.

I think back to our encounter with the alligator, and my hand trails up the sleek brawn of his arm to the wound that’s healed well since I last saw him.

The scars developing there from the bite around his bicep reassure me that his moments with me have been etched into the epic history of his skin, like an ancient relief sculpture.

There are no words needed, no questions to ask. We don’t deliberate or guess at what we’re doing—the possible repercussions. There will be no morning-after guilt—and honestly, on my end there wouldn’t have been any anyway. All that’s left is pure, raw need, wanting and the fulfillment of lust that blossomed the moment he smiled at me after taking on the massive reptile.

Ryder finally succumbs to his own desire as his rough, calloused hand lifts to caress the round curve of my breast.

His eyes are heavy with desire, and he burns me with slow touches that cause my skin to tingle and my heart to race.

I know the deepest fulfillment for me is gratifying the love that began when we met and only grew stronger when we were apart. In this moment, whether I die or not is finally not in the forefront of my mind—the fear and the terror recedes in the wake of his attentions.

The way his mouth takes mine when he lets go of his inhibitions is nothing short of heaven. My own personal heaven.

His lips are soft and full, contrasting the rough skin of his hands and the hard muscle of his body, which he presses against me. Once that full contact is made—his delicious bare chest, the denim fabric of his jeans and the cold crudeness of the metal clasp on his buckle against my own supple and delicate body—each distinct point of contact is rapture. The sensations grip me in a tidal force.