Maybe Someday(122)

then delicately, then fast and slow and every way

in between. I kiss her every way I can possibly

kiss her, because I plan on loving her every way I

can possibly love her. Every single time we re-

fused to cave in to our feelings in the past makes

this kiss completely worth the sacrifices. This

kiss is worth all the tears, all the heartache, all the pain, all the struggles, all the waiting.

She’s worth it all.

She’s worth more.

Sydney

We make it to my apartment somehow between

all the kissing. He releases me long enough to let

me unlock the door, but he loses his patience as

soon as it’s unlocked. I laugh when he shoves the

door open and pushes me inside. He closes the

door, locks it, and turns around to face me again.

We look at each other for several seconds.

“Hi,” he says simply.

I laugh. “Hi.”

He looks around the room nervously before his

eyes fall back to mine. “Is that good enough?” he

asks.

I cock my head, because I don’t really under-

stand his question. “Is what good enough?”

He grins. “I was hoping that was enough talk

for tonight.”

Oh.

I get his question now.

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I nod slowly, and he smiles, then steps forward

and kisses me. He bends slightly and lifts me by

the waist, wrapping my legs around him. He se-

cures his arms around my back and begins walk-

ing me toward my bedroom.

As many times as I’ve seen this happen in

movies and read about it in books, I’ve never ac-

tually been picked up and carried by a man be-

fore. I think I’m in love with it. Being carried in-

to a bedroom by Ridge is quite possibly my new

favorite thing out of any and all things.

That is, until he kicks my bedroom door shut

behind him. Maybe Ridge kicking doors shut is

my new favorite thing.

He gently lowers me to the bed, and even

though I’m sad that he’s not carrying me any-

more, I’m a little bit happier to find myself be-

neath him. Every single move he makes is better

and sexier than the last one. He pauses for a mo-

ment as he hovers over me, and his eyes roam

sensually over my entire body, until they come to

a pause on the hem of my dress. He reaches

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down and pushes it up, and I lift myself up off

the bed just enough for him to pull it over my

head.

He sucks in a breath when he looks down at

me and sees that the only thing coming between

him and a completely naked me is a very thin

layer of panty. He begins to lower himself on top

of me, but I push on his chest and shake my head,

tugging on his shirt to let him know it’s his turn.

He grins and quickly pulls his shirt over his head,

then leans in toward me again. I push against him

once more, and he reluctantly lifts himself up,

shooting me a look of amused annoyance. I point

to his jeans, and he backs away from the bed, and

in two swift movements, the rest of his clothes

are somewhere on my bedroom floor. I don’t

quite catch where he tossed them, because my

eyes are sort of preoccupied.

He makes his way on top of me again, and I

don’t stop him this time. I welcome him by wrap-

ping my legs around his waist and my arms

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around his back and guiding his mouth back to

mine.

We mold and fit together so perfectly it’s as if

we were made for this sole purpose. His left hand

fits perfectly into mine as he brings my arm

above my head and presses it into the mattress.

His tongue melds perfectly with mine as he con-

tinues to tease my entire mouth as if it were made

for this very purpose. His right hand seamlessly

conforms to my outer thigh as he digs his fingers

into my skin and shifts his weight perfectly

against me.

His mouth leaves mine long enough to taste

my jaw . . . my neck . . . my shoulder.

I don’t know how being consumed by him

could lend clarity to my purpose in life, but it ab-

solutely feels that way. Everything about me and

him and life makes so much more sense when

we’re together like this. He makes me feel more

beautiful. More important. More loved. More

needed. I feel more everything, and with every 670/692

second that passes, I become more and more

greedy, wanting all of every single part of him.

I push against his chest, needing space

between us so I can sign to him. He looks down

at my hands when he realizes what I’m doing. I

hope I get it right, because I’ve practiced signing

this sentence no fewer than a thousand times

since I last saw him.

“I have something I need to say before we do

this.”

He pulls back a few inches, watching my