Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(72)

“Arya.” Christian’s forehead dropped to my chest as he picked up the pace. “Please tell me you’re close, because I am.”

“Yes.” I nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m very close.”

Christian groaned, pulling out of me and squeezing himself hard, staving off his climax. He tore his gaze away and looked to the floor, concentrating on a spot before pushing back into me. Already aroused and sensitive from the friction, that was all I needed to fall apart in his arms and come again. The minute he felt me clenching around him, he mumbled, “Thank you,” pulled out of me, and came. Ribbons of his release coated my belly. It took me a few moments to descend down to earth and realize what we’d done. Christian rolled next to me on the bed. We both stared at the ceiling. There was the distinct feeling that we were like teenagers who’d just done something bad.

“You didn’t even take your clothes off.” I stared at my ceiling in a daze, wondering if he’d call tomorrow.

“No,” he said in wonder, turning his face to look at me. “Let’s rectify that. Shower?”

“First door to the left.”

He grabbed my hand. Squeezed. “Come with me.”

“I just did.” I grinned.

He laughed, tugging me gently from my bed. “Here we are. One step. Then another. Not so bad, is it?”

Our mutual shower was scorching. A slow-burn make-out session. We embraced, making out under the hot water. There, I could appreciate all of him, in his entirety. His defined six-pack, the coarse dark hair on his chest, his broad shoulders. Our kisses were hot and lingering, openmouthed, and I tried to remember the last time I’d felt so happy and content. Not in this decade, I suspected.

When we got out, Christian got dressed. “I’ll go downstairs to get some johnnies. Should I bring back takeout? How about Chinese?” He buttoned his shirt, perched on the side of my bed, not bothering with the tie.

“What time is it?” I checked my watch, frowning. It was eight o’clock. Jilly was supposed to be back by now. The fact that she wasn’t meant she was giving us time alone. I’d texted her on my way home but hadn’t thought she’d make herself quite so scarce. I looked back up at him, powering up my laptop as I settled over my pillows in my bed. No point in sitting here and pining for him while he was out and about. I could squeeze in a few emails and maybe even a contract proposal if I was lucky.

“In that case, could you fetch something from the Filipino restaurant? It’s right down the street. I’ll have the fried calamari and crispy pata. Oh, and their coconut boba, please. Extra tapioca balls. Here’s my card.” I unzipped my purse and tossed my card across the bed for him.

He stopped lacing his shoes, simply staring at me for a few moments.

I smiled tightly. “Sorry, I can be bossy. We can just DoorDash. Of course you don’t have to go there.”

“No, that’s fine.” He stood up, shaking his head. “I could use the time to answer emails.” His eyes ran over my laptop. Oops. I should’ve waited until he was gone. “You really are something, you know that, Arya Roth?”

“How so?”

“You’re just the most self-reliant, independent, driven—”

“Better stop before you catch feelings.” I winked, cutting into his words, because they were cutting into my skin, and it was too much. He closed his mouth, shaking his head and walking away, leaving me, my credit card, and my extremely dangerous thoughts behind.



Forty minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged on my bed, pigging out on fried calamari, french fries, roasted meat, and assorted veggies. We shared stories about our college days and were surprised to find out our paths had nearly crossed several times during those years at parties and festivals. Christian said he hadn’t been into the whole partying scene, that Arsène and Riggs were the hellions in their trio, and that he’d focused on finishing at the top of his class, because he’d known competition was going to be tight out there once he graduated. I told him I was much the same, actually. That I’d disappointed many people by being so straitlaced and not channeling the inner Paris Hilton everyone had predicted they’d see in me.

“And Jillian has always been your best friend?” Christian bit into a piece of calamari and sucked his fingers clean. I had an inkling fried food wasn’t a part of his usual diet, with a body like that.

“Pretty much.” I popped a piece of cucumber into my mouth. “I’ve always been kind of an ambivert—definitely for someone in my field—and people often mistake my assertiveness for bitchiness. I’m not in the business of cooing and playing nice. Some people appreciate it. Few, but some. She’s one of them, so we keep each other close.”

“Men must be intimidated.” Christian popped a devilish eyebrow up.

“Not the ones worth dating.”

“And yet you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who goes on a lot of dates.”

I shrugged. “Not everyone’s worth my time.” But even as I said that, I knew it was my shaky self-esteem speaking.

“Who’s the one who got away?” Christian leaned on my headboard, using his chopsticks to pluck a piece of carrot from his paper plate. His shirt was unbuttoned, and there was a lazy, predatory air about him that kept me on my toes and yet made me want to bask in his attention. “There’s always that one person who got away.”