Snuggling closer, I snaked my hand around his waist, settling my palm on his hard, flat abs. Ryker made a contented sound low in his throat. Encouraged, I kissed his shoulder, and a thrill like no other tore through me. I was in bed. With Ryker. Touching him, kissing him.
He stirred and rolled over. His lids half opened, and he frowned, his expression puzzled as he tried to make sense of the situation through an alcohol-befuddled brain. He muttered something incoherent, then his eyes fell shut.
I pressed my lips to his in a chaste kiss.
“What you doin’?” he mumbled.
Responding with what I hoped was a sensual smile, I said, “Loving you.”
I caressed his face, then kissed him again. At first, his lips remained still beneath mine, and then he groaned, the sound giving me the approval to carry on, to go further.
And so I did. I moved on top of him, but I didn’t stay there long. Ryker oozed dominance in his everyday life, and I fully expected that to carry over into the bedroom.
Hell, did it ever.
I found myself beneath him, both my wrists clamped together, held in place above my head by his large hand. He stared down at me through hooded eyes, his expression confused as though he wasn’t seeing me. He drew his brows low in what I read as hesitation. I bowed my spine, pressing my chest against his.
“I’m yours, Ryker. Always have been. I saved myself for you. Take me, please.”
His lids grew heavy, and he gave a deep sigh and released my hands. He buried his face in my neck and brushed his fingertips over my waist. I trembled from his touch. Swallowing thickly and, galvanizing my courage, I reached down and wrapped my fingers around the only cock I’d ever touched. The only cock I wanted to touch. Ohhh. I had no clue what I was doing, but Ryker’s throaty groan emboldened me. I moved my hand up and down his thick shaft. The fantasies I’d had about what it would feel like, how big it would be, came true with that one, inexperienced fumble.
“I don’t have a condom,” Ryker muttered into my neck.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s all taken care of.”
He paused, and I sensed his hesitation. I folded my legs around his waist and arched my back, rubbing myself against his thick erection.
“Trust me,” I said. “I want this so much.”
“Fuck,” he mumbled, reaching a hand between our bodies.
I tensed, expecting it to hurt. All my girlfriends had told me it was the worst pain they’d ever experienced, but I didn’t care. I was ready to suffer if it meant having Ryker inside me. And once I’d given up my V-card, it’d get better.
But instead of pushing inside, Ryker began kissing me. Everywhere. He moved lower, lower, until—Oh god!—he put his mouth right there. A frenzy of euphoria washed over me, and my moans increased in volume. I bit down on my lip, worried in case my parents or Elliot heard me. I rose onto my elbows, my eyes adjusted to the blackness just enough to make out Ryker’s dark head between my legs.
A familiar, but much stronger swell built in the pit of my stomach, an impending orgasm, but nothing like I’d ever managed to achieve by my own hands. My legs tingled and went all light, as if I was in zero gravity.
And then my body fractured, splintering into a million pieces. Sparks of light danced behind my closed lids as wave after wave of pleasure I didn’t have the right words to describe rushed through me.
While I was still at the height of my orgasm, Ryker crawled over me and thrust inside. He wasn’t gentle, but he was quick. White-hot pain seared through me, and I let out a cry. Ryker paused, allowing my body time to adjust. His mouth crashed down on mine, his tongue parting my lips, exploring every inch. Slowly, he moved his hips, and the agony of having a man inside me for the first time—especially one as large as Ryker—eventually receded to be replaced by feelings of pure joy.
It’s happening.
I’d dreamed for so long about what it would feel like to have Ryker’s lips on mine, his cock inside me, our sweaty bodies sliding against one another. And now I knew.
Heaven. Home. My predetermined future from the second he’d entered my life.
Ryker was mine. He always had been. All I’d needed was to find the right moment for him to accede that our fates were intertwined, and fighting destiny only made us both miserable.
Despite my inexperience, I anticipated his impending orgasm because he upped his pace. I squeezed my internal muscles as hard as I could.
“God, I’m coming,” he moaned, his lips pressed against my damp neck.
Knitting my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, I held on tight as Ryker orgasmed inside me. He didn’t make me come a second time, but I didn’t care, because this was Ryker—the man I’d wanted for so long—finally in the exact spot where he belonged.
He pulled out slowly, but despite his care, a twinge of pain caused me to wince. He shifted to the side, and I felt for his hand in the darkness to connect us. He squeezed my fingers. I held my breath, waiting for him to say something, anything. Instead, mere seconds later, his breathing changed, and soft snoring filled the silence.
I wasn’t offended. Kim, my best friend, had told me that often happened with guys. She’d read it was something to do with the hormones they released during orgasm. Not to mention, Ryker had come home steaming drunk, so it wasn’t all that surprising he’d crashed.
I lay there in the dark, processing what had happened. Tomorrow, we’d tell Elliot. He wouldn’t be happy at first. He’d probably shout a lot, but that was only because he loved me, and he loved Ryker. In the end, he’d be happy that his little sister had chosen a man who’d cherish her always.
Ryker’s semen trickled down my leg. I didn’t go and wash up. I wanted the signs of our lovemaking to mark me. I might never wash again. Okay, that was gross. I would, of course, but not tonight. Not until the morning.
With a contented sigh, I closed my eyes and promptly fell asleep.
As it turned out, my joy was short-lived. The next morning, Ryker had awoken, his horror at what we’d done evident. I could still recall his sharp, clear gaze glaring at me, full of disgust. His cutting words that, even now, seven years later, sliced through me sharp as a scalpel as he’d scrambled to dress, while I’d strained to hold on to the tears that threatened to spill over.
“What the fuck have you done, Athena? What the fuck have we done? Jesus Christ. If Elliot finds out, our friendship will be over, and I will never forgive you. Actually, strike that. I will ruin you. You’re nothing to me other than my best friend’s kid sister. You got that? The sooner you accept the truth, the sooner you’ll realize I’m not your guy. Stop pining over me like a lovesick puppy—it’s a real turn off—and go find a boy more your speed.”
From that day to this, everything I’d ever done had been an attempt to get Ryker’s attention, to show him he was wrong, that we were worth it. That I was worth it.
Every strategy I tried had failed.
Over the ensuing years, Ryker paraded several girlfriends in my face. The young, innocent me morphed into a slightly older, bitter me. On the occasions Ryker brought girls to my mom’s house for dinner, I’d do something awful. Once, I slipped a laxative into his date’s drink, and she’d spent the night on the toilet. Another, I’d discovered that cilantro brought her out in a rash, so I chopped some up and stirred it into the onions and peppers we’d served with the fajitas.