But then his lips crashed into mine, and I can’t think about anything else. He snarls through the closeness, his other hand squeezing my opposite hip. I gasp and shiver against him, moving my lips in time with his.
His are rough and warm and addictive as heck. I thought nerves might seize me, but my lips know what to do.
I even slip my tongue into his mouth, hungrily seeking the pleasure, as he snarls and presses me against the elevator wall.
I move with him as our bodies seem to be vibrating. His cock is a rock-hard presence against my belly.
It must be his cock, right? What else could it be?
It’s solid, firmly pushing as he gets even closer. I can’t contain my moans, muffled as they escape from between the solid press of our lips.
Finally, a dog’s barking snaps us out of the spell. The elevator doors are open, showing a long hallway leading to a closed door at the end.
Ryland steps back, his hands clenched at his sides, his body shaking as he stares at me.
His emotions are difficult to read. He’s like a volcano, complete with the magma – the redness on his face. It could be anger or lust or a strange mix of the two.
“Fucking hell, Rachel,” he growls. “The way you kiss….”
As Rusty yaps from behind the door, we lose ourselves in one another.
He surges forward and presses into me hard. We fuse as we did in the car, when I shared all that stuff about my childhood, only now the physical adds to it.
We melt into each other, his hand gliding down to my ass. My pussy gets so freaking wet when he starts to massage my ass cheeks, pushing them together, squeezing down as our tongues clash and our lips move in unison.
“Dammit.” He steps away again, looking down the hallway. “I shouldn’t have waited until now to kiss you. He’s going to go crazy if I don’t introduce you.”
I rub my lips. “It’s okay.”
My pussy disagrees, throbbing angrily at the words, screaming at me to find a way to kiss him again, to do more with him….
But that thought sends my mind spinning off to unfair places.
Suddenly, the insecure part of me is relieved that Rusty is barking so much. It means we can’t go on, not right now, and maybe that will give me enough time to magically grow some bedroom confidence.
Yeah, right.
He leans down, kissing me softly on the cheek. “Come on. Before he breaks the door down.”
“Is he friendly?” I ask, a tiny bit worried.
He takes my hand, caressing it gently. “The friendliest dog you’ll ever meet. He’s just an impatient little guy, that’s all.”
My heart warms at his words, as well as at the tone of his voice. It’s deep, husky, and loving.
It’s the tone that tells me he’s going to make an incredible father, attentive and caring, the sort of man who’ll always do the best for his kids.
When he lets go of my hand, it hurts. It doesn’t matter that it’s to open the door for Rusty.
I’m feeling primed, supersensitive like reality is somehow more important than it was a few days ago.
I feel like at any second now, he could turn and reveal this is all a joke, a trick, something cruel and unfair.
But when he opens the door, it’s not betrayal that comes rushing. It’s a bouncy-looking German Shepherd, mouth open with a big pink grin. The dog rushes over to Ryland, accepts a stroke on the head, and then cautiously moves toward me.
“Hello, boy,” I say, reaching my hand out. “It’s great to meet you, eh? Who’s a good boy?”
I ask him questions as he gets closer. And then he tilts his head in the cutest way, offering me a place to scratch. I give him a good nuzzle under the chin, and he opens his mouth, tongue hanging out.
“What a lovely boy you are. Yes, you. Such a good boy.”
I look up to find Ryland watching me. His eyes are narrowed, perceptive, as though he’s taking in a lot from this situation.
My deepest longings send me a signal, telling me he is taking something from this. He’s seeing how maternal I am, the same way I was judging him for fatherhood material when he spoke about Rusty.
It’s like he’s envisioning our future life.
“So you don’t mind him tagging along, then?” Ryland asks.
“What? No freaking way, he’s great.”
He smirks – or grins, or maybe even smiles. It’s not the same secretive twisting of his lips he offered before. This is something else, something closer to happiness.
“I mean, if I can ruin it with all that woe-is-me stuff, I’m not going to freak over a dog.”
I intend for my voice to come across as joking, but even I can hear the dark note.
“You haven’t ruined anything.” Ryland takes a step forward, bare inches from me, his musky scent enveloping me. “You can talk to me, Rachel, about anything you want.”