Page 53 of Pucked Together

I mull it over for a second. "It’s okay."

He looks over at me.

"Ryker," I whisper his name and position myself at the end of the bed with an outstretched hand.

He comes to me and, standing in between my legs, looks down at me, takes my hand, and intertwines his fingers with mine. He takes the other hand resting on my thigh and does the same. Then he lowers his head and kisses me so gently.

"I've wanted you, Izzy. Since the first day we met." He raises both of my arms above my head and then reaches down to tug off my shirt.

"Why?" I ask, already knowing it's a stupid question.

He flings my shirt to the side and cups my chin so that I look right at him.

"Because whether you knew it or not, your very presence disrupted my life. Even more than the stupid hurricane. More than living with these idiots. It was you." He bends and kisses my neck. "Those sad eyes that called out to me even when you tried to ignore me."

"I could never ignore you, Ryker. You steal the air out of every room you're in."

He chuckles a deep, dark chuckle. "So you're going to blame your asthma attack on me now, huh?"

He drops his hand and reaches for my waist, hoisting me up and, taking my spot on the bed and placing me in his lap.

"I've seen men do awful things to the women they claim to love." The look on his face is solemn—like he went into some far recess in his mind for a split second before returning to me.

"You're not one of them," I say to him.

"No, I'm not," he admits. "And I never want to hurt you, Izzy."

"You won't," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck as he pulls me closer to him. "You're careful. Gentle. Protective. And I've never felt safer with someone in my entire life."

"But doing this—your first time. It won't feel great, Izzy."

I nod because I know as much. Just by hearing from friends and also my own curious research. Which is partly why I've never ventured to do more things.

"I trust you," I tell him. And he closes his eyes at my words.

I push off his lap and step out of my leggings and underwear. This time, I reach back and unsnap my bra.

I'm standing bare before him, warmed by how his eyes look at me. He catches a quick glimpse of my body but focuses on my face.

"Show me what does feel good, Ryker. Make me yours."

He rises, pulling off his own shirt and kicking his jeans to the side before sliding his boxers down and letting his erection spring forward. He's all muscle. A Greek god carved out of the finest stone. And we both stand a foot apart, staring at each other.

A battle of wills. Who will make the first move?

My heart rate spikes at how his hooded eyes take me in. And he steps forward and puts a warm hand on my chest.

"Breathe," he commands me. "I'm going to take care of you, Wildfire. So breathe."

I close my eyes and still my racing heart. I take deep breaths as I feel Ryker's lips on my forehead, grazing my cheeks and moving down to my neck.

I can't help the moan that escapes my lips. And in one quick motion, he lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His skin slides across my own, and he pushes me up against the wall just below the team photos I've hung.

My most recent work.

I hear the patter of paws leave the room and realize we've had an audience this entire time. But Wednesday quickly got the picture—no doubt, feeling the increased temperature of the room.

"How considerate of her," he says with a smirk, watching the dog escape to my room from the shared bathroom.