“Get these fuckers off,” he says, and I’m pretty sure he’s talking about my pants because his hands move to fiddle with the buttons. “Now.”
I raise my hands and help him with the buttons. We don’t take the time to pull my pants down farther than my thighs. He’s got his hand inside them, and that’s all that matters. He’s about to send me into space like a rocket, and all he’s doing is running a hand over the thin, lacy fabric guarding my no-longer dusty vagina.
“You are so wet,” he says. “Shit. Damn. Hell.”
“Colorful,” I say of his vocabulary. “Don’t you dare stop, Pierce.”
He muffles a half laugh into my neck as he bites at my skin there. If I don’t have a hickey, I’ll be surprised. Then I surprise myself further because I wind my fingers through the back of his shaggy hair and pull his mouth to my neck.
He creates a light suction, running his tongue along the sensitive skin while his fingers run along the edge of my panties. I squirm with pleasure, with need. His fingers toy with the edge of the lace until one of them dips underneath and I suck in a breath sharp enough to crack a rib.
The moan coming out of my mouth sounds like a bobcat, or a horse, or…something—I can’t think. His finger strokes me, toying, teasing, not giving me exactly what I need. His eyes are lit with playful lights.
“Stop teasing me, Pierce,” I warn, and then I slide my hips downward.
He laughs, softly. “Say my name.”
“Pierce.”
“Ryan.” He withdraws his finger as punishment, and I’m ready to cry. He meets my eyes, those chocolate chip irises making my insides turn to lava. “Say it,” he instructs. “And mean it.”
I last as long as I can, but even my stubbornness—which is legendary in the Peretti family—breaks. “Please, Ryan,” I whisper. “I need you.”
“Not yet,” he murmurs back, but before I can argue, he slides his finger past my panties, and I close my eyes with pleasure. From here on out, it’s ecstasy as he drives me toward the finish line.
“Let yourself go, Andi.”
I do as he says, his name slipping from my lips as I ride a wave of pure pleasure—the longest, tallest, widest wave I’ve ever been taken on in my life. It engulfs me whole, swallows every thought, crashes my mind into darkness. The tremors don’t stop until I’m completely spent, sagging onto his chest, my arms around his neck.
His hands circle my back, his fingers caressing my waist. I could lie here all day on his chest, his soft, warm breaths tickling my neck—until I remember that I’m the only one who’s been satisfied at all.
“Oh, my God,” I say. “I’m so selfish. Let me…”
He clasps my wrist in his hand as I reach for his pants. “No,” he says. “You need to get going. I’ll bet your dad is waiting up for you, and I don’t want to be responsible for returning you home late.”
“I’m an adult.”
“And I respect your father,” he says. “Do it for me.”
“But…” I turn my lips into a pout, my hands reaching for him. “It’s not fair! I want to make you feel as awesome as you made me feel.”
“I feel just fine,” he says. “Although I can’t promise I’m not hoping we can do this again sometime.”
“There are a lot of negatives in that sentence.”
“That’s the Minnesota coming out of me,” he says. “Let me put it bluntly: I loved touching and feeling you, Andi, but I want more. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I have a show.”
“It’s my brother’s bachelor party. We’re doing a joint thing with Lilia and a few of her friends. Come with us. We need more people; a few of my brothers can’t make it to town.”
“I’m sorry, I would, but I can’t,” I say with a wry smile. “I can’t miss my show. I made the commitment already.”
“Come out after. I need to see you.”
“You know what it’s like from hockey,” I say, my face rife with apology. “It’s just like hockey—if you had a game, you couldn’t miss that either, could you?”
“No.”
“Well, this is the same thing except I’m not chasing a hard little black circle around on ice skates.”
“Well, when you put it like that, hockey sounds pretty pointless.”
I shrug. “I stand on stage and make myself look like a fool in the hope that other people will laugh. I’m not sure who’s gotten the short end of the stick in this deal.”
Shaking his head, he laughs and stands. “Can I drive you home tonight? It’s late.”
“No, my car’s here. I have class in the morning, some deliveries, and then my show. Maybe this weekend we can meet up if you’re free.”
He looks disappointed, but he does a decent job hiding it as he nods. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
I glance at my watch. If I rush, speed through every traffic light and jump a few medians, I just might make it home on time. Before I leave, however, I reach for him, kiss him lightly on the lips, and then pull back. “Thank you for everything tonight. I had a lot of fun, more fun than I’ve had in quite a long while.”
“You need to get out more—specifically, with me, tomorrow night. Lilia wants you to be there.”
“I’ll call you when I’m done with the show. That’s the best I can do.” I wave and take a few steps down the front lawn. “I promise if there was a way I could get out of the show, I would. I’m sorry.”
He remains silent, a hand coming up to return my wave in a stiff gesture.
There are no more words to be said, but the entire drive home I’m thinking about the look on his face as I stepped into my car. I’m almost certain he wanted me to stay.
Picking up my phone, I debate quickly between Angela and Lisa, decide on Lisa, and hit dial.
“Hey,” she says. “What’s up? Everything ok?”
She was obviously sleeping, and I realize how late it is. At the same time, I’m realizing that maybe I want to keep this moment private, a secret between Ryan and me, at least for now. “Sorry, butt dial,” I say. “Goodnight Lisa.”
“You woke me up for that?”
“Sorry,” I say. “Go back to bed.”
“Asshole.”
“Love you too.”
CHAPTER 22
Andi
When I push open the door to our small home in a deteriorating neighborhood on the almost-east side of Los Angeles, my dad is there, sitting at the kitchen table in full alert mode. The slight scent of marinara sauce lingers in the homey kitchen, which hasn’t changed a lick since my mother died.
The scent suggests my dad didn’t feel like cooking tonight. The beer in front of him suggests he’s had a long night of waiting. I cringe, but there’s no going back now.
“Do you like him?” Papa Peretti asks as he looks up from his half-empty beer.
“Who?” It’s not a good answer to the question, but I don’t have anything better to say.
He gives me a look that tells me he knows I’m full of it, and I flinch. “The boy, Andi, the one who called here today. Do you like him?”
“He’s nice,” I say. “Tips really well.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t know Dad, it’s too early to tell.”