"Here's the thing though . . ." He trails off thoughtfully and then he looks straight at me. His eyes are steely and that makes me realise the fundamental difference between the young Ryan and this Ryan. He's hardened now. The sweet boy I once knew...
It's finally happening; I'm finally kissing Ryan Thorne.
I've waited more than half my life for this; and this now makes me feel absolutely livid because, if I'd known how good it would actually be, I'd have jumped on him years ago at one of the many opportunities I now realise we both missed.
His lips are wonderfully soft and warm and, good Lord, this guy knows how to kiss. He takes his time though, letting us both savour the initial innocent sweetness of that first kiss - our first kiss - before he gently runs his tongue along my bottom lip then slides it into my mouth.
Despite the fact I was initially feeling distinctly unsexy in my dog percussionist pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown, I think I'm more turned on than I've ever been in my life. Ryan's touch and kisses light a fire in me I thought didn't exist. I'm responding in a way I didn't realise was possible for me. Another moan escapes me. It sounds practically pornographic. Maybe I missed my calling.
He eases out of the kiss and I whimper in frustration but he's just repositioning himself so that he's properly facing me. "Iona," he whispers, cradling my face with both of his hands now, his mouth a breath away. "You're so beautiful."
"So are you," I say, without thinking. Ryan chuckles against my lips and the noise sends an involuntary shiver up my spine. He grazes his mouth over mine again, but then almost immediately rears back to pluck the glasses from his nose. "Sorry, these fucking things are getting in the way," he explains, placing them to one side.
"They're cute though," I smile. "I always thought so."
"To think I spent so long learning to put contacts in because I thought maybe you'd like me better without them," he laments, but he's grinning. My icy heart melts further.
And then we're kissing again. Lips moving, tongues clashing, hearts racing. It's no longer gentle and sweet, it's desperate and full of need - I think we're both trying to inject nearly twenty years of wanting into it. As if it's a competition to see who wants this more. I reckon we're probably tying for first.
At some point, many minutes into that kiss, I end up on the floor of the pillow fort and he's on top of me. I don't even remember how we got there. His hand has edged into my dressing gown and he's playing with one of my breasts through my pyjamas as he drops frantic kisses down my face towards my neck. His teeth skim my throat, his stubble scrapes against my skin, and that new pornographic moan of mine makes another cameo.
"That noise is just . . . God," he mutters into my ear. "I want to hear you make that sound when I'm inside you."
More words to make me fall apart. What is he doing to me?
We're both still fully dressed and yet somehow I've never felt so naked and so vulnerable. I can't help feeling self-conscious at the idea of actually being naked in front of him; what if he still thinks that . . . No! I try to push the thought aside. His lips are on mine again, and I relax back into the kiss.
"Iona," he whispers. "I want you so much. I've wanted you for such a long time." He's pulled away slightly and is cupping my face again; he looks slightly drunk but I don't think it's on alcohol. I suspect he's high on me, which makes sense because I'm feeling the same.
Unfocused. Off-balance. Confused.
But then he says the words that sober me up. Close me down.
"I don't even care anymore what happened that night; I just want to move on from it."
I stiffen.
I know he's talking about prom night. And with that, it all comes flooding back. The memories. The heartache.
And the anger.
I roll out from under him and sit up. He watches me, his expression puzzled. "Are you okay?" He asks me, reaching for his glasses.
I'm trembling as I stand. I know there's a risk I'm about to burst into tears.
"You might not care what happened at prom anymore, but I still do. I didn't just fuck off for an entire summer because of nothing, Ryan. Your actions, what you said, hurt me."
"I don't understand," he begins, but I shake my head.
"I'm going to go. This was a bad idea." I open his bedroom door.
"So that's it? You're just going to walk away from this? From us? Again?" I turn to take one last look at him, sitting alone in the shadows of the pillow fort he made for me. My Ryan 1.0, who I never thought could hurt me. His voice is soft but it has a steely edge of bitterness that I can't miss.
I shrug, a knife twisting in my heart. "It's what I do best," I reply. And I close the door behind me.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
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