🔥 STEAMY ALERT—some mild-ish steamy passages, beware! 🔥
♫ Temperature's hotter than fire
And the heat has got me burning up
So let's stop, drop and roll together ♪
(Mya—Anatomy 1on1)
As morning light poured through the slits covering the window, Coralie yawned. She opened her eyes, adjusting to the semi-obscurity, and shifted about—before realizing her limbs were wedged between someone else's.
Oh, shit.
Slowly, she pivoted, extracting herself from Ryan's long, muscular thighs. She inched backwards, making sure to not move too fast, hoping not to wake him. She wanted to admire his incredible body as he slept, first.
He lay on his side, one arm outstretched under her pillow, the other propped over his middle, his hand drooping off. Seconds before, it had been wrapped around her, holding her close to him.
She watched his shallow, soothing breaths, his beautiful bare chest rising and falling, the subtle snoring sound that slipped from his half parted mouth. She stared at that mouth; at those luscious, delicious tasting lips that had traveled all over her skin, that had explored every inch of her body, that had taken her on the ride of her life.
Her conscience urged her to get up, get dressed, get away from him before she became overwhelmed with desire again; or with feelings. He was too perfect... if she lingered in that spot, licking her lips as her gaze wandered from his torso, to his stomach, to the obvious bulge beneath the sheets, she'd cave.
He let out a tiny moan as the arm under the pillow stretched, and his palm pressed to her upper back, drawing her closer. She should have resisted, should have shimmied out of reach and saved herself from the temptation, but she couldn't move. He pulled her into him, and as her nose nestled into his neck, she sniffed his cologne mixed with that salty after-sex scent that drove her wild.
His erect member pushed into her upper thigh, and she squealed at the firmness of it. Before she could stop herself, her hand glided down, down, down, and she stroked him. Softly at first, just the tips of her fingers, delicate as if he were made of glass.
"Mhmmm," he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed, though his lips quirked into a sexy smile. "Good morning to you, too."
Biting her lip, and sensing a comfortable warmth pooling between her legs, Coralie took hold of his penis and stroked it a little harder. He wriggled left and right in pleasure, his smirk widening, his erection growing.
Within five minutes, he'd thrown the blankets off the bed and reciprocated her gesture by slipping his fingers between her thighs. She sighed, laid back, and allowed him to toy with her until she lost all sense of time and space.
***
"You make me so hungry," he said, twirling one of her icy locks around his finger.
They lounged side by side, limbs entwined, hands caressing shoulders and upper arms. Covers and sheets crowded the floor, pillows were thrown to the opposite side of the room, and Coralie had no clue where their clothes were.
"You make me hungry!" Her stomach growled, and she chuckled. "Literally hungry. Do you want some breakfast? I make a mean omelet."
Ryan snorted as he pinched her cheek. "God, you are so American." His eyes crinkled, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "But yes, I'd love an omelet, if you're offering."
She gave him a quick peck before tearing from his embrace and digging under the heaps of sheets to find her underwear. She then grabbed a robe from her closet and leaned over the bed to give him a smooch.
"I'll bring you some coffee, too."
He winked, and she snuck out, closing the door behind her. As she sauntered into the living room, tying the rope of her silky robe, she almost screamed at the shadow that approached her from the right.
"Well, well, well," said Delilah, in her falsely judgmental tone—the one she took whenever she caught Coralie doing something naughty. "So that was you moaning in there all night!"
"Dude!" Coralie smacked a hand over Delilah's mouth. "Quiet!"
"Who is it?" Delilah stood up on her tiptoes, trying to look around Coralie, expecting her conquest to come marching out of the bedroom. "Is it Michael? Did you decide to skip a few steps and not tell me about it?"
Coralie grabbed Delilah's wrist and dragged her into the kitchen. "Shut up, would you?" She fished the coffee out of the cupboard, filled the carafe with water, spilled the ground java into the appropriate spot, dumped the water, and pressed the on button. "If you must know, it's Ryan."
Delilah's untamed eyebrows lurched up as she seized Coralie's shoulders. "Who? Ryan, as in RyRy?" She rubbed at the remains of mascara under her tired chestnut eyes. "You're fucking kidding me. He's here?"
Coralie fetched three mugs from another cupboard and set them on the counter. The cold tiles beneath her bare feet sent shivers up her legs, and the motion oddly brought on visions of when Ryan had trailed his tongue up and down her thighs, while his fingers played with—
"Cora!"
Coralie came to, breaking out of her trance to find Delilah's tiny frame planted before her, hands on her hips, lips down-turned.
"What?"
"How is Ryan fucking Bennett here?" Delilah tutted and shoved past Coralie to reach for three spoons in the cutlery drawer. "Or more like, when did he get here? And how was I not aware?"
"You seriously didn't see him last night?" Coralie leaned against the bar-counter. "He was at the open-mic. He," she lowered her voice, "showed up out of nowhere, to surprise me."
"But..." Delilah interrupted the coffee machine by yanking the carafe out and pouring herself the first drops of the fresh brew. "I thought you were over that? I thought you decided not to... you know... coerce him into cheating on his wife?"
Heat swarmed up Coralie's cheeks, and she dipped her chin. "I had, but he came all this way, and he," she chuckled to herself, "he looked so damn hot."
"Okay, let's put aside my disappointment for two seconds," said Delilah, swirling her spoon in her mug after pouring in a few drops of creamer. When she whipped around, the spoon was in her mouth. "What was he wearing?"
Coralie rubbed the back of her neck. "A navy suit. One of those fedora-style hats. He waltzed in there like some James Bond lookalike, I swear. I almost fucked up my song when I saw him."
"Ugh, why does he have to look so good?" Delilah closed her eyes, sucking on her spoon, likely imagining Ryan's arrival at the bar. She scratched the small slither of skin showing between the waistband of her shorts and the fringed edges of her pajama tank top, and let out a lengthy sigh. "I mean, from those pictures you showed me, and from what you told me about his—"
"—shhhhh, he's awake in there!" Coralie craned her neck to peep towards her luckily closed bedroom door. "I'm making us breakfast now, so get out of here!"
Delilah scampered to her room, but not without demanding that Coralie give details later, and gaping at Coralie's door as if hoping to see through it.
Coralie got to work cracking eggs and mixing spices and cheese and bacon, and became so focused that she didn't hear Ryan sneak up on her twenty minutes later.
"Boo!" he said, weaving his arms around her.
She spun, spatula in hand, her robe nearly flying open. "RyRy!" She gawked at him, then towards Delilah's door. "You were supposed to wait!"
He backed away, smirking at her. He'd shrugged on his boxers—tight-fitting, stopping at his upper thighs, and revealing that wonderful bulge she favored so. "I couldn't. I had to watch you in action, and that coffee smell was too hard to resist."
"Well, Delilah is awake, so be quiet, would you?" She smacked his ass with the spatula as he helped himself to coffee and sat at the dining room table. "She's too curious for her own good, and she'll want to see I didn't make you up."
"Did she..." he giggled into his cup, "did she hear us?"
Coralie's face inflamed. "Yeah, she did." She flipped the sizzling bacon and worked on the first omelet. "Which is fine, but she gets nosy, so the sooner I finish this, the sooner we can have breakfast in bed, okay?"
When she didn't receive an answer, she wondered if he'd hurried back to the bedroom. But soon, she felt his hands slipping around her waist again, his fingers wandering dangerously close to the sweet spot below her belly.
"Mhm," he whispered, his breath breezing past her ear, prompting tremors to trickle down her arms.
"Not here." She rolled her shoulders as his bulge thrust against her buttocks. "RyRy..."
He reached over her and snagged a piece of bacon, and hastened off before she could slap his wrist.
***
After their meal—which Ryan complimented her on in the form of kisses that left a greasy film of bacon on their lips, only worsening their craving for one another—they crept under the covers again.
Full, spent, comfortable, they drifted off into a nap. Coralie didn't care about anything or anyone; she didn't have to work until later that night, and she intended to spend every second in Ryan's arms.
He was everything she'd imagined him to be. Every touch, every word, every sensation she'd pictured with him ended up being ten times better, fifteen times more intense, and hundreds of times worth the risk. Her conscience gave up on trying to convince her to take a step back, to regret what they'd done. They were like two stray puzzle pieces, connecting at last to form a masterpiece.
When they woke at noon, Coralie insisted she needed a shower; and he insisted he needed to join her.
She checked her phone—Delilah had left for the day, and they had the apartment to themselves. So, like two teenagers getting into trouble, they grabbed a few condoms—they had no doubt what was bound to happen—tiptoed to the bathroom in the nude, locked the door, and slithered into the bathtub.
She lathered his body, and he massaged her scalp with her favorite shampoo. As soap sloped down their legs and steam filled the room and the scorching water simmered along their skin, they made love once more. This was a wilder, more passionate session; Coralie wasn't sure if it was the confined space, or the sloshing sounds occurring with their every move, or the lingering taste of coffee and bacon on his tongue, but she wanted Ryan more and more with every passing second. The more he thrust into her, the more she needed him to.
Was this what would have happened had she not run from him in London? Would they have been this comfortable, would they have had this much fun? Maybe there was a reason for her delaying their intimacy; maybe she'd been right to deny him, to ignore him.
The buildup was so worth it.
Coralie had to go into the bar that night, but Ryan promised to be around when she was off. They got dressed, left together, and exchanged a steamy goodbye kiss at the bottom of her building.
She barely made it through her shift, struggling to concentrate, and had a hard time standing up. Her lower half was in agony, her stomach loaded with the never-ending flaps of the butterflies Ryan created, and her mind wouldn't stop replaying all their sexual escapades.
When she received a text from Michael, she thought about ignoring it; but still, despite her torrid adventures with Ryan, she did like him, too.
"Congrats again on your win! You deserved it. I'm sorry for not messaging sooner, I figured you might be recovering from last night and wanted to give you space. Are you free for a date soon? I'd love to meet up with you."
She cringed—he was such a sweetheart, a kind, caring gentleman... and she'd lied to him, pretending to be sick so she could hurry upstairs and cry about how he reminded her of Ryan.
And then she spent the night with Ryan...
I'm such a fucking hypocrite.
She fumbled with some poor excuse of a reply, remaining as vague as possible without letting him down, and returned to work.
***
At two am, when the bar shut down, a car waited outside for her. The window slid down, and Ryan's signature impossible-to-resist smile greeted her.
"Get in loser, we're going to your place."
She squirmed at his quoting of one of her favorite movies and hopped in beside him. In the backseat, they made out like horny teens, groping and touching each other as if they'd been separated for years.
Once in her apartment, their clothes didn't stay on long enough to make it to her bedroom. They fucked on the table, the couch, the floor, then had one last round of mattress-breaking, mind-blowingly amazing sex in bed, before falling asleep locked in each other's embrace.
Later that morning, after he woke her up by tickling her sensitive spots with his tongue, she suggested they go out for breakfast.
To her dismay, he shook his head and got out of the tangled blankets. "I can't," he said, pulling on his pants. "I have a plane in a few hours. And you know international travel; I have to check in as early as possible."
Though saddened to see him depart, she lounged on her side, chewing on her lip, the sheet covering her bare breasts.
"Shame, I had so much more I wanted to do to you."
He paused in getting dressed and sank onto the mattress, his fingertips frolicking over her exposed skin as she swirled her finger in her mouth. That gesture that always made him melt.
"Fuck, Cora." He angled close and kissed her, lust dripping from his tongue. "I have to go. But I will visit you again soon. For sure. I must." He straightened up, stuffed his shirt under his belt, and rose to throw on his jacket. "I promise. This," his gaze fixed on her chest, her lips, her eyes, "doesn't end here or now."
She dragged herself out ofbed to take him to the door, and after the most sensual see-you-later kissshe'd ever had with another human being, she melted onto the couch, unsure ifshe'd ever recover from the Ryan-effect.
♥♥♥