17. Luna

17

That was it. Ryder knew my biggest secret, and somehow, he was still here. Still curled around me, my back to his front, an arm draped over my stomach. His hard cock pressed into my back. I was proud of myself for not freaking out about that, but also apprehensive because no matter what he said, I couldn't believe he'd be willing to abstain for the rest of his life.

And I wasn't convinced a doctor could fix me. I'd been living with this for ten freaking years, and in truth, the problem was getting worse, not better.

Ryder stirred behind me and mumbled, "You awake?"

"Mmm."

"Sleep well?"

"Okay."

"Ready to be photographed at the pet store?"

"Luna Maara buys dog leash. Is she secretly into bondage?"

His chuckle vibrated through me. "You got any more secrets? A kink I don't know about?"

"No, but a couple of years ago, I had a guest spot on some late-night show, and the producer dressed me up in lingerie and made the dancers wear gimp suits. You didn't hear about that? Some group of prudes got outraged. Moms Against Fun or whatever."

"Lingerie, you say? I'll have to check that out."

"No need. If you want me to wear lingerie for you, I'll wear lingerie." My voice dropped to a whisper. "I just can't follow through on what I pretend to promise."

Ryder's hand glided over my hip. "How do you make yourself come?"

"What?"

"Most women have a vibrator stashed in their nightstand."

"I don't have anything stashed anywhere."

"Then you use your fingers?"

"Use them for what?"

There was the longest pause. So long my nerves began to stretch, and they were pretty perished already. It wouldn't take much for them to snap.

"Use them for what?"

"Moon, will you trust me?"

We'd had a few shaky months, but when the chips were down, there was no one I trusted more. No one else who'd taken my side, even when it cost him.

"Yes, I trust you."

"I'm going to touch you. If you want me to stop, I will, but I promise I won't hurt you. Is that okay?"

"Touch me where?"

He leaned in close, so close his lips brushed my ear. "Everywhere."

"But I can't?—"

"All you have to do is relax and tell me if you feel uncomfortable."

Relax? Yeah, right. I steeled myself for what was to come. If Ryder wanted me to do this, then I'd try, for him, but if he thought it would be anything other than an ordeal, he was dead wrong on that.

"Fine. Do your worst."

"You might be surprised."

"Please, just get it over with."

He was going to touch skin, I knew that, but he did surprise me by caressing my cheek.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too."

That was the only reason I was going through with this.

A hand slipped under my pyjama top, and warm fingers rubbed slow circles all the way up my side. The skin on Ryder's fingers was rougher than mine—he was no desk jockey—but he kept his touch light. This…this wasn't so bad. Those circles teased the edge of my breast, and then a featherlight touch whispered over my nipple. It puckered the way it did when photographers' assistants flicked cold water over me at a beach shoot but without some old lech yelling, "Turn to the left, work it, work it, cutie."

Okay, I could cope with this.

And that thing, that thing he did with his thumb where he stroked it over the tip—that was actually pretty good. I shifted to give him better access and felt something hard against my butt. No, not that something. The TV blared on, the volume increasing, and darn it! I'd rolled on the remote.

"Sugar honey ice tea!"

I fished around in the sheets as the local news anchor droned on about a missing woman. Kacie Bachman, twenty-two years old from East Las Vegas, had gone missing after finishing a shift at the Slam Dunk Saloon. A witness saw her climbing into the passenger side of a silver SUV near the exit of the parking lot, and there had been no sign of her since. Which was terrible news and everything, but he just needed to shut up. Finally, finally, I managed to get rid of him.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"That's a first."

"The TV coming on while you're…doing whatever?"

"That and a woman apologising in bed. Don't do it. You have nothing to be sorry for. You okay?"

"Better than I thought I would be."

Although I almost changed my mind when his hand slipped into my shorts. I held my breath, waiting for the fingers to push into my panties, to shove into a place my body didn't want them to be. But that didn't happen. Ryder just grazed a finger over the cotton, continuing those deliberate circles, maddeningly slowly, circles that got smaller and smaller until they were focused in one tiny spot. One tiny spot that began to throb and ache, but in a good way. My hips rolled of their own accord, pressing against his hand, against that enchanted finger that teased and caressed. A low moan escaped my lips as a wave of pleasure rolled through me. What was this witchcraft?

"Too much?" Ryder asked, and his morning huskiness gave me goosebumps.

"Not enough."

"Are you sure?" I couldn't see his face, but I heard the smirk in his voice. He knew exactly what he was doing, while I absolutely did not.

"Don't you dare stop."

The waves kept coming, one after another until I balanced on a crest so high I screwed my eyes shut. When I tumbled over the edge, I went into freefall. The words coming out of my mouth didn't belong to me. Words like what the hell? and oh my fuck and baby.

"I…I don't understand."

"First orgasm, sweetheart. First of many."

I just lay there staring at the ceiling, my head resting on Ryder's shoulder. That was what I'd been avoiding? Home-schooling had a heck of a lot to answer for. Mom told me the biology textbook wasn't important, and after I struggled with reading the first couple of pages, I'd given up. And Jubilee had told me sex was nothing to write home about, even without a panic attack involved. But now…now I realised she only dated the kind of nerds who wore pocket protectors and ironed their underwear, while I had Ryder Metcalfe. It stood to reason that he'd be a wizard in the bedroom.

"Do that again," I pleaded. "You can do it again, right?"

"You need a minute."

"I don't."

"Moon, you'll be overly sensitive right now."

"Really?"

Gently, he guided my hand downward. "Check for yourself."

Okay, so he was right—again—and also everything was super slippery. My whole insides felt liquified, even my bones, so perhaps that had something to do with it? I sagged onto the mattress, but Ryder was getting up. He was leaving?

"Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom. My cock's so hard it hurts, and I need to deal with the problem."

"With your hand?" He'd said something about that before, but I didn't want him to leave me. "I have hands."

I sat up as he bent to kiss me on the forehead.

"Moon, I promised I wouldn't push you, and I intend to keep that promise."

"Well, I'm pushing myself, okay? Show me what to do."

He muttered a curse under his breath and headed for the bathroom, and my heart crushed inward. Ryder didn't trust that I could do this? He thought I wasn't strong enough to get over my hang-ups? I slumped against the pillows, but then I realised he was coming back. He settled beside me again and put my jar of Chateau Miel Midnight Silk face cream on the bed.

"I only wear that at night," I told him.

"It's not for you; it's for me."

"You don't need it. Those little creases around your eyes add character."

"It's for my cock," he clarified. Oh. "We don't have regular lube."

"Maybe we could get some? Because that stuff costs four hundred bucks a jar."

The creases disappeared as his eyes widened. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

"No, but it's really good stuff."

"I'll find something else."

"Don't you dare leave this bed again. I mean, at least your cock won't get wrinkles."

I looked at him and he looked at me, and then we both dissolved into laughter. That was the last thing I'd ever expected to do—laugh in bed with a man. But this was Ryder, and he made everything in my world a little brighter.

I rolled up pretend sleeves. "Okay, let's do this."

Ryder pulled off his shirt, and I realised I hadn't seen his chest for a while. In San Gallicano, we'd spent plenty of time on the beach, but in Vegas, he'd been getting dressed while I was in the bathroom. I'd missed it. The taut pecs, the rippling abs, the smattering of dark blond hair that trailed down his stomach and disappeared under his waistband. He inched his shorts over his hips, and holy crap, that butt… Then his cock sprang free, and I almost ran for the hills. The thing was freaking enormous. I'd once done a photoshoot at the Washington Monument, and honestly, if they ever decided to put a replica here in Vegas, Ryder's cock would be perfect for the job.

"I think I need bigger hands," I murmured.

"We'll make it work." He globbed fifty bucks' worth of face cream onto the monument and worked it around. "We'll make everything work. You and me, we were meant to be."

"Just don't start sending me love notes on takeout receipts, okay?"

He tangled his other hand in my hair and pulled me in for a searing kiss. Most of the time, he treated me like a china doll, but sometimes, he couldn't quite hold back the caveman. And I liked that. With him, I liked that because I knew if I told him to stop, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Our emotions were connected by an invisible thread. If I hurt, he hurt. If I was happy, so was Ryder.

"If I write you a love note, you'll know exactly who it's from," he growled, and his words sent shivers through me. Good shivers.

Then he wrapped my hand around his shaft. It was so hard, and warm, and his skin felt almost silky under Chateau Miel's premier product.

"This is the most sensitive part." He ran my thumb over the tip. "And this…" Ryder pushed back the skin at the end and showed me a delicate piece of skin that connected the tip to the shaft. "This is the frenulum. Touch it and I'm putty in your hands."

"You're already putty in my hands, baby."

But I did touch it, and my reward was a long, low groan that made me clench my thighs together.

"Now what do I do?"

"Anything you want. You can't get it wrong."

I shifted for a better angle, straddling his thighs, my panties damp and getting wetter. Working out what he liked was pretty easy. I watched the way his pupils dilated, saw his breathing quicken when I got things right. He cursed too. Fuck yeah, that's it, sweetheart. He told me he loved me. And finally, he choked out, "I'm gonna come," and white goo shot all over his stomach.

Well, that was an experience, and one I was strangely proud of. Another fear: defeated. I dipped a finger in the goo and trailed it across his stomach. Signed my name.

He chuckled when he saw it. "‘Love, Luna'?"

"That's one autograph you can't sell on eBay."

"Every time I think I couldn't possibly love you more, I realise I'm wrong."

And I realised that someday, I might achieve my dream of ditching the name I hated so much. Because I wanted to become Luna Maara Metcalfe, and that moment couldn't come soon enough.