17. Ray

"Hey there, Stingray." Mom's smile lit the room as I stepped in, a vase of flowers clutched between my arm and my chest.

I nearly dropped it.

"You… you remember calling me that?" I asked, watching for any signs of the woman she was before the dementia set in. She'd been in the hospital for nearly a week. They'd insisted she stayed in case she had any adverse reactions to the new medication, and I'd been dropping by every day. She'd been asleep each time.

"Of course I do," she laughed. "Are those for me?" She eyed the flowers, her brows wiggling like they used to whenever I'd give her a poorly wrapped present on Christmas morning.

"Yeah. I… I thought you'd be asleep," I explained while I walked up to her bedside, plopping the vase down on the little table beside her bed. I dropped into the chair I'd almost considered a second home for the last seven days. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, honey. Really good." She tapped the side of her head. "Got my ducks in a row today, I think."

I chuckled as the realization settled in. She was more my mom than she had been in years, and considering I never thought I'd see this side of her again… it was strange, to say the least. "I'm so glad the new medicine is helping. It's nice to see you like this."

Her gray hair sat limply around her shoulders, a little bit of natural oils weighing it down from lack of washing. I'd need to tell the nurses to make sure she got a shower today. "It's nice to feel like this," she sighed. "How are you, Stingray? What have I missed out on lately?"

I couldn't help but smile at her saying it again. She hadn't called me that since I was a kid, and I wanted to record it and play it on a loop on all of her bad days. "I'm, uh, I'm okay. Life can be hard at times. But it's not horrible."

"Good job? Any men in your life?" Mom leaned forward, her thin and fragile frame somehow taking up the room. I didn't know what she did and didn't remember from the last year, whether any of it had stayed in her mind or gone in one ear and out the other.

"Good job, yes. No men," I laughed. "Just one annoying boss who keeps coming on to me."

She nodded as she reached out her hand, motioning for me to take it. "Are you happy?" she asked, all glee and happiness fading to the background, being overrun with serious mom energy. "I know taking care of me isn't easy. I don't want you to have to do that for me, sweetheart. I want you to live your life. I wantyou to be happy."

Am I happy? The question pinged around in my mind. "I've got security. I've got the makings of a happy life," I replied, and it wasn't a lie. I did have those things. But I wasn't entirely what I would call happy. Happy was a hard thing to be when there were still things I wanted that felt out of reach, when I had a sick mother to care for, when I couldn't necessarily live the way I wanted to even if she wanted me to. "I'm happy enough, Mom."

It was as truthful as I could be. Mom didn't need to know how much I longed for actual human connection. She didn't need to know how much I desperately wanted a relationship now after the glimmer I'd gotten from Wade, how much I needed it in my life. It wasn't in the cards for me, at least not for a while. Not with her health, and not with my lack of time.

But I could pretend with Wade. I could pretend for another couple of weeks, cherish the moments that felt real, and forget who it was. I could have fun with it. It could be enough.

For now.

————

I didn't bother knocking. I didn't feel the need to anymore. I pushed the door open into Wade's office, my bag flying around on my arm as I burst through, hair a mess and no makeup.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," I blurted, pushing my hair back from my face. "My mom was awake when I went to visit her and she remembered me?—"

"It's fine." Wade stood before his bookshelf, sideways to me as he looked up and down at the different trophies. "Don't worry about it."

There was an air about him that felt… different. Melancholy was the only word that came to mind, thick and heavy in the space, his lips pressed into a thin line. I took a step forward toward his desk. "Are you, uh, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Would you like me to dust them?" I offered, my gut coiling as I realized I had no idea what to say to him. It felt like I was in uncharted territory—the normally happy-go-lucky teasing Wade or irritated beyond belief Wade had become a down-in-the-dumps Wade.

He slowly turned his gaze to me, one dark blonde eyebrow lifted. "Dust them?"

I shrugged.

"No, I don't want you to dust them." The side of his lips twitched upward, just a hint of that happy-go-lucky Wade peeking through, but it was gone before I could fully capture it. I held my breath as he lifted his hand toward one of the trophies, pointing at it. "I got this one when I was seventeen. Felt like I was walking on air."

I couldn't see the trophy properly from where I stood. Part of me wanted to approach him, look at it with him, but another part of me wanted to ask instead. Mom had always said I was never a fight-or-flight person. Freezing up was my go-to, in more ways than one.

"And this one," he motioned to another on the shelf below, blues and reds climbing the shiny frame, "I got at eighteen. It was my first FIS competition." His eyes darted to the platinum ski leaning next to the bookshelf for stability. "That one was right before the accident."

The accident. The words echoed in my mind, over and over, begging me to ask him what that entailed. I could feel the sentence climbing my throat, sitting on my tongue, and banging against my clenched teeth to be let out. But if I asked, that would mean admitting there was a little piece of me that cared enough about him to want to know. And I wasn't sure I was ready to admit that to either of us.

"I'm glad you had a nice morning with your mother?—"

"What happened?" I blurted out.

Maybe Mom was wrong. Maybe I was a fight person.

Wide eyes flared as they collided with mine, sending my heart rate off the charts. Another step forward and I was in front of his desk, my hands fidgeting, my sleeves pulled down over my palms.

"What happened?" I repeated, smaller that time, uncertain.

"Do you actually want to know or are you just humoring me?" he asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, his button-up pulling around the muscles of his biceps.

"I want to know."

He seemed to mull it over as he looked between me and the trophies, his lips between his teeth. "Come here."

I didn't hesitate.

Stepping around his desk, every click of my heel felt like torture, like I was bearing something to him instead of the other way around, and maybe I was. Maybe my chat with Mom that morning had let the idea of pretending for a little bit go to my head. But I wanted the human connection, however small.

He motioned for me to sit atop his desk as he leaned back against the window, the morning's pale, white light filtering in through the snow clouds. I pressed my hands into the hardened wood and hoisted myself up, my feet dangling below.

"Comfortable?" he asked, one brow raising again, challenging me to say anything other than yes.

I nodded.

He looked again at the platinum ski. "It was two weeks before my nineteenth birthday. I had signed a deal to ski with the Olympic team the following winter, but to keep my spot, I had to keep winning," he explained. His voice had dropped. It was deeper, harder, a hint of what I could only imagine was pain behind it. "That was all I cared about. That and Emily."

Emily. I opened my mouth to ask, but he held up a single hand to stop me.

"I'd stupidly let my ego take over everything I had," he continued. "I'd stopped worrying about the risks. Sure, I'd had a few tumbles over the years, but nothing too bad had ever happened. When you've got an ego as large as mine was and a too-large dose of teenage invincibility, shit tends to hit the fan."

"To be fair?—"

"I know," he said, the smallest, saddest smile spreading across his lips for a fraction of a second. "My ego is still massive. Just be glad you didn't know me back then."

I shut my mouth, allowing him to continue.

"I needed to win, and in order to win, I needed to be fast. Speed was always my biggest advantage, so I didn't think twice when I angled myself forward and took the corner too sharply." He sucked in a breath as if the memory was real and tangible and happening in front of him. "My right ski caught on a skinny aspen. Fully twisted it. Fractured two bones in my shin, shattered my kneecap, and had a spiral break in my femur. I went down like a fucking bowling pin."

The image of it flashed in my mind. A younger Wade screaming in the snow, ski bent and leg in all the wrong angles. "Oh my God," I breathed.

"Yep." He nodded, briefly meeting my gaze before looking back to his trophy. "I still remember the look on Emily's face when the doctor told me I'd never ski again. I can't remember the details of the heartbreak I felt, but fuck, I remember how angry she looked."

I wanted to ask so badly, wanted to know who she was.

"She asked them so many questions. Asked if rehabilitation would get me to the point of skiing again. Demanded the doctors do something to fix me. But they couldn't, you know?" He sucked in a deep, shaky breath. I wondered how often he actually thought about this or if it was something he kept buried under the facade of an ex-ski champ surrounded by bunnies. "She went off on me once the doctor left. Told me I'd been so unimaginably stupid, which in fairness, she was right. She told me I was useless now, nothing but a vegetable in her eyes. I thought she was just overwhelmed like I was, speaking from an overflow of emotion, taking her own heartbreak for my situation out on me."

"Can I ask…?"

"She was my childhood girlfriend," he said. His jaw ticked. "Only girl I ever loved. Only one I was ever serious with."

My heart shattered for him. Pain bloomed in my chest, climbing up my throat. For once, I didn't see him as this ever-looming annoying presence, but as a hurt human with his own problems. Maybe Mandy was right. "Shit."

"Mmm-hmm. She left me when she found out that my recovery could take up to a year. Ended up marrying my biggest competitor before I was even able to put on skis again." His lips formed a tight line, his face an expression of frustration more than anger. "It was a blow when I realized that she never really cared about me."

I didn't know what to say to him. He had just disclosed something so personal to me, something I would never have expected. I wanted to reach out to him, to hug him, touch him. No one should have to deal with things like that, and yet…

"Is that why you…?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I don't really do relationships anymore. So I guess we have something in common."

"What did you do? After, I mean," I asked. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything.

"I moved to New York." He pushed off the window, taking a step toward me. "Mandy was out there doing a degree in architecture, and I wanted to be near someone that I trusted and cared about. She pulled me through it all, really. Got a degree in business while I was there because I didn't know what else to do seeing my whole life had been skiing until then. Met Jackson, introduced Mandy to him."

"And then you opened the resort?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I figured that was the best way to keep skiing in my life. Told myself I would ski again, and I did, but I'm nowhere near what I used to be. Competing is off the table now."

None of this was expected. The day I'd met him, when I'd plowed into him going too fast down the mountain, I thought he was just a cocky asshole that liked to pick on newbies. When I'd seen him in his office and the trophies that he had back in the resort, I thought he was an extra cocky asshole that was a decorated veteran of the sport, retired and living his life to the ideal male dream.

I'd just found out hewas so much more than that.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I had no idea."

He chuckled, and another grin flashed across his cheeks. "It's fine. There was no way you could have known. And it's not like anything would be different if you had."

But it would have been. I wanted to scream it, print it on a t-shirt, paint it in makeup across my forehead. How did he not see how different it would be? I wouldn't have acted the way I had with him. I wouldn't have had my walls so high up. I wouldn't have yelled at him in a fancy restaurant or assumed he was just another brute like my last boss. I would have been more lenient. I wouldn't have run off the dance floor the other night.

Wade's brow rose again as he watched me. I didn't know what he saw in my expression or if he could tell what I was thinking. Maybe I hadscreamed my thoughts without even hearing myself.

"Would it have been?"

I nodded. "Yeah," I breathed. "It would have been different."

His answering sigh was enough to kick me into overdrive. I wanted to start fresh with him, take him seriously, see him as the broken human that he'd had to glue back together over the years. I wanted to wipe the slate clean. I wanted to take back my hesitance around him, take back the thoughts I'd had. Yes, he could be an ass. But he had his reasons and he was flawed just like everyone else. Just like me, Mom, Dad, everyone.

"I want to try again," I blurted, the words coming out before I could bite them back.

"Try what again?"

"All of it."

He blinked at me, hesitance and suspicion feeling like a physical presence in the room, an elephant in the corner. He had to know what I meant. I didn't want to speak the words, didn't want to have to ask for it. I wanted a do-over for the other night.

He took a step toward me, and then another, the distance closing too rapidly for me to focus. He sandwiched a leg between mine where they hung off the desk, his body looming tall, every hard line and freckle close enough to touch.

A shiver went down my spine and my skin prickled with pins and needles as his hand gently caressed my cheek, fingers curling beneath my jaw. He lifted, pulling my gaze up to his. "Am I reading you wrong?" he whispered, his breath fanning out across my face. The scent of mint and coffee. "Is this what you're asking me for?"

I gulped. "You're not reading me wrong."

It was like a switch flipped within him. His eyes became soft, and I searched them, looking for a hint of feeling in those deep pools of black and gray.

Lips brushed against mine, so gently I could barely feel it.

"Tell me," he mumbled. "Use your words."

My breath caught in my throat, an aching need overtaking any words. I didn't know how to say it. Didn't want to say it because then it would feel too real. I wanted this, wanted him.

"Ray—"

"Kiss me."

Soft lips pressed harder against mine.

His fingers dug into my skin, wanting but not bruising, as he held my head in place. He kissed me, and the world stopped turning, my lungs stopped working, my heart stopped beating. I grabbed him by the shirt, tugging him closer. My lips parted when his did, letting him in, giving him more. He tasted of fresh mint, and mixed with the morning coffee I could smell on him and the cologne I was so used to, it was nearly intoxicating.

His free hand wrapped around me, resting at the waistline of my pants. He delved deeper into my mouth, the kiss changing purpose. This wasn't practice. It was need.

Butterflies fluttered in my belly and my skin heated, every piece of me feeling far too warm. This went way beyond what it had been on the dance floor. His mouth strayed, kissing along my cheek, my jaw, the soft spot under my ear that made me sigh into him. His hips pressed in further, seating himself against the edge of the desk between my thighs, and holy fucking shit he was hard.

I didn't know what to do. My hands shook, my breathing faltered, and as if he knew my body better than I did, he nipped and sucked and kissed at every little spot on my neck that drove me wild. I knew in my bones that I wanted this as much as he clearly did. It was too much to ask for, though. Too dangerous. It walked the line between real and fake.

I didn't care, though.

My fingers moved before I told them to, wrapping around the little buttons of his shirt and tugging them free one by one. The idea of touching the bare chest I'd seen the day he was rock climbing was too tempting, all-consuming. My shaking hands struggled to get the buttons undone, and Wade took over, gently moving my hand out of the way before giving his shirt one swift tug. The buttons went flying, pinging against the floor, the desk.

"Your shirt," I said between breaths.

"I have a spare." His lips found mine again, teasing and raw, and I took every little bit he gave me. The sides of his shirt hung loosely on either side of his chest and I let myself explore, my fingers and nails dragging along each ripple of muscle. His skin was soft, warm, and good god I wanted to get my mouth on it.

Fingers toyed at the top hem of my pants, uncertain and hesitant, like he wanted to but wasn't sure he was allowed.

"Can I?" he breathed against my lips.

"Please."

I could feel his smirk break out against my mouth at the same moment that he started pulling my shirt out, freeing it from its prison. The office door slammed and locked, making my body jump, but he pressed his lips against my ear. "Don't worry about it," he whispered, the tapping of his fingers against the desk dragging my attention to them sluggishly. I noticed a button with the word doorwritten below it.

I wanted to simultaneously run and let him tear me to shreds.

Wade's hands were far more gentle with my buttons than they were with his own. He unbuttoned each with precision, letting the sides of my blouse hang open as he finished the last one. A pang of self-consciousness nearly made me stop, but then he was on my neck again, my collarbone, the tops of my breasts, and it melted away like butter. He was too good at finding the right spots.

I shrugged my blouse off my shoulders and reached behind my back, aimlessly searching for the clasp on my bra. My fingers wouldn't stop shaking, wouldn't let me be precise, and I whimpered in frustration as I tried and failed to release it. But then warm hands met mine, unhooking the three little fasteners holding it in place, and within a second my bra joined my shirt on the side of the desk.

Wade stood up straight, taking a moment to catch his breath as he shirked his own shirt, his eyes fucking devouring me. "Beautiful," he rasped. "Fucking beautiful."

I could feel the warmth spreading in more than just my cheeks.

He pressed a gentle kiss against my lips as he came back to me before his mouth was on my chest, kissing and sucking on the skin around my breasts. Teasing me, avoiding my nipples that were standing on end for him. I watched as the muscles in his back flexed, dragging my fingers along them, sighing into him.

This wasn't stopping, I knew that with every part of my being. I didn't want it to, wouldn't let it. I needed this, and from the way he touched me, I could tell he did too.

"More," I gulped. I grasped the clasp at the top of my trousers, freeing it after a few tries, and pulled down the zipper. "Please."

His answering groan was enough to set me on fire. I knew the moment he got within an inch of the heat between my thighs that he'd know exactly how much more I wanted, and I wasn't even ashamed of it. He had to be used to that.

"Come here," he grumbled, wrapping one arm around my waist tightly and lifting my body up. His free hand grabbed the top hem of my trousers and panties from the back, his fingers resting against the top of my ass, and pulled down once, twice, over the rounded crest. His knuckles just barely passed over my slit as he pulled them further and plopped me back down, and when I chanced a quick look, a thin, clear thread of me stretched between my thighs and the top of his hand.

"Fuck," he rasped. His knuckles met his mouth, his tongue dashing out to lick the extent of my mess. "You taste unreal."

I was going to fucking die.

He pulled my pants all the way off, leaving me entirely bare after I kicked off my heels to help him. One hand met the top of my chest between my breasts, pushing me gently back, laying me down across his desk as if I were some kind of feast for him. I didn't know what I expected when this started, but my god, I was not disappointed.

He pulled me to the edge of the desk, his hips slotted between mine, and I could feel the excessive rigidness hidden under his slacks press against the most sensitive part of my body. "What do you want me to do to you, Ray?" he asked, half-lidded eyes meeting mine as he leaned down over me. He cupped my breast with one hand, bringing my nipple to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it. Just the sensationof his tongue was enough to have my back arching.

"Fuck me," I whined, and I knew damn well my blush was spreading down my chest. I'd never begged before. Never been asked to speak those words.

His teeth came down on my nipple, gentle yet firm as he looked up at me. "Just that?"

"I…" I blinked through the haze of adrenaline pumping through my system. I didn't know what else to ask for. I just wanted him to touch me, to use me, to draw out the pleasure I so desperately needed. "Do anything you want to me," I breathed.

He chuckled, the vibrations of it electrifying every nerve ending from my breast to my core. "Anything?"

"Anything."

His teeth tugged at my nipple before releasing it, pain and pleasure mixing and shooting straight down. Lips pressed against my stomach, gentle but demanding, as he kissed his way down my body skipping right over the spot I was aching for him to kiss the most. Instead, he backed up and knelt down, nipping and licking at my inner thigh, absorbing every bit of moisture there as if it was water and he was a man stuck in the goddamn desert.

My hips bucked, a silent plea, and mischievous eyes met mine. "Ask me nicely," he growled.

"Please," I begged, the word barely anything more than a whisper. "Please, Wade."

"God, my name sounds so fucking sexy when you whimper it."

His mouth claimed me, closing over my clit. It was like his body kicked into overdrive, a beast of a man feasting on what was his, like he'd been starving for me. Every stroke of his tongue felt like heaven and my body no longer felt like my own, just a mere vessel for whatever he wanted to do. Fingers found my entrance, curling their way inside, becoming exactly what I needed.

The sounds that escaped my mouth were ones I'd never before made with a man. Every cry, every moan I made seemed as if it fed him, making him more accurate, moreperfect. It wasn't fair and he put my vibrator to shame.

"You look so fucking sexy when you writhe for me like that," he said around a mouthful, his hand digging into my thigh as he held on for dear life.

My release began to build when he curled his fingers up inside of me, hitting that perfect spot deep inside that made me absolutely feral. As if he knew every signal my body was giving, he kept it up, kept giving me exactly what I needed, driving me further and?—

The world fucking stopped as everything broke. Wild, black eyes looked up from between my thighs as I dug my fingers into his hair, holding on as if I would fall into the pits of hell if I let go. Cries ripped from my throat as my entire body shook. Wade didn't stop, though, he kept going until he was absolutely positive he'd drawn everything out, licked up every last drop I had to give.

Slowly he drew his fingers from me and licked them clean while he stood. The haze of pleasure was too much, too good, that I only found myself wanting more as I watched him unlatch his belt with one hand. Within a second he was leaning over me again, pressing kisses against my lips and jaw, everything below his waist out of sight. "Breathe, baby," he mumbled.

Am I not?

The sensation of something warm and uncompromising against my entrance made me gasp in air to my aching lungs. Shit, I hadn't been breathing.

"Am I alive?"

Wade laughed then, the sound dragging me back down to earth, filling my chest and calming me. "Of course you are." His hands wrapped around the backs of my thighs, pushing my legs up. "You good?"

"I… I think so," I rasped, reaching up for him as he lifted himself to his full height. I didn't want the space, didn't want the distance between us. I wanted him, needed him like I needed air. "Please. Please."

He eased himself in slowly, inch by glorious inch. He nearly split me in half in the exact right way, my muscles easing to let him in, inviting him. He gave in to my needs, leaning back down to me, using my legs as leverage and closing that distance that felt too large for me to handle alone.

Warm lips met mine as he filled me to the hilt, a guttural groan escaping his throat and stopping against my mouth.

"You feel just as fucking incredible as you taste," he growled, his grip tightening. Within a second, he was moving, his hips grinding into mine, and fuck he felt perfect. I was done, gone, ensnared in him. I couldn't come back from this. This was too much. Absolutely flawless.

I threaded my fingers into his hair, holding him to me, driving the kiss deeper. This wouldn't be enough. I would never be able to get enough. He was unreal, something out of my fantasies, filling me in a way no one ever had and likely never would again.

I moaned into him, the sound more like a cry than anything else.

"I imagined this," he said against my lips. "Every time I looked at you through that fucking glass I imagined this. Imagined what you'd feel like, what you'd taste like, how you'd sound when I fucked you."

His speed picked up, his angle hitting every right spot inside of me.

"None of it compared to the real thing." Nails pressed into the skin of my thigh, deep enough to leave little half-moons. "None of it compared to you."

He had to stop talking. I couldn't handle it, couldn't process what he was saying, couldn't believe it.

"Touch yourself for me," he grunted. "Show me how much you enjoy it."

Jesus. Why is he right? I snaked a hand between us and found my clit. The top of his cock felt like fucking silk as it slid against my fingers, his saliva and my hot liquid around it, and I tried not to get too distracted as I swirled the delectable mixture around my clit in tiny, calculated circles.

I felt my orgasm rear its head again, warning me of its impending arrival, and I wasn't sure I could take another one. The first had wrecked me—what the hell would a second do? Stop my heart?

"God, yes," I whined, my back arching, desperate for skin-on-skin contact.

"So damn sexy." He lifted up, putting that space back between us, and held either side of my face between his thumb and fingers to steady my head. He batted my fingers away with his other hand, replacing them with his own. Precise little movements dragged me further and further into the abyss. "Look at me when you come, Ray. Watch how much it fucking turns me on."

He kept his pace, kept his fingers against my clit, and within seconds I was hurtling over that edge again, my eyes locked on his. Just him watching me was enough to destroy me if the goddamn orgasm didn't.

"Good girl," he purred, his hips stuttering, his body twitching. He was close, and I was gone, floating far above my body and unable to return. "Such… such a good girl for me."

Pleasure rampaged through me as he bucked, every muscle in his body going rigid apart from his hands, and then he was leaning on me, gasping for breath and planting earnest kisses anywhere his mouth could reach.

If this was how he fucked every bunny he had I could understand why they kept coming back for more. But something deep in my gut wanted it to be special, wanted to be the only one he'd ruined like that. Because I was ruined, and I knew that for damn sure as he slowly slid himself out of me, leaving me empty and aching. I wondered if I'd ever be satiated again, if he'd ever give me thatagain, or if this was a spur-of-the-moment thing.

It had to be. Wade's lips pressed against my temple and my mind flared, betraying me, hating me, building the wall. He moved away from me, and for a second, I caught a glimpse of him—thick, long, veiny in all the right places. The smallest tuft of shaved-down pubic hair just above, with deep lines along his hips that acted like an arrow, directing me exactly where to look.

My mouth watered. I wanted more.

But it couldn't happen again. I'd get attached, and that was off the table. It had to be.