CHAPTER NINETEEN

SAVANNAH

––––––––

I'm not thinking.

Only feeling. Because I don't want this to end.

After Ryder thoroughly fucked me, we had a shower and made love—sorry, fucked—in there.

Then we realized we were hungry, so we ordered room service and now we're sitting out on the balcony overlooking Manhattan while I suck his cock from my knees.

God, he's gorgeous.

Sitting with his legs spread open, and me working his long hard cock with my mouth, he looks every bit the powerful man he is.

"Sweetheart, fuck, that's it," he says, his hand on the back of my head. "My naughty actress."

I feel myself getting wet again.

Again.

I'm constantly wet and aroused. How can I not? Naked, this man is a god. With a scattering of tattoos over his olive skin and his dark blonde curls and blue eyes, I'm his sexual slave.

And happy to be.

"Keep going. I'm going to come," Ryder groans. "Yes, fuck, yes. Take me down your throat."

I start to gag as he pushes himself farther down my throat. I feel the heat of his come as he pulls back and releases the rest on my chin and breasts.

My needy eyes find his.

He smirks slowly. "You want more cock, baby?"

I nod, swallowing and wiping my mouth.

Like his sex slave.

Stroking his cock, he tugs me up. "Give me a few minutes."

He has no off switch.

I climb on his lap, and he cups one of my breasts as I kiss him. I expect him to pull away because I taste of him, but he doesn't.

Of course he doesn't.

This man is a god. And all mine. For now.

I know it's not forever, but...

I can't help wishing he could be. I've never felt so safe. Never felt so cherished. So thoroughly ravished.

But that's not what this is for either of us, so I simply relax into his arms and relish every second.

"Why were you sad tonight?" he asks, his voice rough.

"When?" I ask

"At dinner."

"Oh, it's nothing." I shake my head. I don't want to return to reality. I want to stay in this sex haze, ignoring life.

Ryder grabs my face. "Tell me. I want to know. If you can tell...Savannah, I want you to talk to me."

"Nick is my friend," I say, frowning.

"I am your lover. And bodyguard," he says. "And you need to tell your friend not to touch you. Next time, I will break his arm."

I gasp. "Ryder."

"I don't share, Savannah. If I'm fucking you, no other man touches you."

"Is that what this is?" I ask.

He lifts his brows and smirks as his fingers snake around my ass and then enter the tight, puckered hole.

I jump.

His mouth takes one of my nipples and sucks hard, but I can see his smirk.

"What does it feel like?" He removes his finger from my ass, wiping it on the towel beside us.

"Jesus, fine." I half laugh. "Yes, we're lovers. But—"

"Don't ask questions that neither of us can answer. Tell me why you were upset."

I lean against his chest and sigh.

I might have known Ryder for less than a week, but he is persistent and demanding. It's better to just answer him than fight him.

"You heard my dad on the phone the other day." I begin. "My entire family is...well, they're not supportive."

"Because they thought you'd be a starving artist forever."

I nod.

"Which they were clearly wrong about. So what's the problem?" Ryder asks, his fingers sliding through my hair and tucking it over my ear.

I love the way he touches me. Even the simple act feels divine. As does the muscular wall I'm lying against.

Every inch of him is cut, solid, and strong.

So strong I feel in a constant state of arousal.

I lift my face and meet his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe I'm being unreasonable. I just hoped they would call to say congratulations today for my nomination."

"That's not unreasonable at all. They fucking should." He cups my face and frowns. "Did they not say a word?"

I shake my head.

"None of those flowers were from them?"

I lay my head back on his chest in shame. "It doesn't matter."

"Jesus," Ryder mutters and wraps his arms around me. "What about Gina?"

"No. She hasn't even said anything to me." I feel the sadness creeping back, but I don't want to be sad when I'm with him.

"Ryder?"

"Hmm mm," he answers.

"If I were your girl, how would you celebrate with me?" I ask, closing my eyes and going into my imagination.

"I'm not, sweetheart."

"Please. Just pretend."

He goes quiet and I feel him pull in a deep breath underneath me. Then, as he lets it out, he starts. "No flowers. Everyone has sent you flowers. I'd scoop you up and swing you around, telling you how fucking incredible you are."

I smile against his chest.

"Then I'd carry you into our bathroom and pour you a bath and lift you into it." Ryder says as his fingers drift down the side of my body. "It's full of rose petals and shit."

I giggle.

"And I'd pour you a glass of your favorite champagne and while you're sipping on it, I'd prepare the Cheetos."

"Cheetos?" I laugh, lifting my head.

His deep blue eyes meet mine. "I saw the bag in your trash can. You can be the fancy celebrity with everyone else, but I know you nibble on Cheetos."

I try to hold back my smile but fail.

He grins at me.

My fingers go to his dimples as my eyes roam his face. "You are so handsome. How are you not a model?"

He grips my wrist with just the right tension. "Because, sweetheart, I was fighting for our country instead. Killing the bad guys."

"Did you?" I ask softly.

"Yes," he answers after a moment.

"Thank you."

His eyes dart away.

"What?" I ask, feeling his body tense.

"I fucking hate it when people say that. It's bullshit. No one means it. No one really knows what it's like to willingly head into gunfire or enemy territory. Or watch a wom—"

I know my face has paled; I can feel it.

I want to cry and hold him and take away all the horrible things he's seen and done. But he's right. While we might think we mean it, do we really?

I mean, really?

"God, Ryder." I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him like I imagine a mom hugs their child.

Which is weird given we are both naked.

And smell like sex.

"It's fine." His hands grip my waist. "I shouldn't have said that. Sometimes..."

I relax and sit back, feeling his soft cock underneath me. "Sometimes?"

"Some memories just hit harder." Ryder runs his hand through his hair and gives me a sad smile.

"Tell me." I run my fingers across his tattoos on his pecs and lift my eyes. "Were you going to say a woman?"

His eyes dart away, and I see the ghosts within them.

"You don't want to hear this." Those blue globes lock with mine. "I don't want the darkness of what I've seen to touch your soul."

I glance down, feeling like a stupid, spoiled princess. Boohoo, my daddy didn't call me. This man has risked his life for years to protect US citizens.

God, I'm pathetic.

"Well, I am grateful. Very. For you and every person in the military who protects us. I might not think it every single minute of every day, but without men like you, we wouldn't live the life we do now."

He nods.

"Thank you. The hardest part is the politics. We are fighting wars. None of us really know who the good guys and bad guys are." He shakes his head. "Don't get me wrong, all civilians are innocent. All of them. On every bit of soil on earth."

"So, how do you know?"

"Yeah, you don't some days." He runs his hand through his hair again. "We've seen a lot of things that don't line up with what we're told or what you see in the news."

I listen, letting him talk.

"The brain wants to put things in little buckets. They are bad. We are good. It isn't that simple. History is what we are taught. The question is, have we been told everything?"

"Or the truth?" I say.

"Exactly."

"So you left?" I ask.

"No. I'm a proud American and soldier. I'm not a politician and that's where things need to change. I left when I failed a mission and knew I was no longer capable of being an effective operator."

Failed? I can't imagine Ryder failing at anything.

I wish he'd tell me so I could understand him. Know him better.

His hand lifts and cups my face again as he looks deep into my soul.

"A woman died because of me." The pain on his face is palpable.

"Oh, baby," I place my hand over his. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

He leans in and kisses me hard, staying there for a long moment. Then his eyes find mine. "It was, and I will live with it for the rest of my life."

We stay like that for a while longer, just being and kissing and touching, and I feel a closeness with him I'm not sure I've ever shared with anyone.

I might not have got the whole story, but I know Ryder hasn't told many people what he shared with me tonight.

Eventually mother nature calls and I climb off his lap. He slaps it as I walk away, and I smirk over my shoulder.

When I return, with a robe around me, I stop to take in a bouquet that arrived while we were out today. It's beautiful with dozens of pink roses. I grab the card and head outside, curling up on Ryder's lap again as he sips a glass of water.

"Spread your legs. I want to play with this pink pussy of yours some more." He opens my robe and slides his hand between my legs as I rip open the envelope.

Maybe I'm a fool.

I thought it might be from my mom. She always liked pink roses and therefore thought I did too. I don't dislike them; I just favor white roses over any other color.

She won't know that, though.

They aren't from her. They are from my stalker.

I gasp as I read the horrifying message.

HELLO LITTLE SLUT, IT'S TIME TO STOP FUCKING MY MAN.

Ryder slides his fingers inside me and cups my breast, unaware why I'm reacting. Or rather, what I'm reacting to.

"Stop, stop," I say, wriggling and climbing off him.

"What's wrong?" He growls, standing abruptly. His hard cock hangs between us.

He takes the note out of my hand and curses.