CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

RYDER

––––––––

"Tell me you're wet enough." I say as my cock presses against her entrance.

"I am," Savannah replies, and lifts herself, then takes half of me inside her.

"Fuck," I grunt, gripping her hips.

"How does this feel like the first time, every single time?" She gasps as her nails dig into my shoulders.

It does.

I don't know how, but it goddamn does. Nothing feels as good as her.

I lift Savannah and thrust my hips up as I simultaneously pull her down on me. The effect takes me deep inside and we both cry out.

"Ryder, my god."

"Jesus, sweetheart." I growl. Then I do it again and again, water sloshing around us.

Max has disappeared.

Smart cat.

"Ride my cock," I demand, cupping one of her breasts and gazing up into her face. "Savannah, ride me and show me how much you love fucking."

Her pussy clamps around me and she's like a cowgirl, bouncing up and down my shaft.

"So much. God, you have the best cock ever."

Fuck, she's sexy. Her breasts are bouncing, and I spread my thighs, watching this beautiful woman pleasure herself on me.

"Thick, hard, and long," she continues. "I could fuck you every day and never get enough."

"I'll fuck you every day." I growl, not focusing on what I'm saying. "You will get on your knees and suck my cock when we get home and then I will fold you over and enter you."

"Oh god," she cries tightening around me.

"Like a good little movie star, I will finger you until you are wet enough, then fuck you hard, making you come on my cock."

"Ryder." Savannah trembles, reaching for me.

"That's it. Cream on my cock," I tell her.

I'm aware I don't have a condom on, and so I grit my teeth, holding back my orgasm. She bounces harder and I jam her down on my cock, then jut up into her rapidly as she falls apart.

How I stop I don't know.

But panting, I lift her out and carry her inside. I place her sexy and compliant body on my sofa, then open a drawer and rubber up.

Dripping wet, I climb back between her legs and enter her.

"Fucking. Hell." I groan.

Then finish off what we started.

As I explode inside her, my head thrusts back and I have a fleeting moment of thought which I try to ignore.

But it pushes through, and I have to acknowledge it. I could die happy if she's the only woman I fuck for the rest of my life.

More than happy.

When our eyes meet, everything is different.

Everything has changed.

"Ry." Savannah reaches for me, and I drop my mouth to hers.

Our kiss isn't urgent, it's deep, it's connection, it's lazy, and it says all the things we can't.

That we just fucking can't.

––––––––

SAVANNAH LIES ON my arm as the TV flickers in my bedroom. We made...sex...a few more times and then decided pizza in bed sounded perfect.

Max agreed.

He's curled up on the other side of her, purring like an idiot.

I'm the other idiot.

And smiling bigger than I ever remember.

"This is the funniest movie." Savannah giggles into my chest as Adam Sandler does something in Hawaii with Drew Barrymore.

"Never seen it," I say.

I haven't, and I still haven't. I'm paying attention to every inch of the naked body lying next to me. I'm aware of every move, every touch, every giggle.

And answering all her questions, apparently.

"Do you normally watch TV in bed?" Savannah asks.

"No."

"What's your favorite food?"

"Meat," I say and laugh as she glances up at me in disbelief.

I kiss her mouth.

She folds over on top of me, receiving an unhappy meow from Max, and circles my tattoos on my pecs.

I want her to keep touching me forever.

"Are you going to get in trouble for sleeping with me?"

"Only if you tell them," I growl playfully.

"I won't." She smiles softly. "How long has it been since you left the service?"

"Two years."

"Do you miss it?"

"Not when I have your naked body on top of me."

"Do you like your job?" Savannah continues her questions.

"Savannah. Am I under interrogation?" I nip at her bottom lip.

She settles back beside me. "I just want to know you. We can't talk when we're working, so this is like speed dating, but we aren't dating."

I sigh silently.

We can't do a lot of things.

She's right, this isn't a date. And it reminds me why I brought her here—aside from the benefit of being able to ravish her in my bed for hours—the lack of celebration by her friends and family.

"Aside from Gina, do you have any other friends?" I ask, and Savannah goes quiet. I lift her face and she tries to pull away.

"Don't."

I slide down the bed and roll on my side, so she has to face me. "Tell me. What's going on?"

"They just...clearly Gina isn't a friend anymore," she says, and her cheeks are pink.

She's embarrassed.

I'm almost relieved to hear her say that after my conversation with Gina in the hallway of the Dufort Hotel.

"She hasn't wished me congratulations or asked to catch up outside of work. Maybe I should've made the effort."

"Is she your only friend?"

I'm partly concerned and also curious in case I need to consider them for the investigation.

Savannah shrugs. "I never was the kind of person who had a big group of friends, and I spent all my time on my art and working at the diner."

"Or not trusting people because of the way your family treated you."

She stares at me. Then nods. "I don't understand why they are like they are."

"Because they're assholes," I mutter.

"They want money. Many actors share their financial gains, and I would be happy to if I felt they loved me," Savannah says. "But I'm not sure they do."

I didn't want to comment, but it certainly didn't look like love to me.

My parents were kind and caring people. They encouraged us growing up, and I never questioned if they loved me. My brother is a mechanic with a wife and two kids. They live in Colorado near my folks.

So to me it's black and white.

But love is complex. People are broken. They might love her but not know how.

I'd know how to love her properly.

Not an option.

"You don't give money to people who are abusing you, Savannah. No matter what their surname is."

She nods sadly.

"Growing up, they didn't believe in me. I get it. I'm sure it's a nightmare learning your kid thinks she can be a movie star instead of pursuing a solid career. But they were cruel."

"Tell me."

"Well, you heard Dad on the phone. He'd tell me I was talentless and make fun of me in front of his friends. They'd all laugh."

Watching the pain on her face, I do a mental check on my weapons cabinet. One skillful slice of my best knife would resolve that fucker.

But her wounds will last forever.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Savannah, the entire world is acknowledging your talent. As did you. That's why you kept going and reached this level of success." I brush the hair off her face. "You don't need me to tell you."

"I want to hear it."

"No. You want to hear them say it. I could tell you a thousand times and it wouldn't change the pain you feel."

Her eyes drop to my chest.

"You are right. They should have encouraged me, guided me, and taught me to become a whole person so I could take on the world."

"That's the ideal scenario." I nod.

"But I did it in spite of them."

"That a girl." I smile.

"I know many others have had a much worse upbringing than I had. I don't mean to sound selfish."

Fuck that.

"Hey. Emotional abuse is invisible. Not less than." I take her chin. "And narcissists are brilliant at making you feel like your feelings aren't justified. So I'm calling bullshit on that. It's not a competition in life to see who is the worst off and only that person can justify their pain."

I watch the wheels of her pretty little mind working.

"Some days I don't know how I got here. I really don't. I dug deep within myself to keep going, almost because I knew I needed to do it to survive. And then some of it was luck."

I smile. "I don't believe in luck."

Savannah throws her leg over mine. "Why not?"

"I've seen too many things. Luck wasn't present in those people's lives. Not for a single second."

Her green eyes trace my face, looking for more information.

"Tell me about the woman who died," she finally says. "Did you love her?"

I shake my head.

"No. She was an informant." I frown. "I can't tell you too much."

"I understand."

I lick my lip as my mind ticks, going back to that time.

"She trusted me. What she was doing was extremely dangerous, and I told her we would protect her. Which was fucking stupid."

"But you meant it."

"Yes," I meet her eyes. "I meant it and if I could go back in time, I would still mean it. The choice wasn't mine, but there were things I could have foreseen."

"Because you're psychic?"

I shake my head. "Don't. I know what you are doing. She was my informant. I worked with her every few days for nearly three months. She was a mother and a daughter. An aunt. She loved her family and hated the world she lived in."

With her help, we could have uncovered a terrorist cell and saved thousands of lives. But that never happened.

I don't know how she was found out, and I never will. I've gone over every communication we had and searched for the moment I fucked up.

I haven't found it.

That hasn't changed how I feel.

"I couldn't tell her much about my life, but she knew a little bit. It's necessary to gain their trust. So she thought we were friends and...you know the brain is complex. I cared about her. You can't not after getting that close to someone over months and months. Unless you're a sociopath."

"You couldn't. You're a good man, Ryder." Savannah runs her fingers over my skin.

"I'm not that good. I've killed. You need to remember that."

"To protect. To stay alive."

Killing is killing.

It does the same thing to your soul.

Taking a life is far more impactful than people know. All these randoms walking around armed, they have no fucking idea what they have in their hands. Not really.

I spent years watching children in the Middle East walking around with machine guns, playing. But they aren't toys.

No gun is a toy.

Whether you rationalize it for war or protection.

It is designed to kill.

The fucking end.

How many people could look at themselves in the mirror every day if they killed someone?

It's easy to say you could.

The reality is far different.

"For reasons I can't share, I turned up at our meeting place just days before the mission was going to take place, and..."

I roll onto my back.

Fuck.

It's hard to think about let alone talk about, but now I'm back there watching it happen like a movie in my mind.

Worse few seconds of my life.

The horror on her face. The pleading in her eyes. The knowledge that there was nothing I could do and that I may have betrayed her.

I didn't.

But I never got the chance to tell her because in seconds everyone was screaming, and I knew he was going to detonate.

"He had a suicide vest on and a gun held at her temple. She was holding her little girl in her arms."

Aleaha Mahdi and her daughter Saarah.

"Oh, god." Savannah's hand flies to her mouth.

What the fuck am I doing? I can't talk about this, and no one needs to relive it with me. I brought Savannah here to celebrate, not load my war wounds on her.

I turn my head and see tears have filled her eyes. I reach out and pull her against my chest, rolling us so I can hold her tightly.

"Enough." I reach for the remote and turn the TV off as her tears leak onto the tattoos I burned into my skin so I'd never forget.

We fall asleep in each other's arms, our pains somehow less heavy because we shared them tonight.