Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

GABBY

Nathan: Haven’t heard from you in a while. Heard you moved away. Want to tell me what’s going on in your life?

Do I want to tell my ex, who I’ve eliminated from my life, what I’m up to now? Yeah, pass.

It’s not the first text I’ve received from him since we broke up, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I just ignore them and move on with my life because that’s the healthy thing to do.

Speaking of moving on . . .

This shower is phenomenal. I hate to admit it, but I’m jealous because it’s much better than the one in my apartment. The water pressure is significantly better, and I can really feel the water slice the crud off me. It’s not that I have a lot of crud on my skin, but you get it.

The showerhead has more holes, so it feels like tiny needles poking me—trust me, it feels good.

And there’s more room, a place for me to rest my foot while I shave, and a fan above so all the steam from the shower gets sucked right out of the room.

Kind of wish this was the bathroom in my apartment.

I can’t complain, though. Mine is much better than other places I’ve stayed in before.

I finish drying off and start applying my lotion. When I arrived today for my nightly shower, there wasn’t anyone around. The house almost felt . . . eerie. So, instead of looking for Ryland, I helped myself to the bathroom. Is this showering setup in a separate building from my apartment slightly inconvenient? Yeah, but I don’t mind the water pressure.

Once I’m done with my lotion, I decide to brush my teeth and do my skin routine. Then I put my things in my bin and slide it in the cabinets under the sink. Since I’ll be here for a bit, I might as well make myself comfortable.

With my robe tucked tightly around me and my dirty clothes in hand, I turn off the light and head out of the bathroom. I make my way down the hallway, ready to bolt out of the house, when I’m startled to a stop by the sight of Ryland sitting at the kitchen table, both elbows propped up on the table, hands digging into his hair.

That doesn’t look like a pleased position.

For a moment, I think about just leaving and not bothering to ask him if everything is okay, but the small, curious part of me really wants to know what’s going on. Maybe see that brooding frown of his that I seem to enjoy so much.

So I clear my throat and say, “Water pressure is great in there.”

He lifts up only slightly to take in my silk robe and wet hair. He then brings his attention back to the table. “Glad to hear it.”

Ooof, something must be really bothering him.

“Is there something troubling you?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers, surprising me. I half expected him to be like everything is fucking great and encourage me to be on my merry way.

“Oh, uh, want to talk about it? Maybe share a beer?” Not sure where that suggestion came from. What if he says yes? Do I really share a beer?

“I don’t drink when I’m in charge of Mac,” he grumbles.

“Not even one?”

He leans back in his chair now, and I feel his eyes scan my body before they meet my face. “Not even one.” His legs are spread, his forearms casually draped on his thighs in front of him, his chin ever so slightly tilted upward. It’s the kind of pose that screams don’t fuck with me because he’s ready to fight. And I hate that I find it incredibly attractive.

“Okay . . . then do you want to chat about it?”

“Not really,” he says as his eyes drop to the slit in my robe.

My body heats up as I feel the intense gaze of those sultry eyes scanning every last inch of my lotioned-up leg.

Swallowing, I ask, “Are you sure? You look distraught.”

He pushes away from the table and stands, his eyes remaining on me.

Oh God . . .

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says as he starts walking toward me.

What’s he going to do?

My heart hammers in my chest with every step, the tension in his shoulders stiffening his body, giving him the kind of swagger no man should ever have.

But that’s how it’s been with every interaction.

This push and pull between us.

Right now, it’s a whole lot of pull.

“Okay.” As he approaches, it’s hard not to stare at the way his shirt clings to his broad chest or imagine what the scruff on his jaw would feel like between my legs again. I’ve felt it before, and I’d love to feel it tonight despite my brain telling me it’s a bad idea.

When he reaches me, he pauses and leans close. “You smell fucking amazing.” Then he moves past me, his shoulder rubbing against mine as he makes his way into the bathroom and turns off the fan.

I’m humming.

My entire body went from relaxed from the showerhead to now overheated and needy.

It’s time to bolt before I do something stupid.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it, then I guess I should head back.”

He leans against the doorway, eyes on me, arms folded. “Yeah, maybe you should.”

It’s a warning.

I can see it in his eyes.

If I stay, I’m subject to whatever is warring inside him.

Now the question is, what will I choose?

It’s an easy answer. Take a few steps toward that door and let your pace propel you out of this house and up those apartment stairs.

I don’t want to mess with him.

But then, I look back at him, at that devilish glare, and memories of the night we shared come flooding in. God, he was so good. The best I’ve ever had. It was addicting, getting that one taste and having to quit him after that. Torture, actually.

And now that he’s here, my neighbor, the man whose shower I use when the sun settles, it’s hard not to think back to that night and imagine what it would feel like if he took me by my hair, lowered me down, and let me suck him.

Let him bend me over.

Let him fuck me.

“You’re not moving,” he says.

“I’m . . . I’m thinking.”

He pushes off the wall, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “What are you thinking about?”

How much I told myself I wasn’t going to do this.

How he told me there’s no way he’d ever go near me again.

How this moment, right here, our eyes connected, hunger in both, was completely off the table.

“N-nothing,” I say, my breath starting to seize in my lungs.

Leave, Gabby.

Just leave.

He moves forward again, his swagger a drug as he stands right in front of me. “You’re thinking, but you’re thinking about nothing. Tell me how that makes sense.” He tucks a stray piece of wet hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek.

“It doesn’t,” I answer.

“Then why say it?”

“Because . . .”

“Because why?” he presses.

I try to look away, but he grips my chin and forces me to keep eye contact. And with the three seconds that our eyes meet, I know this is a losing battle. There’s no way I’m leaving this house without getting fucked.

Not with the mood he’s in.

Not with my neediness.

Not with this electricity bouncing between us.

So I say, “I didn’t want you to know what I was really thinking about.”

“Why not?” He moves an inch closer.

“Because of the conversation we had out in the driveway.”

He nods in understanding. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

I shake my head. “You don’t want to know.”

His hand falls to my hip, right next to the tie in my robe. “I really fucking do.”

My mouth goes dry.

My nipples grow hard.

And a dull throb erupts between my legs as I search his beautiful eyes.

This is him giving me the go-ahead.

This is him saying yes.

I wet my lips. “I was thinking about how I’d love to drop to my knees and suck you off,” I whisper. Why can’t I breathe?

His eyes turn dark as his hand grows tighter, his fingers inching up to the knot of my robe.

“Is that all you were thinking about?”

I shake my head. “Not even a little.”

He wets his lips as his fingers play with the knot of my robe, loosening it. “I don’t want distractions.”

“Then you should’ve told me to leave.”

He loosens the strap completely so the robe falls open, exposing the center of my chest and all the way down. He slides his hand along my heated skin, his thick palm connecting with my bare hip.

“I really shouldn’t fucking do this,” he says as he moves in even closer.

“Then why are you?”

“Because I’m irritated. Because I need something to help me escape for a moment. Because ever since I saw you again, it’s all I’ve fucking thought about.” His hand glides up my side and rests at my rib cage. His thumb strokes the underside of my breast, firing off every nerve ending.

It’s all I’ve thought about too.

It’s all I want.

My chest heaves, and I want him to move his hand up higher to capture me right where I desire him.

And just as I’m about to say something, his other hand connects with my skin, this one sliding up the front of my stomach, right between my breasts and then all the way up to the base of my neck where he grips me just enough to turn me on more than I could ever imagine.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his thumb stroking just below my nipple.

I shake my head. “Never.”

“Please, Gabby, tell me you don’t want this.” He brings his head closer to mine. “Stop me.”

“If I did, it would be a lie.” I slide my finger through the belt loop of his jeans and tug him closer.

“I need you to stop this.”

Instead of listening to him, I undo his jeans and then slide my hand under his briefs, connecting with his stiff length. I shouldn’t. I’ll be his assistant soon, and he doesn’t even know it. But how can I resist this? It was just so, so good last time. It’s his fault I’m so needy. So desperate. “I want to keep going.”

He hisses and bends his head forward as I start stroking him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, taking a deep breath.

“Touch me, Ryland. Play with me. Make me come again.”

I squeeze his cock, causing him to growl. He picks me up by the waist and carries me to the bathroom, then shuts the door. Setting me on the counter, he slides the robe off my shoulders so it’s resting in the crevice of my elbows and grips my neck again.

Looking me dead in the eyes, he says, “I need you fucking quiet, got it?”

I nod, only for him to drop down, spread my legs over his shoulders, and bring his mouth to my center.

“Oh fuck,” I say as his tongue makes a long, languid stroke right up my slit.

He pauses and looks up at me. “I said fucking quiet. Do it again, and we’re done.”

I seal my lips tight and nod.

Then he disappears between my legs again, and it’s the best feeling ever.

The scruff on his jaw rubs against my inner thighs while his tongue laps at me, driving against my clit. He tugs on me, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter, then spreads me wider. He brings his hand up my stomach and right to my breast, his palm brushing against my hard nipple.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Play with me.”

His dexterous fingers find my nipple, and he starts rolling it. Tugging ever so slightly, he brings me to pleasure so fast that I almost feel embarrassed.

It should not be this easy. I should not get worked up this fast, but oh my God, with what he’s doing between my legs and the way he’s playing with my breasts, I can’t stop myself.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m close.”

He pulls away for a moment. “Already?”

I nod, feeling my breaths grow heavy.

“Then I need to slow down.”

I shake my head. “No, please don’t.”

But he doesn’t listen. He stands and tears off his shirt. I take a moment to appreciate his chest and all the muscular divots. He’s so fit with his bulky arms and thick forearms . . . and those hands. God, I fucking love his hands. Large, thick, and ready to take charge when you give him permission.

Weapons.

Those hands have created chaos in the past.

So goddamn sexy that I want him to create chaos now.

From his back pocket, he takes out his wallet and then snags a condom. Thank God for that. He then pushes his pants and briefs down, revealing his perfect cock.

Yes, perfect.

It has just enough girth not to be too intimidating but to stretch me out and fill me up. His incredible length hits me in a spot no other man has. And it’s beautiful. Mouth-watering. So delicious that I find myself sliding off the counter and right beneath him where I cup his balls, then drag my tongue all the way up his length.

He lets out a low, drugged hiss as his hand connects with my face, his thumb passing over my cheek.

“I love your cock,” I say right before I take it into my mouth and pump him with my hand. In tandem, I suck and squeeze, working his length all the way down to the bottom and then back up.

I roll his balls in my hand, playing with the seam of his scrotum.

And when I pull off him and look up, I see just how lost he gets in my touch.

It’s empowering.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he says as he encourages me to take him in my mouth again, which I do. I take him all the way to the back of my throat, then gag, so he can feel the way his cock controls me. He lets out a low groan and thrusts to the back of my throat. My eyes water, but I let him do it one more time before I pull away. I flatten my tongue and lick him up to the tip, then down to his balls where I run the tip of my tongue along his seam. I flick at his balls, teasing him, edging him.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles right before I work my way back up to his tip. I suck him in, only to the head. I swirl my tongue around and around.

I’m loving the way his chest muscles fire off. How his thighs squeeze tightly. And how his hand sifts through my hair, as if I’m the lifeline he needs.

When I bring him all the way back to my throat again, he stiffens and lets out a garbled sound before stepping away. He backs up against the wall, staring down at me, his eyes full of wonderment and hunger.

“I need that pussy.” Then he hands me his condom and I sheath him, only for him to move to the covered toilet. He takes a seat and leans back, then in the sexiest way possible, he beckons me with two fingers. “Get over here.”

Drenched and so fucking ready for him, I walk over to him. He spins me around, then gently guides me down to his lap. I reach between us, angle his cock, and let him sink into me as I lower the rest of the way.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against my exposed shoulder. “You’re so goddamn perfect. Love this cunt.”

I lean back against his chest and swivel my hips as his hands find my breasts. He massages them, using his palms, letting my nipples move across his fingers as he squeezes.

“So wet. So responsive.”

“You’re huge. God . . . so fucking big,” I whisper as I get lost in the way he controls me.

I swivel over him, seeking out my own pleasure, letting him thrust into me, play with me. It’s all too good.

So freaking good.

And as I rest against his chest, getting played with by this man, he wets two of his fingers and rubs my clit, heightening the experience. Creating a tingle that moves through my arms and legs.

“Yes,” I lightly moan, keeping it quiet as I rock my hips, taking charge of the pace, because now that he’s rubbing my clit, I can feel my need for release close in. “Right there, Ryland. Right . . . there.”

Adrenaline spikes through me.

Need pummels into my chest.

“Shit, you’re close. I can feel it.”

“So close,” I say.

He then pushes me forward, so far forward that I place my hands on the floor in front of me as he scoots to the edge of the toilet.

He grips my hips tightly, and he moves them up and down at such a rapid pace, letting his cock rub against me in such a delicious way that I turn feral.

I want this release.

I need this release.

I squeeze around him, letting him feel how tight I can be, and it’s what he needs as he stands now and starts pounding into me. His pace is relentless, thrusting over and over again.

“That’s it, Gabby. Squeeze my cock.”

I squeeze again when he slams into me, and he’s anything but quiet about it, like he told me. He groans and because I like how unleashed it makes him, I do it again.

And again.

And one more time before I feel my orgasm building to a point of no return.

“Right . . . there,” I say right before my orgasm rips through me, the pleasure so intense that my body goes limp. The only reason I’m still standing is because Ryland is holding me up.

It takes him a few more strokes, but as I convulse around him, he stills and then lets out a low groan, coming inside me.

“Fuck,” he says sharply as he catches his breath and helps me back up to a standing position.

His hand is wrapped around my stomach, holding me close to his undulating chest. We both stand there for a moment, my vision coming back to me while he slowly starts to regulate his breath.

After a few seconds, he releases me, gets rid of his condom by folding it up in toilet paper and tossing it in the trash, and then he turns to me and helps me adjust my robe so it’s back on my shoulders. While I’m cinching it back up, he dresses himself. And when we’re both decent, he sticks his hands in his pockets and shyly smiles as if he wasn’t just the commanding alpha a few seconds ago.

It’s adorable.

Hot.

And is making me think crazy thoughts in my head like . . . maybe I could stay a little longer and we could do this again. But when his eyes shift to the door, I realize that thought is a fleeting one.

This is a one-time thing, Gabby.

Keep it that way.

I wait for a moment to see if he’s going to say something, anything, but as he remains silent, my nerves get the best of me, and before I can stop myself, I say, “Uh, sorry if that was?—”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” he growls, his brows pinched together in irritation that I would even consider apologizing.

“Right.” I nod. He’s right, I should not apologize. I never apologize about sex, so why start now? “Um, are you feeling better?”

He pushes his hand through his hair. “I mean . . . how could I not?”

That makes my cheeks blush as he reaches for the door, and I lead the way out to the kitchen. Not a child in sight, which is a good thing. We didn’t make enough noise to wake her up.

“Is it anything you want to talk about?” I ask. “You know, now that you’re more . . . relaxed.” God, I can still feel him between my legs.

I can still feel the scrape of his beard.

And I know I have his scent all over me. It’s intoxicating me as I attempt to act as casual as possible.

“Just work stuff. I coach baseball, and they hired a new assistant, and well, they’re taking a lot of control out of my hands, and I hate that.”

I blanch.

God, what was I thinking?

This man is my landlord.

My boss.

And here I am, freely dropping to my knees.

But fuck, it’s Ryland Rowley. He’s so good. Everything about him.

So good.

“And I don’t handle situations well when I don’t have control,” he continues.

My mouth goes dry, and I don’t know what to say when his eyes meet mine.

I really don’t.

Because, as Taylor Swift would say, I’m the problem . . . it’s me.

“But I don’t need to bore you with that shit.” He lets out a deep breath. “Anyway, this probably shouldn’t happen again.”

I nod, feeling like this is some sort of out-of-body experience. “Yeah, probably not.”

“It’s too risky.”

“Right,” I say.

“And . . . addictive,” he says, his eyes reaching mine.

I swallow, all the worries and the anxiety over the situation taking over. What the hell do I do? Do I report to the school and tell them I can’t take the job? When Ryland finds out it’s me, he might have a heart attack, especially if they’re giving him a hard time.

And God, I just had sex with him again.

He’s going to think I’m fucking with him. When, in reality, this is just sort of all a coincidence. I thought I bombed the interview. I didn’t think I would get the job, so the one night with Ryland was very appealing. Now that I have the job and he’s my landlord and my boss, things are more complicated.

Maybe . . . maybe I just need to go to the school tomorrow and smooth things over with the principal because I don’t want them making any special concessions for me.

The last thing I need is for Ryland to be pissed at me. Not only because he holds the key to my shower rights but also because I genuinely don’t think he needs the extra layer of stress in his life.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go.”

He nods. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” I answer awkwardly, then bolt out of there as quickly as I can.

I need to make an action plan and make one quick before this all blows up in my face.