Chapter 4

Whitney

Hot, I'm so hot, burning up in fact. I don't remember ever being this hot in my life, and there's something pressing against me. A gentle pressure that I'm feeling at the core of my body. Using my hand, I move down to where I feel the pressure, and feel hair. Prying my eyes open, I look down, only to see Ryan's head between my legs.

"Oh my God," I breathe out as I feel his tongue lick up against my clit. His fingers grip the flesh of my thighs, holding them open with his shoulders to give himself room. "Don't stop," I beg him, grasping the tips of his hair, yanking his mouth closer to me.

I'm grinding against his tongue, wondering how long he's been doing this because I'm there already. Normally it takes me a while to loosen up, to let myself go and feel. My ex-husband, he never went down, so this is a treat I wasn't expecting. I've also never been woken up for sex, so I'm going to enjoy this while I can. Three ticks off the "never done before" list in less than twenty-four hours. I'm feeling mighty proud of myself.

Pressing my body down against his face, I'm trying to widen my thighs even more when he inserts two fingers inside of me and then uses his tongue to flick my clit. That's all it takes. I can't stop moving, rotating my thighs to try to get closer. I'm screaming, grasping hold of his hair. He's with me the entire way, never letting up no matter which way I move. Ryan sticks with me, his lips never detach from mine.

Pushing against his head, I move him. "Please, so sensitive." My words are still slurred, but I think this time I'm sex drunk instead of wine drunk.

He lets go, then uses his hands on my thighs to flip me over onto my stomach.

In the darkness, I hear his words, rough with sleep and hard with arousal. "Grab the headboard, Whitney."

Ohhh, this is also something I've only ever done a few times. I like this side of Ryan. I try to tell him, but as he thrusts inside me, the breath and words are taken from my throat. "Shit," I let my head fall against the headboard, resting my hot cheek against the cool wood. It's the one thing that's keeping me grounded. The way he's pounding into me makes me feel like I can fly.

"What did you say to me earlier tonight, Whit?" he pants into my ear as he layers himself over my body. His sweaty chest slips against my back. "You needed a red handprint on your ass?"

I'm trying to think as I tilt my head back, sucking in air, trying to focus my eyes. "I think, oh God," he grips my hip as he pushes even deeper. "I think that's what I said," I pant, grabbing for anything I can use to anchor myself.

He lifts himself up and that's when I feel his palm connect with my ass cheek. It shocks me, making me scream, but in a really good way.

"That what you wanted?"

It's everything I wanted and more. "Yes!"

And then I can't form anymore words as he smacks my flesh again before he grips my hips, resting his forehead on my back. The only thing I can hear are his grunts and the deep intake of both our lungs trying to get oxygen, before I feel him erupt inside of me.

Turning me onto my side, he spoons me from behind, using his index finger to flick my clit. I feel myself fly again as I explode.

One thing is for sure. I won't ever forget this night. Those are the last thoughts I have before sleep overtakes me again.

* * *

The sun is bright as it tries to invade the darkness of my closed eyes. I moan, those rays feel like safety pins poking small holes in the blanket of my eye lids. I've never felt like this before, even when I was a college co-ed and indulged in a few frat parties. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I am hot, so hot. Which is weird, because I'm usually freezing. I reach down to pull the cover off me, only to figure out that I can't pull it off, it's heavy – as if something has pinned it down or snagged the edge. Even as I grunt and yank with all my might, I can't make it budge.

I pry an eye open and glance to the other side of the bed. Laying there, with the blanket down to his waist and half of it wrapped around him is Ryan Kepler. What in the world is he doing in my bed? I gasp, because there's nothing else for me to do, as I move away from him. It's then that I feel the soreness between my thighs and memories of the night before flash through my head like a movie. It's almost as if I'm outside my body watching us as they flood back to me. I slept with my little brother's best friend. Holy shit! My movements must disturb him because he rolls so he's facing me and gives me the hottest smile I've ever seen in my life. It makes every part of my body tingle and tremble. Every part he touched last night relives it right there in that moment.

"Morning."

His voice is everything, it makes me close my eyes as I let it run through me. It's rough and deep with sleep, tinted with the southern accent of our hometown, and I can hear all the words he said to me last night as he thrust his body into mine. It causes my face to burn, and I know right now that I have to get him out of my bed, out of my house, out of my life. I can't believe what I've done. I'm an addict that's taken her first hit of heroin.

"Morning," I tell him back as I get up, hugging the comforter to my naked body. I push the sheet towards him, hoping he remains covered. My eyes don't meet his. I can't bring myself to do it, I can't make myself look at him and lay myself bare, it's not how I'm hardwired – not after five years of marriage to a man who ended up either scaring or humiliating me on an almost daily basis.

There's a sigh, and I realize that it's not mine. It's his.

"So that's how it's going to be?" His tone doesn't mask the hurt.

"What do you mean?" I can plainly hear the disappointment. I'm still not meeting his eyes, can't stand to see what the look in them must be.

"You know exactly what I mean, Whitney," this time it's clipped and pissed.

I hear him fling the sheet off and brace myself for the raised voice, the accusation, the humiliation, but it doesn't come. Nothing happens and that makes me even more nervous. Finally curiosity wins out and I have to know what's going on. I lift my eyes and see him looking at me as he quietly puts his clothes on with jerky movements.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, because I am. I wish this could be different; wish like hell that I could be different. But I'm not. I haven't been able to move on that far yet, and I don't know when I'll ever be able to.

His face is dark, the beard growth covering his cheeks and chin, his hair is an absolute mess, and he looks dangerous with his chest exposed, tattoo showing. "You got what you wanted didn't you? You proved to yourself that the fuckface you married didn't break you completely. That's what you needed – right?"

He has this all wrong. It is what I needed, but not this way. Yes it was about using each other, but I never wanted it to feel cheap, and this morning, that's exactly how it feels. "You don't understand," I shake my head. "You're too young to get it."

His head snaps up, and now he's pissed. Before he had been irritated, now there's a rage. I can feel it coming off him in waves, see it in the way his eyes narrow. The words he flings with his irritation exposed, hits me harder than any fists ever could. "Don't tell me how young I am, Whitney. I've seen and done things you can't even imagine."

While I'm sure that's true, I have ten years of life experience on him and I can't say that I'm proud of what I did last night. If someone had slept with my brother and they were my age, there would definitely be some judgement – mine included – pointed toward them. I can't change that I feel a little dirty about what I've done.

I try again, using the tone I use with customers who are upset about the service they've received. It doesn't happen often, but I do know how to soothe ruffled feathers. "I don't want to offend you."

"Too late, sweetheart," he says as he yanks the shirt over his head, blocking my view of that tattoo.

"This isn't how I meant for this to go," I try again, holding the blanket against my middle. I can recognize that I'm bent over trying to disappear into myself, making my body smaller as not to attract his attention. I always have to explain myself, I always have to make sure that I'm understood, it gives me anxiety not to be understood.

He finishes putting his clothes on and then sits down on the bed, covering his feet with boots. When he gets up and buttons his jeans, he walks over to me. Ryan raises his hands and I immediately pull into myself, flinching away from him, without meaning to.

Awareness flashes in his eyes, and then his jaw sets even harder than it was. "Jesus, Whit," he whispers.

I try to keep the tears out of my eyes, but it doesn't work. "Yeah," I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, looking anywhere but at him. There's nothing else to say. He now knows every humiliation I've suffered.

His touch is tender as he cups my face in his palms. They're warm and I want to bury myself there, let him make all of my hurts better. I'm not sure I can ever give anyone that power over me again, though. "I think I do understand, and you shouldn't have kept that from anyone," he swallows hard, sighing again. "And if this is what you needed, then I'm glad I could be the man to give it to you."

"Thank you," I tell him. I'm so grateful for him. I'm so thankful that he gave me back this part of myself, even if only for a few hours.

"Doesn't mean that it doesn't kill me, because there's so much I want to say to you right now, but I know you aren't ready for it."

He's right, I'm not ready for anything more than this, at all, and I'm lucky that he recognizes it and is man enough to realize this isn't about him. It's about me. This is all completely about me.

"I'll never forget what you did for me," I tell him, clearing my throat. "Last night means the world to me."

He opens his mouth but doesn't say anything. He rocks on the balls of his feet, then shakes his head.

Leaning forward he kisses me, softly but thoroughly, leaving an imprint on me that I'm not sure will ever go away.

He lets me go and walks towards the doorway of the bedroom, but he turns at the last minute. "I'm gonna be honest, because this could be my only chance," he stops and takes a breath, seems to collect himself. "You'll never know how much this," he waves his arms towards the bed, "means to me."

With that he's gone, and I'm left to try and process just what in the world I've done. Those consequences I was damning last night hurt in the harsh daylight of the morning.