Exposed by Kristen Callihan
Chapter Eleven
Rye
The elevator rises,and my thumb beats a bass line onto my thigh. It plays harmony with the insistent thud-thud-thud of my heart. I’m horny as fuck and nervous as a stray cat. I start humming “Stray Cat Strut” and get side-eye from an older guy stuck in the elevator with me. I’d forgotten he was there. With his tweed suit and thin, gray mustache, he reminds me of my English grandfather, and I have to fight the compulsion to stand straight, maybe check my shirt for wrinkles.
It’s enough to make me laugh at myself under my breath.
“Do yourself a favor,” he says with a slight smile. “Don’t sing that song to her when you get there.”
I snap to attention. The hell? Is he a mind reader?
He shakes his head at my apparent ignorance. “Wore that same expression the first night I slept with my now-wife. Knew it mattered, and that scared the bloody hell out of me.” The elevator doors open to his floor. He gives me a small salute. “Good luck.”
The doors slide shut again, and I catch sight of myself in the bronze matte-metal panels. I look…hungry, impatient. Scared.
I have to laugh at myself again. Because I am freaked. Brenna James has me by the balls, and I don’t want her to let go.
The smile is gone by the time I get to the door and she opens it. For a second I just drink her in. She hasn’t changed out of the flowing knee-length skirt made of some gauzy violet fabric. I remember the cool kiss of it along the back of my hands as I slid them up her hot, silky thighs. She has on a white top that doesn’t hide the fact that she’s taken off her bra. The soft knit clings to the small mounds of her breasts, lovingly outlining the hard points of her nipples.
My abs contract painfully as my dick rises. I haven’t yet seen her tits. It’s a travesty. I’ve spent countless hours fantasizing about what they look like, how they’d feel against my hands, in my mouth. Years of dreaming, wanting, waiting.
God knows I want her. But it’s the look in her pretty hazel eyes, soft with desire yet wide with trepidation, that really gets to me. Elevator guy was right; it’s different when it matters. She matters. Of course, she matters. She’s been a part of me for so long, I wouldn’t know how to function if she were gone.
Going after her shifted the foundations of our shared world. She’s right to worry. It is definitely a risk doing this. For the first time in my life, I won’t be able to keep emotion out of the equation. Maybe she can; I don’t know. But if this goes south, I’ll be wrecked.
Maybe she reads the fear in my face because a wrinkle forms between the wings of her brows. “Rye…We don’t have to—”
I step into the apartment, closing the door behind me, then cup her cheeks and kiss her slow and easy. She’s delicious. Perfect. My heart squeezes in the cage of my chest. It flips over when she sighs into my mouth. I kiss her again. Again.
Soft. Light. Just feeling her lips. They’re a revelation.
Letting her go was never an option.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper into her sweet mouth.
As if she’s been waiting to hear that, she yields, sagging against me. Her hands slide up my chest, spreading shivers of pleasure in their wake. With a grunt of approval, I lift her in my arms and head for the bedroom. Whatever comment she might have made over me carrying her is lost to my mouth because I can’t stop kissing her.
When I get to Brenna’s room, I set her down by the bed. A single bedside light is the only illumination. I’m tempted to turn more on. I want to see everything in vivid color. But that might break the spell, so I stay where I am, my fingers trailing along the sides of her neck, touching the curve of her jaw.
For all the assurances I made, all my damn bragging about being good at this, now that I have her here, I don’t know what to do. I know how to fuck. I excel at fucking. This isn’t fucking. I’m not sure what to call it. But it’s definitely more.
Brenna stares up at me. Out of her heels, she’s much shorter. I’m struck by the difference in our sizes. She’s tall for a woman, but I top her by at least a foot. Her slim frame is delicate and fragile compared to mine. My hands feel too big, my body clunky. Shit. I’m half afraid I’ll damage her with one wrong move.
“Will you take your hair down?” I ask. She rarely lets it down, to the point that seeing Brenna without her standard ponytail feels like a gift.
Silently holding my gaze, she reaches up and pulls the tie out. Her hair falls over her shoulders and nearly to her waist in a river of deep auburn. My fingers thread through the shining mass, and it slides like silk over my skin.
She closes her eyes, a small sigh escaping. I step closer to massage her scalp, and she tilts her head back with a groan of relief. I kiss the pale arc of her neck. She’s wearing that perfume, the one that smells of sun-ripe peaches, dark honey, and rum. Pure sex on her. My tongue flicks the hollow near her shoulder.
Goosebumps rise on her skin. I brush my lips over them. I need to do this right, take my time to give her the proper attention.
But she takes a step back, her fingers curling around my wrists. “I don’t want slow. Or gentle.”
It’s clear by her tone and the way she’s drawing into herself that she needs a certain amount of distance here. Disappointment kicks me in the chest.
“Okay.” Thankfully, my voice is steady. “What do you want?”
She exhales in a rush before biting the inside of her cheek. “I want to see you.”
God, the anticipatory gleam in her eyes. She wants me naked. A bolt of heat spears my gut. “I can do that.”
Ordinarily, I’d reach behind my head and haul my shirt off. But I know she wants a show. Toeing off my boots and socks, I straighten and slowly tug my shirt up by the hem, flexing every damn muscle I’ve got. I’m suddenly thankful for the hours I put in the gym, the years I’ve spent dancing, sweating, and strumming on countless hot stages.
Her lips part, and she licks them as I toss the shirt aside. Millions of fans have seen me without a shirt. Yet I’ve never felt more seen than at this moment.
She focuses on my lower abs. I’m not going to object. Not when her nostrils flare as I pop the button of my jeans and slowly draw down the zip. I push my jeans and underwear off in one go, and my hard cock bobs free.
“God,” she whispers.
“You’re making me feel like one.” My body thrums with need. I palm my dick once to alleviate the ache, but she distracts me, stepping forward and tracing the skull flanked by black angel wings inked across my upper chest.
“I’ve always wanted to touch you here,” she murmurs.
My throat closes. I swallow hard but can’t seem to say a damn word.
Her fingertips drift down to my nipple and the silver barbell piercing it. She twists the barbell a little, and I swear I nearly whimper again. As it is, my dick twitches, trying its damnedest to get her attention. But she’s fascinated by my piercings.
It’s sexy as fuck, the way she plays with me, tweaking and pulling just enough to make me crazed.
“Brenna…” I’m begging. But, holy hell, she’s killing me.
She presses her palms into my chest, just holding them there, and no doubt feeling the wild beat of my heart. “I know I said I wanted you to take control. But tonight…”
Without another word, I understand her. She’s too nervous. Our first time. It’s still a little unreal that we’re actually here. “I’ll give you whatever you want, Berry.”
Amber eyes gleam as they meet mine. “Get on the bed.”
Oh, hell.
I do as she commands, reclining on my elbows to watch her. She reaches under her skirt and pulls off her panties. My breath catches, my fingers digging into the comforter. But she doesn’t take anything else off and, instead, starts walking toward the bed.
I don’t know what to make of it. She isn’t getting naked.
“You’re just going to use me for a ride, then?” I ask, as she crawls onto the bed and hovers over me. My chest suddenly feels like lead. I’d told her I’d give her anything she needs, but ironically, I never realized I’d need things too.
She pauses, her face inches from mine. I see her hesitation but also her joy. She’s happy. “Just this first time.” She hesitates again before forging on. “It’s a fantasy.”
Oh. Well, then. A smile spreads over my lips. “To fuck me while I’m naked and you’re fully clothed?”
God, she’s cute when she blushes. “Yes. And to do other things.”
I don’t get to ask what those other things are. She shows me, dipping down to kiss the center of my chest. My breath leaves in a rush.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” She says it with such breathless appreciation that I’m at a loss for words. I can only smile at her like a dazed fool. I want to touch her, kiss her. But she wants to play with me, and I’m more than willing to let her.
Brenna’s lips find my nipple, now stiff from her previous torture. When she draws it into her wet mouth, I make a noise. Not a whimper. Oh, fuck, it is, because she’s licking and sucking, and I’m going to fucking lose it.
My head falls back, tremors running down my chest and thighs.
“Bren…”
She smiles against my chest, confident now that she has me where she wants. I can only lie there and take it as she trails kisses down the center of my abs. The silk of her hair skims over my dick, and I hiss. Soft lips brush the swollen head. A light kiss I feel in my toes. It’s the only warning I get before she sucks me in deep. A groan tears out of me, and I arch my back.
“Oh, fuck. Jesus. Fuck.”
I thrust once into her mouth before I get a hold of myself. But it’s too good. She’s a damn pro. A dick-sucking goddess. I slump back onto the bed, throwing my forearm over my eyes. I’m gonna come. I can’t come, because then she’ll stop.
“Brenna.”
She hums, her tongue flicking over the sensitive tip, fingers gripping my shaft. White-hot heat licks up my balls. I groan again, biting my lip. She sucks me like I’m candy, like I’m the best thing she’s ever tasted. Sweat breaks out over my skin.
“Bren. Have mercy.”
Through the curtain of her hair, she looks up at me. The sight of her pink lips stretched wide around the hard shaft of my cock nearly does me in. My abs clench tight.
“Please.” Yes, I’m begging.
She releases my dick with a devious, prolonged pop. Then licks her lips.
This woman. She’s going to kill me.
I think I fall a little in love when she pulls a condom from the waistband of her skirt. My dick definitely does when she deftly rolls the condom down its throbbing length, finishing with a nice squeeze as if to say, I’m gonna take care of you now.
I’m so hot for her, my head is spinning, while my body practically burns with need. My voice is guttural when I find the ability to speak. “Fuck me, Bren.”
She grins wide. I love that. Love her confidence. Despite the fact that I’m on edge and panting, I find myself grinning back as she climbs onto the bed and begins to straddle me.
“Lift your skirt,” I rasp.
Brenna pauses and meets my eyes.
“I need to see that much. Let me…” I lick my trembling lips. “Let me see that pretty pussy taking my cock.”
Knees on either side of my hips, she hovers, and then her fingers gather up the loose folds of her silky skirt. Oh, so slowly, she reveals slim, milk-white thighs, and then… I groan.
She’s wet, glistening and plump. Rosy lips peek out, begging for a kiss. Beautiful.
“Is this what you want?” she whispers.
“Yes.” A tremor breaks my voice. “I want it so bad.”
Her breath catches, and she gives me a sly look from under her lashes. “I’m holding my skirt up. You’re going to have to put that big dick in me, buttercup.”
We’re laughing softly, but I’m hot as a furnace. I’ve never done this, played with someone in bed. Never laughed and felt both light as air and yet strung tight as a wire. It’s her. She makes it different.
Our laughter dies, though, when I take hold of myself and slide the swollen tip over her sex.
Hands shaking, I rub my dick in her wetness. “Ride me, Bren.”
She sinks down but doesn’t get far because I’m too fucking hard and big to go in easily. The crown of my cock notches into the tight, hot heat of her, and all my practiced finesse dies with a harsh, strangled moan. “Oh, fuck. Look at you stretching to take me. Look at how pretty you are.”
With a whimper and a wiggle, she pushes harder, and a little more of my dick slips inside heaven.
“Fuck,” I rasp. “Fuck. Bren…” My hand flies to her hip, holding her steady, stopping her. Which is crazy because all I want to do is fuck her until I can’t move. But I’m too close, already teetering at the edge. My head feels light and hot, as though it might float away.
Panting, she stares down at me, a question clouding her eyes.
“I can’t…” I swallow thickly. “I might not make it for long this time. It’s been too many years of wanting you.”
A small, purely feminine smile curls her lips. “You can take it.” Then she takes my hand and sets it on her thigh. Her fingers twine with mine. I clutch them like a lifeline.
Brenna’s eyes flutter as she circles her hips on a moan. Teasing me. By the light of the lamp, she’s shadows and curves and gleaming skin. God, the way she rocks just a bit, working herself onto me. I count to ten, take deep breaths, and shiver like it’s my first time.
Halfway in, her eyes snap open, and her gaze meets mine. Emotion grabs me by the throat, and all I can do is stare up at her, this woman who has tormented me for a decade. This woman who is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
The urge to thrust up and fuck into her until I can’t see straight rides me so high, I have to breathe through it, my fist winding into the sheets to keep steady. She’s looking at me like she’s lost. I see myself mirrored in those dark, amber eyes.
I don’t know what to say except, “I know.”
* * *
Brenna
“I know,”he says to me. He knows. Does he? I’m not sure I know. I can’t think properly. His hard cock is halfway inside me. It feels so good, so present, that I clench around him.
Rye grits his teeth. Sweat has broken out over his skin—all that smooth, rippling inked skin. Good glory, but he’s magnificent without clothes on. Built like a tank but with long, graceful lines. I wanted to lick him all over and stroke him like a big cat for hours. But his cock is even better. Thick, straight, and ruddy with arousal. I made that cock weep for me. I’d felt its meaty girth on my tongue, at the back of my throat.
I might have lingered and made him come, sucked him down, but I felt so empty, I needed more.
“Baby,” he says now, voice dancing the line between pleading and demanding. He needs more too.
It’s almost too much, this connection. Sex is supposed to be fun, a release. Instead, I’m aching, so hot I can’t breathe properly. He’s spreading me wide, invading, making himself well and truly known. There’s no ignoring a cock like his, or that it’s him. It’s primal and inescapable. That I’m experiencing this with Rye does funny things to my head, makes the room around me blur. All I can feel is him. He’s all I can see.
My head lolls to the side as I sway, working myself on his dick. Rye groans deep, his jaw clenching. Nostrils flaring, he puts his big hands on my thighs and thrusts, sliding home.
“Oh, shit,” I rasp, filled. Utterly filled.
For a moment we stare at each other, our breaths ragged, him in me, me on him. My lids lower, a warm, buttery sensation fluttering deep in my belly. Then, as if we’d planned it, we begin to move. And it’s…
It isn’t supposed to be like this the first time. We’re supposed to be fumbling along, learning what the other likes by trial and error. He’s not supposed to be fucking up into me at the perfect angle, each thrust hitting that pleasure spot so few ever find. We’ve barely started and already I’m at the edge, my body pulsing.
The worst thing is, it’s not solely how he moves; it’s his scent—crisp apples, heady pheromone. It’s the rough, greedy sounds he makes. It’s his body—wide, sturdy shoulders, narrow hips, abs bunching—as he clutches the folds of my skirt with white-knuckled fists. Everything works for me; a perfect storm.
We’ve been moving as one but not letting our eyes meet. I’m afraid of what he might see if I do. Of what I might see. Triumph? Happiness? Lust? Or maybe nothing. I’d been a coward refusing to take my clothes off, insisting on taking control when I want to relinquish it. The truth should cool the moment, but it doesn’t. Whatever has happened between us over the years doesn’t erase the fact that this man turns my body on like no other.
He hits that spot again and pleasure punches through me so acute, so good, I whimper, my fingers digging into the rock-hard caps of his shoulders.
Rye lifts his head, and his gaze sears me. His hips work faster, harder, our skin slapping together in a quick rhythm. It’s too much. My head is spinning, my body liquid heat. I’m too hot. I hate that clothes are still on my body, keeping my skin from his. But I’m unwilling to let go. Not yet. I work myself on him, grinding my hips against his.
Rye’s lips part. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”
He’s close. I can feel it in the urgency of his thrusts, in the way his breathing turns into light pants. He’s refraining from touching me. Because I told him I wanted to use his body without interference. Because I put that distance between us. But he’s looking at me with a plea in his eyes. He doesn’t want distance. He’s pulled taut as an over-tuned string.
My breath leaves in a rush. “Rye. Please.”
Permission.
His nostrils flare. His big, rough hand slides up my sweat-slicked thigh, his thumb finding my soaking clit, and then strums it. He plays my pussy with the effortless authority of the world-class bass player that he is. And all that twisted, hot need, all the pressure building up within me fractures.
My orgasm has edges, cutting in its pleasure. With a cry, I slump against him. “Rye.” My body jolts as another surge hits me. “Take over. Please.”
With a strangled groan, he flips me onto my back. Thickly muscled arms bracket my shoulders as he kisses me with something like desperation. Or maybe it’s me. I’m the one clinging to him, opening my mouth wider to taste more of him. Our kiss turns messy, and his lips slide to my neck, his breath coming in hot bursts. But then he lifts his head and looks down at my top.
“Off,” he rasps. “I need this off.”
“Yes.” I lift my arms, arch my back. I’m burning up. “Please. Please.”
He strips my top off with brisk efficiency but then pauses to stare. “Oh, hell,” he says thickly. “You’re beautiful. So much more than I ever…Shit, Bren.”
I like my breasts. I don’t need anyone to build me up. But the way he looks at me, his throat working as he swallows, like he needs a moment to soak me in, has my breath hitching. His big hand shakes as it glides up my side to engulf me in its rough-hewn warmth. Lightly, he trails the backs of his fingers over my nipples, playing with both of them as if he can’t help himself. A tender smile lifts his lips.
“Sweet little cupcakes,” he whispers, then ducks down to draw one swollen, tight nipple into his mouth. I groan at the sensation, arching up, and he sucks me deeper, tongue flickering as his other hand trails down my hip, getting caught up in the fabric of my skirt before finding the length of my thigh.
With strong, clever fingers, he massages me, running his hand down my leg to my calf.
“These legs,” he growls against my skin. “These gorgeous legs. Dreamed about these legs…”
His voice trails off on a groan before he hooks my knee over his shoulder. Spread wide for him. Rye gives my nipple one more sweet tug, then he starts to move again. Hard, forceful thrusts. Owning me.
Every weighty impact sets off sparks of heat and pleasure. Frantic, I circle my hips, lift up to meet his thrusts, my hands grabbing at his slippery shoulders, desperate for purchase. I need more. Harder. Deeper. More.
I’m not aware I’m saying it until he groans “fuck, yes” against my lips. He’s driving me into the bed, his hips snapping with relentless precision. And it’s so good. Too much. We’re no longer Brenna and Rye. There is only this pleasure, so big and full, I have to push into it until it takes me.
But he’s there, taking control, holding me down just like I need him to.
“Bren.” He’s begging, needing to know I’m pleased before he can find his release.
“Take it,” I pant. “Take it now.”
He complies, hand grasping my ass to gain purchase, that powerful body working for what it wants. We get a little messy, a little mean about it. My teeth sink into the meaty curve where his shoulder meets his neck, and he groans, curling himself over me as he breaks apart in my arms.
There is nothing—nothing—hotter than the sight of Rye Peterson coming. All those times being utterly turned on while watching him sweat on stage, thick muscles straining, lips parted as he throws his head back and loses himself to the music—they were just a prelude to this. Here, in this moment, he is beautiful, vulnerable, his body shuddering on a wordless cry.
It sets me off. My orgasm isn’t wild or mindless. It is relief, sweet and pure. It feels so good, so needed, a tear trickles from the corner of my eye.
With a grunt, Rye sags into me, his chest heaving. We’re so close, I feel his heart thudding against my breasts, each deep breath of air he draws in. Trembling fingers trace my brow, his parted lips touching my cheek. He’s too spent to kiss me; he simply breathes.
Weakly, I wait for the room to stop spinning. My heart is beating too fast. My heart. I don’t want to think about it or the way my hands keep straying to his broad back, needing to stroke his flushed skin. He’s holding me close, tucked against him, like I’m something precious. I’ve never been held this way. And I know at this moment it’s what I’ve been truly craving.
Connection.
With Rye.
My chest hitches. Suddenly his comforting weight is too much, the air in the room too close. I want to push him off, get some space.
I don’t know if he feels me squirm or it occurs to him that we’re clinging to each other like survivors of a storm, but his body tenses and he moves away. His gaze slides over my shoulder before pushing back to meet mine. He gives me a smile. That stupid, “I don’t give a fuck about anything” smile that he fobs off on the world. Easygoing Rye is back.
“You want to use the bathroom first?” he asks. So casual. A sham, but, as much as I hate this old facade, I’m also grateful for it. I need an out, and I need it now.
“Sure.” I’m utterly naked except for the ridiculous skirt crumpled around my waist. Somehow that makes me feel even more exposed. My movements are stiff and ungainly as I stumble out of bed and into the bathroom.
As soon as I close the door, I lean against it and draw a deep breath. Tears threaten, and I bite back a bitter laugh. My fears have come to fruition. He touched me, and I melted. I fell apart, and he put me back together. Only now, I’m a needy, fragile version of myself.
I want to regret making myself vulnerable. I do. My logical brain does, anyway. My body is screaming for more. It’s demanding I get back out there and climb Rye’s strong body like a jungle gym.
With shaking hands, I wash off as best I can. I’m not about to take a shower now. I have to get rid of Rye first. Thankfully, my robe is in the bathroom. I slip into its thick, silk-lined protection and tie it tight.
Rye sits at the edge of the bed, the sheets pulled over his lap. The sight of his big, strong body, colorful with ink along his upper chest and arms, makes my knees a little weak. The feel of him still pulses along my skin. I have a suspicion it will remain long after I shower.
He looks up, his denim eyes uncertain and strained at the corners. “I don’t know if I should stay or go. We never discussed how many…” He trails off with an audible swallow.
How many times we would fuck each other dizzy.
My body wants that again. It wants to take off this suffocating robe and crawl right back into his arms. It’s fairly humming for his touch. This is what I told him I wanted. Not just a quick hookup but something deeper.
Connection.
Be careful of what you wish for, Bren.
Rye gives me no clue what he’d prefer. He’s gone quiet, his body language placid. For all I know, he’s dying to bolt. I wouldn’t blame him one bit. And since I’d rather die than ask him to stay when he wants to go, I say the only thing I can.
“You wore me out.” True. And also, not even a little.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That blow you away, Berry?”
He says it just the same way he did when we were kids after a concert, all confident swagger and drawling arrogance. But there’s a glint of nostalgia in his eyes, a flicker of dry humor like he knows I need something to lighten the moment. And it’s irresistible.
A bubble of true laughter leaves me.
“Yeah, Ryland,” I say with a grin. “That blew me the fuck away.”
“Fuck yeah, it did.” His smile grows, and I can’t help but return it. We grin at each other like robbers after a successful heist. But I don’t move. And neither does he.
Shit. I don’t know what to do here, which is a first for me. Normally, I know immediately if I want a lover to stay or go. But this is Rye. He has a knack for twisting me up and making me want what I shouldn’t.
Rye solves the problem by standing. The sheet slips free, and he’s…God. It’s unfair how good he looks naked. He holds my gaze, his big dick swaying between his thickly muscled thighs as he walks toward me. My breath grows short as he draws near.
He smells of sex and heat and promise. The pulse at the base of his neck visibly beats, but he simply leans down and gives me a soft kiss before pulling away. “I’ll head out in a minute, okay?”
It’s definitely a question. I can object if I want to.
I can’t meet his eyes. “Okay.”
His only reaction is to brush another kiss over my forehead before heading into the bathroom.
It isn’t the most awkward post-sex exchange I’ve had. But it’s the most uncomfortable. Because a voice inside me is screaming that I’ve made a huge mistake.