“How so?” Her voice may be soft, might even reflect a hint of nerves, but she’s still asking.
“Well, it seems that your baggage makes you so scared to feel you constantly pull away. Run from me.” I trace my finger down her bare arm, the need to touch her consuming me like an addiction. “Whereas mine? My baggage? It makes me crave the sensory overload of physicality—the stimulating indulgence of skin on skin. Of you beneath me.”
I mean it as a kind of warning, a simple you’re going to fall for me while I just want to fuck you. What a woman wants versus what a man wants. Simple, uncomplicated, right up until she sighs that soft sigh she did last night when I pushed into her for the first time and fuck if I can hold back any longer. I lean in and kiss her, tell myself to slow the fuck down when all I want to do is own her lips.
Her lips, Donavan, not her heart, because I’m trying to keep this on my simple terms.
Because that’s all I want.
And fuck if I’ve not kissed a woman like this before—slow and relentless—but something happens with Rylee. Each taste, every sound I coax that hums in her throat begins to seep into parts of me that have been dead for so long. I deepen the kiss. I have no intention of doing this, feeling this way, and I’m sure if my lips weren’t drugged by her taste, I’d be pulling away, wanting the end game and not enjoy the fucking journey to get there.
But when she slides her hands up my torso, skin to skin, something happens. It’s like the whip of desire snaps and imprints everything about her inside of me.
Fuckin’ A was I wrong. Touch her, kiss her to quiet my head? More like set it on fucking fire with thoughts of possibilities I don’t want and lust I need to sate. That flutter of panic I had last night flashes through me as I pull back from her lips, needing a minute to settle the shit I don’t want to feel but is back with a fucking vengeance.
I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her so she can’t look into my eyes and see the shit I don’t even understand. And I’m trying to process it all, trying to tell myself it’s a fucking fluke that it happened again, just the need to fuck her again, that’s all. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts the words are out of my mouth before I can filter them. “It’s unfathomable how much I want you, Rylee. How much I’m drawn to you.”
An unexpected confession for both her and for me.
“Rylee …” I’m flustered and I never get flustered. Fuck! I need some time to figure this all out. My reaction to last night, to right now, to how she fits so fucking perfect in my arms. Man, I’m all for turning over a new leaf, trying new shit out, but this is more like shaking the goddamn tree bare.
Breathe, Donavan. Fucking Breathe.
I close my eyes and then she makes a hmm sound as she nuzzles under my neck and I say, “Go out with me—on a real date. Go out with me, not because I paid for a date with you but because you want to. Say yes, Ryles. It’s unimaginable how much I want you to say yes.”
Where the fuck did that come from, Donavan? I’m freaking the fuck out and want to put it back where I’m comfortable, have a talk to mitigate her expectations of where this can and can’t go, but I go and say something like that? How am I ever going be able to fix this now, rein it in before she starts getting too close and I start doing what I do best—shove her away?
She leans back, like she’s as shocked as I am from my words, and looks at me. And for some reason I don’t break our gaze and let her see just a glimpse of the riot inside of me before I glance away. But she pulls me back to her when she runs a hand against my cheek and then steps on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I nod my head at her and pull her back into my chest. “Tonight?”
Rylee, what the fuck are you doing to me?
She falls silent and a part of me freezes while the other part hopes she says yes. I can’t give her too much time to think about the shit she’s seen in my eyes and the baggage I told her about. She’s a smart girl, she’ll figure out I’m bad fucking news, a heartbreak waiting to happen, and head for the fucking hills.
And the thought scares the shit out of me. I keep telling myself once I talk with her, I’ll set things straight and she’ll fall in line like all of the other arrangements I’ve had. There will be nothing more between us but great sex, a date for an event, and a kick-ass charity partnership. But if that’s all I want, why am I here? Why do I care if she says yes or no to another date?
Why do I want her like no fucking tomorrow?
“I’ll be here at six to pick you up, Rylee.” Time to find out. Test the waters and then jump ship.
Or walk the plank.
She looks back up at me, her bottom lip between her teeth, and hell if I know what I’m doing but fuck if I’m not going to have a good time trying to figure it out.
I lift my thumb and rub it over her bottom lip. “See you then, sweetheart.” I walk to the front door as she says goodbye, my dick begging for those lips and my head hoping to make sense of the door I just turned the key in that I have no business unlocking.
I stop and turn to look at her one last time. “Hey, Ryles? No more running away from me.”
I flash her a quick grin before I leave and I wonder who I’m talking to about not running away, her or me.
One of my favorite scenes in DRIVEN, the bad boy standing up for the bullied Aiden. We see a bit of the broken man standing up for the damaged little boy he once was by helping. A small victory of sorts.
Then we follow them to the coffee shop and see the moment Colton decides that maybe he should let Rylee in a bit, see where it takes them, and changes the direction of the entire story. Almost a new starting point if you will ...