Page 71 of Rival to the Billionaire

"It doesn't," I say, my body burning against his. "But I need you to know," I swallow, "that you are important," I say into his ear, my breath hot against his cheek. "You are so incredibly important to me, and I've been afraid. So very, very afraid. That I would let you down too."

"Don't be afraid now," he whispers. "I've got you. I've got all of you. And nothing can take that away."

My body crashes against his as his lips find mine again, and this time it's inevitable. We fall towards the bed in a tumble of limbs and lips, pulling and tugging and pushing and pulling again.

On top of Ryder, my hands slide beneath his shirt and down to his hard, exposed chest, and he groans into my mouth.

He's hard. Every inch of him. My entire body shivers with a silent plea and I pull away enough to look down at him, to take in the erection making itself known against the fabric of his pants.

"I need you," he says, his voice raw, his eyes flashing in the dimly lit room, lit only by the distant Vegas skyline. "And I-I fucked up. I should have never?—"

I don't let him finish.

I push his shirt off his body, my fingers caressing the hair on his chest, the ridges of his abs, the chiseled contours of his body. I run my fingers along his torso, memorizing every curve and line and crevice, the grooves and ridges from a life of physical labor.

For the first time, his chiseled body isn't just a sign of his wealth but the fruits of a lifetime of hard work. The work that I admire more, now, than I ever have before.

And I let myself admire it. I let myself look at him in all his—truly all his—beauty.

"Wow," I whisper.

"Wow what?" Ryder asks, his voice low, his hands on my hips.

"You're…perfect."

"So are you." He grins. "If I have to be brutally honest. But you know that by now, don't you?"

"I mean it," I say. "I do. You're too perfect. Your kiss. Your everything. And I, uh, don't know what else to say. I really don't."

"You're a lot more eloquent when you're talking about making money as opposed to talking about my tongue." He laughs.

I laugh too, and he laughs harder. It's a joyful noise that flows from his chest, and it makes my heart ache.

"Ryder," I start. "I want to. Do this, I mean. You know I do, but I need to tell you something. Something about me." I lick my lips. "I haven't… I mean, I've never?—"

"Had sex before," he finishes for me, his eyes locking onto mine. "I noticed."

"Oh."

"It's okay," he says, reaching up to caress my face, his fingers tender and sweetly elegant. "I get it. We don't have to, if you don't want to. Or if you're not ready."

"Do you want to?" My voice is soft, questioning.

"I've been dying to put my hands on you for days now, Jen. 'Want' isn't the fucking word," he says, his voice low, his eyes searching my face. "But we don't have to do this if you're not ready. Okay? And if you're not sure, I'll wait."

My pulse is pounding in my throat. "I'm just trying to figure out my comfort level. What's right for me right now. I do want this. I do want you. I just need to know that it's okay to take this step. It's okay to take this step with you."

"It's okay," Ryder says, leaning in and kissing me again. "It's okay," he repeats against my lips, "because I'm here. I'm right here. I'll wait."

And I kiss him back. Harder.

Suddenly, I know what I want.

I place a hand on his chest. "Can you do something for me?"

"Anything."

I crawl up his body, straddling his waist and resting my hands on the hard ridges of his stomach. "Can you let me touch you?"

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