Page 43 of Reaching Ryan

Chapter Nineteen

Ryan

I wake up alone and in the dark, my head full of cotton. My mouth as dry as the desert, the last of whatever Kaitlyn stuck me with, swimming through my veins.

Grace.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t put me under deep enough. I still dreamed about her. If anything, the drugs heightened the dream. Made it more vivid.

More real.

So real, I can still taste her mouth on my tongue. Hear her soft, ragged breathing in my ear. Feel her sharp gasp shattering against my neck when I fuck my fingers into her hot, slick pussy.

“Yes…” she gasps, lifting herself onto her knees when she feels the rough brush of my blunt-tipped fingers against her slick, swollen pussy. Tilts her hips, moving and pushing against me to stroke herself with them, urging me on. Begging me to push my way inside. “Please, Ryan…”

With a barely stifled groan, I push my hand past the waistband of my jeans. Palming my cock, I’m instantly disgusted by the feel of it. The way it yields under the tough scar tissue that covers it. The. The soft give of it under my fingers, despite the dull, steady throb in my groin that dreaming about Grace always kicks loose.

Forcing my hand lower, I stare at the ceiling, gaze unflinching and steady, while my fingers brush against the hard knot of scar tissue behind the base of my cock where my balls used to be. Feeling the void, my breath pushes out of my lungs in a rush. My eyes start to burn in their sockets, the sting of saltwater finally forcing me to blink.

What the fuck, Ranger? You thought maybe if you played with your limp dick enough your nuts’d grow back?

Jerking my hand free, I lift my arm and throw it over my face, covering my burning eyes while I fight the rage pushing against my ribcage. Trying to fight and claw its way up my throat.

Grace.

It’s completely ridiculous.

All of it.

Because what I said to her is true.

What I want can never happen because she’s never going to want me. Not once she gets a load of the shitshow in my pants.

Not once she realizes that I might look like a man. I might even walk and talk like one, but I’m just pretending, and if I had any guts at all, I’d walk myself into fucking traffic.

You can’t.

You promised Tess you wouldn’t.

Tess.

An image of her flits across my brain and I grab hold of it.

Force myself to think about her.

Try to make myself want her.

Pluck Grace from my thoughts and shove Tess into the hole left behind.

Pretend to feel the phantom throb of need in my cock that I feel for Grace every time I close my eyes.

It’s fucked up.

I know it’s fucked up

She isn’t mine.

Never will be.

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