Page 75 of Score on You

My fingers fiddle with the frayed cuff of my jersey. “Did I do something—?”

“You look so fucking sexy,” he groans.

“Really?” Surprise rings in my voice.

As if he didn’t just see me twenty minutes ago. The only thing I did was change my clothes. I peek at my outfit that’s practically standard issue at this point.

“And then you text me that dangling fruit. Fuck,” he grunts. “I just need a second to collect myself before I maul you.”

Which is evident by his state of distress. His chest is heaving. It appears like he can’t catch his breath. My attention is riveted to the rapid rise and fall of his bare skin that’s on display. The tattoo on his left pec becomes a focal point. I’m falling into a trance from the rhythmic motion and slump into the wall.

Walter chooses that instant to race circles around Ridge’s ankles. Zoomies strike at all hours of the day, especially when a preferred person returns. The hyper pup yips in glee before dashing back into the house. I barely blink during that entire sequence.

Ridge adjusts his stance, which draws my gaze downward. The gray sweatpants he’s wearing leave little to the imagination. His penis is stiff, and the outline is visible through the fabric. I lick my lips while contemplating the odds that he’s naked underneath. A guttural sound cuts off those dirty musings, but my concentration lingers on that sizeable bulge.

“Sweetness,” Ridge rasps. “It’s rude to stare unless you’re gonna make good on that shameless gawking.”

“How might I do that?” My voice is pitched in uncertainty.

“Fuuuuuck.” He rakes a hand through his hair while treating my angled pose to a slow once-over. Another animalistic growl rips from him and he bites at his knuckle. “Wanna let me in?”

My belly dips and swoops. I step aside to let him pass. Rather than brush by casually, Ridge prowls forward to cage me againstthe open door. Shock freezes me between the solid surface at my back and the insistent throb of his desire. Instinct arches me into him. A blaze instantly rushes under my skin, and I gasp.

Ridge takes advantage. His head dips until our mouths slam together. One of his arms lowers to loop around my waist, dragging me tighter against him. I lift both of mine to wrap around his neck. We’re aligned in body and pleasure.

My tongue tastes his while his palm kneads my butt. The thick material of my jersey limits the sensation, but the tease sparks a desperation inside of me. This isn’t nearly enough. An urge to lift my leg around him twitches through my muscles. Even that minimal shift draws awareness to the dampness between my thighs. I want him to touch me everywhere.

Heat blooms and spreads until I’m sweltering. Ridge holds me closer, as if feeding off my warmth. Flames spark hotter whenever we move. The friction builds into an inferno I can’t ignore. I squirm against this relentless lust that demands to be satisfied.

This madness isn’t mine alone. Ridge is feverish, a clammy urgency clinging to his exposed flesh despite the cool evening air. His pelvis grinds against mine. That’s when I realize how aroused he is. The large bulge I admired earlier feels even bigger while pressed into me. I want more. Badly. My hips take control and begin rolling along his steely length. His fingers fist the fabric at my thigh, using that grip to drag us closer.

Dizziness swarms me when he inhales my next breath. Our tongues slide together in an erotic temptation. Passion explodes outward from our sealed lips. I want to be bold and grip him in my hand. The same nerves from earlier keep my wrists crossed against his nape.

As if possessing a direct line to my inner desire, Ridge severs the kiss. “Can I take you to bed?”

“Please,” I beg.

His smirk is wolfish as he scoops me off my feet. I squeal and kick while he adjusts his grasp on me. Once I’m cradled in the balance of his bulk, he slams the door with his elbow. He rushes across the room toward the stairs but pauses before the climb. I follow his gaze to see what’s distracted him.

“Were you crafting?” His squint is narrowed on the pile of supplies cluttering my coffee table.

“I started on Walter’s introduction page. It has a welcome home theme,” I explain.

“You never let me see your scrapbooks. I’ve been waiting for permission to admire your talents.” Ridge creeps in that direction before catching himself.

I chew on my inner cheek. “We can go through that one if you want.”

He seems to struggle with a decision. His first look at my beloved hobby is tough to beat. But we were in the middle of something else.

His hurried pace resumes on our original path. “Nah, you can show me in the morning.”

The flutters bouncing in my stomach have little to do with him taking three steps at a time. I nuzzle against his chest while soaking in the confirmation that he intends to spend the night. As if his presence didn’t provide enough proof. It’s obvious to Walter who doesn’t bother following us. That’s probably for the best.

Ridge walks into my room like he owns the place, which I suppose makes sense. We’ve never been in this space together, though. It’s been off-limits like he wanted to respect my privacy and refuge. That phase has officially expired.

His gaze does a quick inventory of my meager belongings that I’ve been meaning to expand on. That task is much easier to complete now that I’m not required to pay rent. I roll my eyes up at my boyfriend, but he misses the sarcastic snark.

“So,” he drawls. “This is where the magic happens.”

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