Page 115 of Battle of the Bookstores

“Is that an exclamation or an instruction?” I say, then take him deeper. His hips jerk, but then he stays still, allowing me to get to know him. For the first time in my life, doing this doesn’t feel like a chore or an expectation. It’s a privilege, a pleasure, a joy. To give this to him, to hear his breathing quicken and watch his hands grip the sheets as he struggles to stay in control.

But all too soon, he’s pulling me up and shaking his head and throwing me back against the bed.

“That’s all I can take for now,” he says, grinning.

I scoot back against the headboard, and he comes up on his knees.

“Condom?” I say hopefully.

He opens the nightstand drawer and fishes one out. “I also have some in the pocket of my pants, just in case.”

He’s blushing, and those pink cheeks on this large naked man are so cute I can’t stand it.

I take the condom package, and he watches as I open it and roll it on him. His eyelids flutter in pleasure, and then he grabs my waist, pulling me under him.

There’s a moment of shock as our skin touches. He’s warm as a radiator on a winter’s night. And the scale of him—

“God, you’re so…” Big, I almost say, and stop. “Perfect,” I say instead. Because there’s so much more to him than his body, though I am a fan. He’s the man I’ve been pouring my heart out to online for months, the man I’ve worked side byside with for weeks, the man I’ve come to respect and admire for his passion, integrity, and dedication.

No longer my nemesis or even my competition—somehow, he’s become my best friend.

And now we’re skin to skin and he’s gazing at me, warm brown eyes and dilated pupils and soft eyelashes. He dips closer, and his lips find mine. Deep, searching kisses, still slow, savoring every taste. He parts my legs with his knee, and I feel him nudging against me.

“Josie. Do you want to do this?”

I can only nod, and he punishes me with a bite of my bottom lip.

“Words,” he says. “I need words.”

That feels like a big ask right now, but I search for one—

“Please.”

His eyes spark as he presses inside me, just an inch.

“Please, what?” he says.

I struggle for more words—the right words to capture how I feel. “Please be mine, Ryan.”

His smile is pure sunshine. “I already am,” he says, and pushes all the way inside me.

We both exhale—in pleasure, in relief. I’ve been waiting my entire life to want someone this much. To feel safe enough to drop my defenses. He pulls out partway and drives in again, and I’m along for the ride, letting him take the wheel. My heart is swelling and warming, like it’s too big for my chest. He’s locked in, thrusting slowly and watching me, changing his angle or his pressure, and each roll of his hips is better than the last.

“I take back everything I said about your books”—I gasp with another thrust—“if they taught you tricks like this.”

“Tricks?” A vein on his forehead is popping; he’s working hard to stay in control.

I wave in the direction of our hips. “This. You’re good at this.”

He thrusts again and I groan. “No tricks.”

“So you’re naturally gifted?”

“Nope. Just paying attention.”

And god, if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

“For example…” He bends my knee up against him, lifts my hips off the bed an inch, and presses inside me again, a new angle that makes me whimper. “You seem to like that.” He leans down and puts his teeth on my earlobe; I shiver. “And that.” Then his hand moves up to my hair and makes a fist; my eyes roll back in my head. “And that, too.”

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