Page 2 of Fade (Fighting Fate)

Clenching my hands in his hair, I pulled him into me, kissing him deeper. Ryan made some little noise of appreciation, then slid his hand over one of my boobs, pinching my nipple, making me flinch from the unexpected twinge of pain the action brought.

I thought nipple tweaking was supposed to hurt in a good way?

He did it again, obviously mistaking the little noise that had escaped me as a moan of pleasure instead of the pain it really was.

Oh, my God. I was so bad at this. Why couldn’t I just tell him it hurt? That I didn’t really like it?

I was so grateful when his hand left my boob, I didn’t comprehend

it was traveling south until I felt the button on my jeans snap open and heard the sound of the zipper.

Just relax.

I could do this.

I broke the kiss, trying hard to compose myself. Stop? Go? Shit.

Ryan kissed my neck, his lips soft and gentle, making me even more indecisive. His fingers teased my stomach, drawing soft, swirling, invisible lines just above the lace on my panties.

His thigh pressed between mine, parting my legs even more, then his fingers crept into uncharted territory, breaching that delicate line of defense that seemed to have worked so far in my life.

But it appeared my panties weren’t up to the challenge this time. Ryan’s fingers moved lower, his kisses becoming firmer, his breath coming faster.

Shit.

I couldn’t do it.

“Ryan . . .”

He moaned, sucking on my earlobe, but he didn’t stop.

Turning my head away from him, I pressed against his shoulder with one hand and clasped the wrist of the exploring hand with the other.

“Ryan, stop,” I said, a little firmer this time.

He didn’t.

“Come on, Amy. I promise I’ll make it good for you. Just relax.”

His words didn’t help. I pushed harder at his shoulder and pulled at the hand delving inside my panties.

“Ryan, I can’t. I’m not ready. Please, stop,” I said, my voice betraying me with emotions.

He pulled back to look at me, anger flashing in his eyes when he saw I wasn’t going to back down.

“Are you fucking serious?” he snapped.

Grabbing my hand, he forced it against his crotch.

“Do you feel this, Amy? This is the fucking hard-on you’ve given me for the last four months. You fucking owe me.”

I watched him shove his way off the bed and lurch to his feet. Scrambling, I quickly snapped my bra back together and pulled my blouse back down to cover myself up.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m just not ready. Please, just give me time.”

I flinched at the hatred in his gaze when he turned around to face me. “I’m not doing it anymore, Amy. Either you fuck me now, or we’re done. This is bullshit.” He stabbed his hands through his hair. “I’ve been patient, goddamn it! I’ve been waiting for you to be ready for four fucking months! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be in a constant state of fucking arousal and not able to do a damned thing about it?”

I sat up straighter and blinked at him.

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