Guts & Glory: Ryder (In the Shadows Security Book 2) Page 11

  “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

  “Believe me, it is.” He pulled away enough to gather more of her arousal on two fingers and slide it over her puckered hole. He gathered even more, and this time dipped his fingers inside. “Push against my fingers. That’s it, darlin’. Push again.” As she was still pushing, he slipped his fingers from her and replaced them with his cock, sliding inside with not a lot of resistance this time.

  He took it slow, first just the head, then a little more.

  The tightness, the heat was making his head spin, but he needed to keep his wits about him.

  She lied. If she had anal sex before, it had maybe been once. An experiment, perhaps.

  She was not used to this. This was new to her.

  Her head lifted off the pillow and she turned to look at him, her blue eyes glassy, her face flushed.

  “Okay?” he forced out. For fuck’s sake, she needed to say yes.

  She nodded. “Keep going...”

  Thank fuck.

  He pulled her hips up as he moved to his knees. “Keep your head down unless it’s uncomfortable.” He pushed farther, deeper when she didn’t respond but simply listened to his instruction.

  He pushed a little deeper, her tight canal squeezing him until he thought either his brains or his balls would explode.

  Something had to give.

  He wouldn’t last long but he did want her to come again. However, she needed to hurry. He was dangling by a frayed thread.

  “Darlin’...”

  She made a noise, he wasn’t sure if it was an answer. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if she was listening. He had to assume she was.

  “What do you need...”

  “Keep... doing what you’re doing,” she managed to answer.

  That he could do.

  “On your belly,” he commanded, pushing her back down to the mattress.

  Digging his knees into the bed, he held on tighter to her hip with one, while he continued to circle and massage her clit with his other. But it was when he slipped two fingers inside her to find her soaked, was when she tensed and cried out.

  Thank fuck.

  Because when she came, she squeezed him so tightly, he thought he saw stars.

  With a grunt, he drove deep one last time and then there was no doubt, he did see stars.

  After a few moments, with his heart still thumping, his breath still rapid, he did his best to relieve her of his weight. He didn’t pull out, he wanted to keep that connection just a little longer.

  This was when she was pliant and pleasant. When a smile curled her lips, when her eyes were soft. When she wasn’t fighting him.

  This was who Kelsea was at the core.

  He wanted that to last just a little while longer, because while he hoped it would last, he knew it wouldn’t.

  It was too soon. She was only at the head of the trail, she had a long trek to the end.

  “Ryder...”

  The men he worked with called him Ryder. His fellow Army Rangers also called him by his last name, among other things. The woman sleeping by his side in his bed should call him by his first name.

  “Dwight,” he murmured.

  “Dwight,” she echoed sleepily, snuggling deeper into the bed. “Can you grab me a washcloth or something?”

  “Please,” he reminded her softly.

  “Please, Dwight.”

  Fuck.

  It wasn’t said sharply. It wasn’t said in her typical smart-ass way. It was genuine.

  But it was the next thing she said that got him in the gut. “Thank you.”

  That was the first time she ever thanked him for anything.

  He rolled out of bed to go dispose of the condom and clean up. Halfway to the bathroom he stopped and turned to stare at the woman he thought might never change.

  In two days, she had already started to transform. Not completely, but she was headed down the right path.

  She just needed to free herself of the heavy chains of drugs, alcohol and bad company that had been dragging her down.

  She still had a long road ahead of her. But if she wanted him along for the ride to help, he’d be there.

  Because having her in his bed, sleepy and satisfied was a thousand times better than him kicking down doors and dragging her ass out of some questionable situations.

  He sucked in a deep breath, pushing a strange ache out of his chest, and headed into the bathroom.

  He stood in that tiny room a lot longer than he should have, staring at himself in the mirror. Reevaluating his decisions.

  His choices.

  His sanity.

  Because that woman that was in his bed right now was a threat to it. He’d worked hard to level out. To keep himself that way.

  And right now, he felt anything but.

  Chapter Ten

  The cabin was dark and quiet except for the slow and steady breathing of the man who slept.

  When he’d come back out of the bathroom earlier, he brought a warm, wet washcloth like she’d asked and instead of just handing it to her, he gently cleaned her up.

  Afterward, he’d climbed back into bed, and with one arm wrapped around her waist, he’d pulled her tightly against him. Her back to his front. His nose in her hair. His warm breath blowing across her skin as it got slower and louder.

  She only wished she could fall asleep that fast. She couldn’t. Her brain wouldn’t allow it. For when it was dark and quiet, her thoughts began to spin. Her memories fought their way to the forefront.

  The ones she kept trying to beat back.

  At night it was difficult. And that was the main reason why she found things to do all night. Parties, clubs, a one-night stand, whatever.

  It kept those memories at bay. It kept her brain busy. Once the booze or drugs, or exhaustion from sex hit her, she could sleep. Or pass out. Whichever happened first.

  It was only then she wouldn’t dream.

  But tonight, while the sex with Ryder had made her sleepy, when his arm held her like a vise against him, her brain began to spin. Thoughts swirled as if they were debris stuck in the vortex of a funnel cloud.

  Every time she tried to get free, his arm tightened even more until she felt as though she was being smothered.

  She held herself as still as possible, waiting, hoping he’d eventually sleep so deeply he’d loosen his hold.

  After what felt like an eternity, his arm finally dropped, and she carefully wiggled herself free.

  She didn’t just move to the other side of the bed. She got out, slipped into one of his discarded T-shirts and tip-toed across the cabin.

  To the only thing that would help her.

  The only thing in the cabin that might stop her racing thoughts.

  She moved over to where Ryder hung his hunting gear along the wall. And underneath, a pair of high rubber boots was lined up next to hiking boots, what looked like combat boots, and sneakers.

  She grabbed the whiskey bottle from inside one rubber boot where she’d hidden it earlier and took a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t moved.

  He hadn’t.

  Bottle in hand, she moved over to the couch and slid to the floor, sitting back against the end he couldn’t see from the bed. Slowly, she unscrewed the lid and, putting it to her lips, she took a mouthful, careful not to breathe so she wouldn’t cough.

  The whiskey’s burn as it went down was familiar and she closed her eyes, waiting for the warmth to hit her stomach, the prickle of her nerves to dull.

  She lifted it again, this time to judge how much was left. About a third. Maybe enough for tonight, but not enough for tomorrow. She’d have to deal with that when the time came.

  She had no idea how.

  With no booze, no pot, no other drugs, the only thing left was sex.

  Her thoughts went back to the man who slept on the other side of the cabin. She needed to remain quiet, let the booze do its work, so when she got back in bed with him, she’d be able to fall asleep
and avoid the nightmares.

  Because if he found out about those...

  No, he couldn’t.

  No one could.

  No. One. Could.

  Not ever.

  She lifted the bottle again and took another long swig. The heat in her belly intensifying. She put the bottle down between her feet, and scrubbed her hands over her face, hoping the booze started working soon. She needed to get back in her bubble, where things weren’t so painful, so raw.

  He didn’t understand why she needed this since she wasn’t an addict. That wasn’t the reason. But she couldn’t tell him the truth.

  He would never look at her the same again.

  No one would.

  Everyone would look at her with horror or pity. And she didn’t want that. She couldn’t handle seeing that in their eyes. It would make everything so much worse.

  She needed to protect herself from that. To bear the burden alone.

  But that hadn’t been working, either.

  She had a hard time fighting that darkness alone, even though she kept trying. No one knew just how hard she worked at it. They only assumed she was reckless and out of control.

  That she was a brat. A bitch. A dumb cunt.

  And yes, she knew D’s crew had a nickname for her.

  DC.

  They could claim it stood for “Diesel’s cousin” all they wanted, but she was sure that wasn’t it.

  Ryder wanted to help her, but she was afraid of spreading that darkness to him, of dragging him into that abyss. It wasn’t fair he was forced to deal with her time after time, she knew that. Especially when he’d probably dealt with so much in his life already. Why would he be willing to take on her shit, too? Some DC who couldn’t get her life together.

  He shouldn’t. No one in their right mind would.

  She grabbed the bottle and took another long sip, regretfully looking at what little remained at the bottom. Not enough.

  She finished it off and after quietly placing the bottle back on the floor, she dropped her head to her knees to wait for the alcohol to flow through her system, to dull that sharp edge.

  The cabin was too quiet. The noise in her head too loud.

  A rush of air hit her and before she could react, a hand grabbed her elbow and hauled her roughly to her feet like she was a rag doll.

  “What the fuck!” Ryder roared in her face, making her flinch at his raw fury. He reached down, picked up the empty bottle and shoved it in her face. “What the fuck, Kelsea?”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She had even stopped breathing.

  How did he move so quietly? How did she not hear him coming?

  He whipped the bottle across the room, and she winced when it exploded against one of the walls.

  “I—”

  His fingers dug painfully into her arm as he hauled her across the room back toward the bed. “I was stupid to think that I could trust you not to sneak out of bed and do somethin’ stupid. Now I’ll rectify that by tyin’ you to the bed at night.”

  What?

  No. No. No.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Yes. I can’t trust you. And that fuckin’ disappoints me...” He spun her around and pointed to the bed. “Sit.”

  She sat, her body beginning to tremble. “Dwight, please.”

  “Please what?” When she didn’t answer quickly enough, he barked, “Please what?” He scrubbed a hand over his hair and blew out a breath. “I’m so fuckin’ disappointed in you.”

  She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. She tried to steel herself against that disappointment. Because disappointing him disappointed her, too. She lifted her head, fighting back the sting in her eyes. “Join the crowd. You’re not the only one.”

  He shook his head and shoved a finger in her direction. “Don’t move. I need to find somethin’ to tie you up with.”

  “No!” she shouted.

  “Trustin’ you was my mistake. I won’t do that again. I have no idea where you found that fuckin’ whiskey. I’d cleaned everything out of this place years ago. Everything. I don’t know how I missed it. Fuck!”

  He began to pace, his eyes searching the dimly lit cabin. He was looking for something to use to restrain her. She must convince him not to do that.

  She sucked in a breath when his eyes landed on her again. Searing. Agitated. “Where did you find it?”

  Fuck. If she told him, he’d know she’d been snooping around.

  He stopped in front of the bed and grabbed her arms again, giving her a rough shake. “Where did you find that bottle?”

  He wasn’t going to stop asking until she told him. And he’d figure it out eventually, anyway. “In the shed.”

  His head shot up, his eyes narrowed. “Where in the shed?”

  “In... In the wood cabinet.”

  He released her and stepped back. His expression changing to surprise when his brows furrowed. “It wasn’t locked?”

  “No.”

  His jaw tightened. The anger was back. “What else was in there?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What else did you go through?” he growled.

  “Nothing!”

  His shoulders lifted slowly as he stared at her. Then he lowered them just as slowly. He was trying to rein in his anger. That wasn’t hard to see.

  His head spun toward his jeans, still hanging over the chair in the corner and in a few long strides he was there, grabbing the end of his belt and drawing it through the belt loops.

  Holy shit. Was he going to strike her with the belt?

  “Dwight.” She cursed the shake in her voice.

  “No, you lost that privilege. You call me Ryder and nothin’ else.”

  “Ryder... You’re not going to hit me with your belt.” His buckle was large and would cause damage if he did.

  His step stuttered on his way back to the bed, he glanced at the belt in his hands with his eyebrows pinned together. “Hit you?” He lifted his head again and looked at her. “I’m not gonna hit you. I’m gonna tie you to the bed.”

  Fuck. She’d rather feel the sting of that leather on her ass than be restrained to the bed.

  “You—” Kelsea struggled to swallow the lump in her throat, because she was having a difficult time getting her words past it. “You can’t tie me up.”

  His head tilted and his eyes narrowed once again. “Says who? You forgot. My fuckin’ cabin. My fuckin’ rules. You broke those rules. There are consequences for your actions. That’s one of the lessons you need to learn. You want to act like a brat, you’re going to be treated as one.”

  “Ryder,” she whispered again, then swept her tongue over her dry lips. There wasn’t enough booze in the world for her to be tied up. “I’m... I’m sorry.”

  His eyes widened just long enough for her to catch it, then he schooled his face. “I told you no booze or drugs while you were here. You totally shit all over that.”

  “I had to—”

  “You had to? Only addicts ‘have to.’ You claim you’re not an addict.”

  “I’m...” She dropped her head and shook it. “Just don’t tie me up.”

  “Why, Kelsea? You didn’t give me a valid reason earlier when I brought it up.”

  “I just... can’t.”

  “Why?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Hands out.”

  Instead of obeying, she curled them into her lap.

  “Kelsea.”

  She turned pleading eyes up to him. Couldn’t he see what this would do to her? Did he not have any idea? “Dwight.”

  He arched a brow at her.

  “Ryder, please.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “I don’t like not being able to escape,” she whispered. “I can’t escape when I’m tied up.”

  “That’s the point, darlin’. Hands out.”

  Panic bubbled up from her gut and she felt like she was going to throw up. She slid off the bed and went to her knees at hi
s feet. “I’m begging you. Please.”

  “You should’ve thought about the consequences when you drank the whiskey.”

  “I only needed it to forget. So... So I can sleep.”

  He grabbed her chin painfully between his fingers and lifted her face to him. “Look at me and don’t you fuckin’ look away. What do you need to forget?”

  She kept her eyes pinned on his and dug deep. She’d rather see the anger than the revulsion. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me, Kelsea. I told you lyin’ would have consequences.” He closed his eyes as he blew out a breath, then let those green eyes bore into her as his words crossed his lips as slow as cold tar. “What do you need to forget?”

  Her eyes slid to the side and her bottom lip trembled even more. “Nothing.”

  His fingers tightened on her chin.

  He wasn’t going to let this go. He’d never let this go.

  Maybe he wouldn’t tie her up if she told him...

  “My father. I need to forget my father.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “We all need to forget your father. He was a total fuckin’ piece of shit. He set up what should have been his ‘brother’ to go to prison for ten years. He tried to have Dex and Brooke killed. He raped Brooke’s mother. He raped Diamond, for fuck’s sake.” Ryder’s mouth opened to continue listing Pierce’s sins, but there was no point in reminding his own daughter of how horrendous the man was.

  She knew.

  Of course that was what bothered her, but enough that she couldn’t sleep? It didn’t make sense. And the escape thing. Why was she afraid of not being able to escape?

  The hair on the back of his neck stood and dread landed in his gut like a ton of bricks.

  There was something more. Something else that was making her spin out of control since finding out Pierce was her father.

  Jesus fuck. He didn’t want to know.

  But he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t help her if he didn’t know the truth. The complete truth.

  But fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to even begin to wrap his head around what he was thinking. He hoped he was wrong.

  He needed to be wrong.

  She was just being overly dramatic about her sperm donor being a total piece of shit.