“So if I moan twice—”
He covers my mouth with his large hand, enveloping my cheeks and jaw. “Don’t go there, not tonight.”
I do ride that line a little too much. We tempt and tease each other with knowledge that nothing more can happen. It’s our dynamic.
I finish off most of the cereal, leaving the soggy clumps of granola floating in the milk. “I’m sorry about the garage. I pushed you too far.” I set down the bowl and hop off the counter. He’s right there, not moving from this spot. His hands still on the counter.
I’m closer to him than before.
“No you didn’t,” he says. “If I fucking wanted to be with you like that, I would have by now. You’ve been eighteen for six months.”
This shouldn’t hurt, but his words knot my stomach, the granola rising to my throat. I swallow it back down. I think wanting is a little different than doing. I thought he wanted to like me, but he knew he couldn’t. But that’s not right. He’s never really expressed any attraction towards me. We flirt sometimes, but he’s never gotten hard or aroused by me.
At least not that I’ve seen.
I want to test it.
I shouldn’t, but I’m curious. I don’t know how else to see if he shares the same attraction. He doesn’t show it in his eyes the way I do.
He’s close enough that all I have to do is wrap my arms around his chest for a hug. He’s my wolf, and I seriously wonder if he’ll bite me today. I don’t think twice. I hug him, and his body goes rigid. I look up, neither of us retracting.
“Daisy…”
My long legs touch his strong ones. My hip bones press into his pelvis, a little shorter than him since he’s six-three to my five-eleven. I become keenly aware of his flexed muscles and dark eyes that set on me. It’s an R-rated hug, if there can be one. And yet, he’s not hard. He’s just tense, like he’s waiting for me to draw away.
Instead of hugging me back, he sets a single hand on my head, hesitating.
I sigh. Well that test was inconclusive. “Thanks,” I say. That single word relaxes his muscles. “I’m glad we can be non-fucking friends.” It’s better than nothing.
His dark eyes dance over my features. He stays quiet for a long time, both of us unmoving from this position. It’s dangerous to be like this after the garage incident, but I think we’re equally attracted to that danger.
His thumb grazes my cheek. “You look fucking exhausted.”
“I napped.”
“You don’t fucking nap,” he says.
“I shut my eyes this afternoon. What do you call that?”
“Shutting your fucking eyes,” he deadpans.
A smile breaks through my face. I laugh, and then I lean forward and rest my cheek against his chest. I close my eyes, and his body stiffens again. He’s warm. I listen to the faint sound of his heart for a second, and I swear it speeds. But maybe that’s just mean hoping that I have some sort of effect on Ryke Meadows.
“What are you doing?” he asks roughly. His hands return to my head, making me realize that I’m smaller than him. It’s hard finding guys taller than me, which is why I’ve gravitated towards models in the past.
“Sleeping,” I say with a smile.
“When did I become your fucking pillow?” he asks lightly.
“Shhh,” I whisper, “it’s safe here.”
Just when I anticipate Ryke drawing away from me, he surprises me and kisses the top of my head. But it lasts only a second before his hands fall. His brows scrunch as he glares at something over my shoulder. I turn my head and follow his gaze, spotting a Celebrity Crush magazine by the coffee pot.
“Who still buys that garbage?”
“Lily,” I say. “I think my sister’s hoping people will forget about our family.”
“She’s dreaming.” Ryke leaves my side to grab the magazine. He flips through it quickly, and I catch the main headline on the front cover before he trashes it. Photo! Lily Calloway Dating Her Fiancé and His Brother.
“What’s the photo of?” I ask curiously, rinsing the cereal bowl.
“The three of us eating lunch at Lucky’s downtown. The press can keep saying I’m banging your fucking sister, but we all know it’s a load of—”
“Shit,” I finish. “Bullshit.” I mock gasp. “Fucking bullshit.”
He stares at me with harshness that would intimidate most people. But I don’t back down. My eyes stay locked on his piercing ones, and then his lips slowly rise. “When did your mouth get so fucking dirty, Calloway?” he asks.