She inhaled deeply. Okay, telling Ryan she’d been married wasn’t hard in the least. But explaining why they’d split up was a wee bit tougher. She lowered her voice. “We weren’t compatible in the bedroom.”
“You mean he’s gay?” Ryan asked, so damn straightforward in his assumption that Sophie laughed.
She shifted her hand back and forth like a seesaw. “Sort of.”
“Sort of? How the hell are you sort of gay?” he asked with a laugh.
“Um, it’s called bisexual, Ryan.”
He blinked, and shook his head, as if he were processing this information about sexuality for the first time. Maybe he was. Maybe bisexuality didn’t occur to him because Ryan Sloan was as straight as they came. If there were a mold for hot, dominant, heterosexual male, he’d fit it perfectly. Hell, he’d probably made the mold. “Okay, I hear you,” Ryan said. “So he likes boys and girls.”
She nodded. “Yes. And he was interested in sharing me with boys.”
He drew a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Did you?”
She studied his face, unsure if the uncertain look in his eyes suggested that a past ménage was a deal-breaker. She didn’t want to be judged for her past, even though she didn’t have one. She needed to know Ryan wasn’t that kind of person. “Would it bother you if I had?”
“No,” he said immediately, then waited for her answer.
She shook her head. “I didn’t have a threesome. I don’t want to be shared.”
He pushed away from his side of the booth, stood up, and moved in next to her. Draping an arm around her possessively, he pulled her close, then brushed his finger along her jawline. “If you were mine, I’d never share you,” he said, his deep, sexy voice sending goose bumps over her flesh.
“Is that so?”
He cupped her shoulder in his strong hand, his fingers brushing along her bare skin. “I’d never let anyone else touch you. The thought of it already drives me mad. And I’d never stop touching you,” he said, then dropped his mouth to her lips and kissed her hard, as if he were marking her.
Her mind went hazy. Sparks raced madly in her bloodstream, all from a kiss.
He pulled away. “If you were mine, you’d only be mine. And I’d satisfy you every night. Every day. Every morning. Every single time,” he said, claiming her lips once more. Roughly. So damn roughly that it sent a charge through her. Every kiss was an assertion. Every touch was ownership. His words said if, but his body said you’re mine.
She felt like his. It was crazy to feel that way so soon. But tell that to her heart, beating furiously from his possessive words. “You would satisfy me every time. You already do,” she said in a breathy whisper, her voice feathery soft now, as he crowded her in.
His throat rumbled. “If you were mine, I’d never let you want for anything. I’d take care of you and all your needs. All the time. Anytime. Whatever you needed, I’d give you,” he said, and his words set her on fire. They were so hypothetical, but so damn appealing. They made her want him again.
They gave her confidence, too, the kind she’d felt when she was running her company. The kind she hadn’t always felt with men. She reached for his collar, needing to hold on, knowing this was as good a time as any. “Ryan,” she asked carefully, nerves sneaking up on her.
“Yes?”
She swallowed. “There’s an event I’m organizing for the local community center. A fundraiser in another week. One of the donors wanted to set me up with his grandson,” she said, and he clenched his hand around her tighter as she said those words. His eyes seared her. “But I told him I was seeing someone, and I was hoping that someone would take me to the event.”
The corner of his lips quirked up in a knowing grin. That smile settled the anxiety. “And who is this someone you want to take you to the event?” he asked playfully.
She rolled her eyes. “You. Obviously.”
“And do you want me to act all possessive, so everyone knows you’re taken?”
“Would it be an act?” she asked, countering him.
He shook his head. “No. It’s not difficult for me to feel a sense of ownership of you,” he said, brushing his hand along her bare arm.
“Do you like owning things?”
“You’re not a thing.”
“Do you like owning women?”
He moved in closer, which was no small feat in the diner booth. There was hardly any room between them already. “No. I don’t ever get close enough to feel that way,” he said.
Her heart fell as his words made landfall. There it was—the admission. She’d suspected all along he wasn’t a relationship type of guy. He had walls around him. He’d had them from the start. She didn’t know why, but she’d sensed they existed. Now she was certain, and she wished she didn’t feel like a balloon deflated.
She straightened her shoulders and tried to mentally talk herself down. They were hardly having a relationship anyway. This was a tryst. A delicious, druggy, wondrous tryst. “That’s fine,” she said, holding up her chin.
He narrowed his eyes, looking at her curiously. “It’s not fine. Because nothing about you is just fine. Because you do something to me that drives me wild.”
“I do?” she asked, trying to rein in a grin that had resurfaced.
He nodded, his lips parting as he pulled back. “You do. So when I take you to this event—because I will be taking you. You might have asked me, but I’m the one taking you, Sophie,” he said, and that commanding tone lit her up. “And when I do, it will be clear to everyone that you’re with me.”
A fresh wave of longing rolled through. “Am I? With you?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Oh God, her heart galloped. It raced away from her brain, launching a full-on separation from her sanity, from her clarity, from her mathematical mind. Her heart had gone rogue, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even though a part of her was furious—he’d just told her he wasn’t a relationship guy and now he was telling her she belonged with him. She hated being toyed with.
“How can you say that? You just told me you don’t ever get close to people?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t. I’m not good with serious relationships. I was in the army for five years, and wasn’t involved with anyone then, and since I’ve been back I don’t usually make it beyond the third date. But look what you’ve done to me. We’re already planning our seventh.”
“Seventh?”
“The way I see it, I’m not going to last a week without seeing you, much less a few days. So if we’re going to this fundraiser thing in a week, I’m going to be seeing you at least three times before then. So the fundraiser will be our seventh, and you need to be fully prepared for me to fuck you like I own you over the next three dates.”
Okay, so that was pretty epic. She beamed. “I can handle that.”
“You can and you will. And do you know what else I would do if you were mine?”
“What else?”
“Fuck you again on our third date.”
He tossed some money on the table, and led her out of the diner. After opening the car door for her, he pulled into the dark corner of the lot, far away from the lights. He cut the engine and grabbed the back of her head, kissing her in a way that heated her up and made her squirm in seconds. His hand traveled up her skirt, brushing against the panel of her panties, feeling her wetness.
That was all he needed. “Backseat. Now,” he growled.
She scurried into the backseat, and he followed. “Get on your hands and knees.”
She obliged willingly as he grabbed protection, unzipped his pants, and sank into her. Her body flooded with pleasure, with a deep and hungry desire to give herself over to him, to however he wanted her.
Gripping her hips, he drove into her. “Tell me something, Sophie,” he said in between thrusts. “Who’s fucking who right now?”
Heat licked her veins. “You are. You’re fucking me.”