“And then, Betsy called to say she’d seen Lemmon driving out of town with a man she thought looked a lot like Zeke.”
Shock hits me square in the chest, and my heart breaks for Ryder. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you to consider him being involved,” I whisper, pulling him against me for a long hug, prioritizing his comfort over my surprise.
“I truly don’t believe he’s behind this, but I feel like I need to speak with him, clear the air, and fully convince myself he has no part in any of it,” he says, his voice cracking. “And afterward, we need to have a family meeting to solidify a plan.”
“Okay, Ry. When do you want to talk to Zeke?”
He releases a sigh and rests his forehead against my shoulder. “First thing tomorrow morning. I want one more night of normalcy to pretend there isn’t a possible murderer on the loose.”
“Sounds like we’re going to have a lot to talk about in therapy tomorrow night,” I tell him, joking to break up the tension.
“I look forward to it, darlin’. Any time I can get a glimpse into what’s running through your thoughts, I’m a happy man.”
Chapter Sixty-One
BOOTY MUNCH
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 25
As promised,Ryder and I’ve spent the majority of the evening pretending absolutely nothing is wrong in our world.
We danced around the kitchen before he caught the time and realized the pole fitness studio had a class we could make. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer about it, but judging by the much more fluid movements of his hips and the seductive way he pinned me to the chair with both his body and eyes, I’d say he’s been practicing. The idea of him rehearsing a lap dance for me with one of the wooden chairs from the kitchen has me equal parts amused and turned on.
Warm water runs down my back, my core tensing as images of Ryder and me the other night flit through my mind, replacing the near equally erotic image of him grinding against me at our class tonight.
Heat pools low in my belly as I open the glass door, sticking my head out. “Ry!” I shout, hoping he’ll hear me in the living room.
“Yes, darlin’? Everything okay?” he calls. “Did you forget a towel again?”
“Yeah, Ry, sorry. Could you bring me one?” I ask, a moantraipsing past my lips as he grows closer, my nipples pebbling with the knowledge that my husband is seconds from falling to his knees for meand he doesn’t even know it.
I hear the doors of the linen closet creak, sliding open and closed, then his footfalls against the tile floors.
“You have a towel, right—” His words cut off when he sees me wearing nothing but a playful grin.
“Ry, could you help me out here? I can’t reach my back, and I’m feelingextradirty right now.”
“Oh hell, darlin’,” he moans. “I’ll be right there.” He frantically strips down, joining me in the shower. His hands smooth over my warm, wet skin, and he nips at the sensitive skin along the column of my neck.
I close my eyes, allowing sensations to wash over me with the hot spray of the shower. He plucks one of my nipples, tingles of pleasure zapping through me like an electric current. I moan, the sound verging on a cry.
“Your body is a thing to be worshipped, and I plan on making myself an altar at your feet,” he proclaims, his voice gravelly as he moves to kneel on the floor, praising me and ravishing every inch of my body with his lips and tongue.
He makes it to his knees, his large hand gripping the back of my thigh and the other cupping my ass. I twine my fingers in his hair, tugging on the roots as I commit every detail of this moment to memory.
His full, swollen lips from the many kisses we’ve shared tonight. The wet, shaggy waves plastered to his forehead. Pleading, earnest eyes anchoring me to him. He appears to be as enraptured by me as I am by him, like two sirens calling to one another.
I pull his head into my center, urging him forward. He dips his chin without hesitation, sliding the tip of his nose through my wetness, lapping at the sensitive skin between my thighs, my legs trembling with need. I cry out, desperately wanting more, but he stops, his expression taking on a more feral lookof need. His mouth and face are coated in my slick heat, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips clean as a heady groan rumbles through his chest.
“I want to prove my devotion to this delicious pussy, Lola. Do I get to do that?” he asks.
I bite my lip, his words sending heat licking up my spine as I nod my enthusiasm.
“Use your words,” he commands, an ache of desire settling into my bones at his demanding tone. Who’d have thought a coarse and formidable Ryder would be as needlessly attractive as a desperate and needy one?
Okay, I guess Ihavespent a lot of time considering that would be a possibility. Either way, my husband is the sexiest man on the planet, and I fully intend to use my words with him.
“I want you to make me come all over your face, Ry,” I pant, and he wastes no time hoisting my leg up, balancing it on one of his shoulders to give him better access.
