🔥STEAMINESS ALERT—a few mild recollections ;) 🔥

♫ It's obvious you're meant for me
Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly ♪
{Little Mix—Secret love song part II}

Stirring in her slumber, Coralie woke with a start. But with a pleasant start—a lazy smile spread across her lips as she opened her eyes and remembered where she was. What she'd come to do.

It was the moment of truth she'd been waiting for, and she felt like a little girl about to select her favorite pony on the merry-go-round. A teenager about to meet her heartthrob idol for the first time. A woman about to find the man of her dreams.

She knew it in her soul that when she turned and discovered Ryan sleeping peacefully beside her, his lashes fluttering with his heavy but soothing breaths, his large arms bulged but at rest as he lay flat on his back, his head tipped to the side, a few feeble snores escaping his nose—that would be it. The competition would be over. Ryan Bennett would be her final choice, and she'd live with it, with him, for the remainder of her days.

But as she twisted, heart thumping in anticipation, she had yet another start—Ryan wasn't there. The curtains were slightly parted, allowing a slither of grayish light in, illuminating the mahogany colored sheets.

The indent of his body remained on said sheets, and a faint imprint of his head was still on the pillow, but he was gone.

From the depth of those imprints and the warmth still radiating from his spot, Coralie knew he hadn't been up for long. But why was he up?

Coralie scowled at the spot where he should have been. Waking next to him, watching him sleep, receiving the revelation that he was the one—that had been the whole point of her coming over. And Ryan himself had fucked that up by waking before she did? Hadn't she explained this to him?

Maybe he'd gone to make coffee. Or he went to the bathroom and would be back shortly. She could roll over and pretend to sleep, and she could still have that moment after he returned, right? She could still rotate towards him and see the truth in his eyes, even if they were already open.

"Fine." She tugged the blankets over herself and couldn't help but smile at the softness of the fabric against her bare breasts.

Her nipples were a bit sore; Ryan had toyed with them for hours the night before. After he'd dropped her onto the bed, he'd had his way with her, teasing her, keeping her begging for a release. He'd licked every inch of her, as if discovering her for the first time. Swirling his tongue around her nipples in a slow-fast-super slow-super fast rhythm that had brought Coralie to the brink of pleasure. And then taking that tongue and flicking it into her sex, lapping up the taste of her, sending her into a vibrating vortex of madness.

He wouldn't let her do anything to him. He'd barely allowed her to grab his shaft and stroke it while he opened the condom wrapper and got the thing ready to roll on. And getting to that part had taken forever, as he'd insisted on getting her overflowing with arousal before considering entering her.

She'd seduced him, he'd said; so she'd have to pay the price that came with.

"You're not to move until I tell you to," he'd ordered, as she'd squirmed about, fighting the urge to touch herself, to ease the mounting desire in her core. "Lay there and let me devour you, you sexy, sassy, sensual creature of dreams."

His words were so poetic, they almost reminded her of Chester. The few times when he'd spoken in dirty tones—oh, she shuddered again at that memory—she'd suppressed a few flashes of Michael.

"Do you like when I thrust hard like that, huh?" Ryan's eyes had been a striking shade of sea-foam, mesmerizing and electrifying.

They'd left the lights on, to better visualize every instant, capture every sight needed to remember this forever.

"When I fuck you fast and make you cum even faster?"

In the moment, Coralie hadn't been able to answer. Her mind was a blur of emotions and sensations, and she was numb from the thrill of his dick sliding in and out of her, caressing the walls of her vagina as if coercing her to let it stay in there forever. She wouldn't have refused. Ryan's penis belonged in her, she had no doubt. It fit so well, felt so divine; why wouldn't she want it inside, always?

Rehashing the night's events made her wet. "Where is he?" she whispered, sitting up and clutching the covers to her bosom.

If anything, couldn't he come back to bed to make love to her again? She was aching down there, craving him, and if he didn't resurface, she'd have to get started on her own. And as hot as Ryan had once said that was, he now wanted to be the only one fluttering her lower lips and bringing her delight.

"It's mine," he'd mentioned last night, between sessions of intense arousal, titillating her with his tongue. "Only my fingers or my tongue or my dick can go in here. If you're horny, if you're about to touch yourself—don't. Tell me, call me, and I'll take care of you immediately."

"Okay, well," she quickly gauged the space between her legs and detected moisture there, "I am horny. Where are you, Ryan?" She said it in a singsong voice, and seized the cover to wrap it around herself as she stood up and sauntered over to the closed door.

She was about to set her hand over the doorknob, but paused at the sound of voices. Two of them, coming from the living room, behind the door.

One of them was feminine; deep, husky, but irritated and clipped. "Why?"

That was all she said, and it wasn't enough for Coralie to try to figure out who she was; though Coralie could have sworn she detected the faintest traces of an English accent. Having been born in the United Kingdom, she could sniff a British intonation out in a second.

Ryan had plenty of women in his life; co-workers, associates, friends—so who was this? Which of his acquaintances had an English accent and would show up on a Tuesday morning at his pad? A flicker of jealousy ignited in Coralie, but her curiosity won; she pressed her ear to the door.

Ryan's voice was raised, and the irritation in it was clear. "Because I told you I'd meet you at your hotel. Not here, Gemma."

Gemma?

Coralie's heart stopped. Gemma. Gemma Bennett. Formerly Bennett; Coralie didn't know her maiden name. Ryan's ex-wife. She was at Ryan's doorstep—no, in his apartment, and they both sounded frustrated.

What the fuck is happening?

"Right," someone huffed, "and I waited for you, and you didn't come, so I'm here." The voice was heavily accented, now that Coralie heard it better. Gemma sounded the way she'd looked in pictures—stern, but with a dark, almost sexy tint to her voice. Like a tall, tenebrous tree, if one could speak.

Ryan groaned. "Can you just go back and I'll be there shortly?" Heavy footsteps approached the bedroom door, and Coralie gasped, covering her mouth as she slipped backwards. "Something came up, and I ended up going to bed late. I overslept, and I feel like shit. I need to shower and have some coffee, and then I'll be there, okay?"

Coralie gulped. Her fingers were numb from how hard she'd been holding the blanket against her. Her cheeks overheated and she wondered if steam would soon pour out of her orifices.

"I was going to call you later, or tomorrow."

Was Gemma the reason Ryan was so perturbed yesterday? Why in the world was she in New York? And why was she bugging Ryan? Had they not signed divorce papers? Did she come to talk about custody of the kids? Had she arrived to fight for him, to win him back?

Rage roamed through Coralie, worsening the heating of her cheeks. She was positive she'd turned purple, by this point. She had no idea what was keeping her from bursting out into the living room and showing Gemma that she was the "something that came up" that Ryan had mentioned. How dare he not specify it? She was with Ryan, and she was what mattered. Gemma had left him, and he'd come running to Cora.

"He's mine," Coralie muttered to herself, reminiscent of how Ryan had appropriated her vagina that night. "I chose him. He's mine."

Coralie battled herself for a few moments, but elected not to interfere—popping up now would intensify the drama, and she didn't want to interrupt them. Ryan would explain, he always did. He'd reassure her that Gemma was here for something else; she was a model, after all, so maybe she had a gig. Maybe it was a friendly visit, and Coralie had impeded their plans.

No need to overreact.

She sat on the edge of the bed and waited, wondering, worrying. Their voices were louder now, so she didn't need to glue herself to the door to listen.

"You definitely need coffee," said Gemma, sounding a little distant—was she leaving? "You're in one of those moods. What happened?"

"It's..." Ryan blew out a breath so loud and heavy Coralie felt it seep under the threshold and hit her in the chest. "Work. Stress. The opening was a success, but we're struggling to keep clients, and money is hemorrhaging... same as the Liverpool incident."

Coralie scrunched her eyebrows. She'd been so disconnected from Ryan, needing her space, that she'd had no clue he was having issues at work. Nor did she know what the Liverpool incident was. Had she been a terrible lover? Disinterested in what was going on in his life, too busy trying to straighten out hers?

And then again—was he telling the truth? Or lying to get Gemma to leave?

"Ah, I understand the lack of sleep, then. Fine." Coralie heard Gemma's footsteps as they receded—apparently, she was wearing high heels. "Meet me when you're feeling better, then. You have the key. I might be at the jacuzzi, though, so send a text to let me know when you're on your way, hm?"

You have the key? What does that mean?

Ryan's footfalls moved towards the front door, and all was silent again. Coralie couldn't tell if they said anything else, or if the door opened and closed; but she didn't want Ryan to know she'd overheard them. She wanted to give him a chance to explain himself without her prodding. So she fumbled over to her side of the bed and plunged under the sheets, covering herself up with the blanket. She resumed the position she'd been in upon waking—her back facing Ryan's spot—closed her eyes, and steadied her breathing.

The bedroom door creaked open instants later. Someone padded in—Ryan, for sure, she recognized the way he walked—and sat on the mattress.

Coralie continued to feign sleep, hoping he'd creep into the covers and grab her and tug her into his embrace. He'd tell her Gemma was an idiot, that he loved Coralie, that the night they'd spent together meant everything to him.

"I know you're awake," he said, without moving. He didn't reach over to caress her, didn't heave the blankets off her.

Coralie frowned, but since she was turned away from him, he couldn't see it.

"Coralie." His tone was pinched, impatient. "Stop pretending to sleep."

She shifted about and stretched as if she had been sleeping. "Huh?" She slowly spun to him and rubbed her eyes, admiring his bare back, but worried about the obvious tension along his spine. "What's going on?"

"You heard everything." He twisted his neck, allowing her to see his profile. The light from the window pooled over his face, showing his concerned expression; he wasn't mad, thankfully. But there was something off about him, nonetheless. Rigid neck cords, droopy eyes, and the manner in which he sat—upright, stiff, evasive.

"I did?" Coralie wasn't certain how far to take her act; would he yell at her if he didn't believe her? Or would he relent and calmly explain the situation to her as if she hadn't been eavesdropping?

"Stop it." He scrubbed his face and pulled himself fully onto the bed, but didn't look at her. "I saw shadows moving under the door; so unless there's someone else in here, you were definitely awake. So sit up and let's talk about this."

Still no anger in his timbre, but he was upset. He didn't get under the covers, and splayed out his legs, moving them about as if unsure how to place them. He settled for crossing them at the ankles, and then he folded his arms, as well. Coralie noticed he was only wearing last night's boxers; was that how he'd welcomed Gemma into his apartment? They'd been married, sure, but was that appropriate now that they were separated?

"Okay, whatever, I overheard," said Coralie, rolling her eyes as she sat up. She kept the blanket over her chest—now was not the moment to woo him into having sex again, clearly. "So what's going on? Why is Gemma in New York?"

Ryan rubbed his chin, still averting his gaze. Coralie tipped forward to glimpse his eyes—they were watery, reddened, and didn't give off their usual exotic, erotic vibe. His lips were thinned, and his shoulders slouched.

"I'm sorry in advance. This is..." He puffed out a breath and seemed to deflate. "I didn't plan this."

Coralie squinted at him. "Like I didn't plan last night? That's okay." She wanted to touch his arm, to make him look at her, but something in his demeanor told her to keep her distance. Something in how he twitched to and fro, unable to get comfortable, caused her to recoil and panic. This was serious; Ryan was serious. "What is it?"

He swallowed and peered into his lap. At first he said nothing, opening and closing his mouth, searching for words. Then he clasped his hands and closed his eyes.

"Gemma and the kids are moving here."

No sugar-coating, no beating around the bush. Classic Ryan, but at the worst possible time.

Coralie dropped the blanket and collapsed off the bed.

♥♥♥