16
Pia
My a*s was worn out. Exhausted. Sunburned from nose to toes by the time Ryker dropped me off at my apartment Sunday night. He didn’t take me up on the offer to stay, but I didn’t push.
Waking up face to face—but not touching—had still satisfied in some way. He hadn’t asked me to touch him again, and I made sure to hold myself in check, but the hope inside me couldn’t be defeated.
We’d gone out for a real dinner twice. We’d made love face to face again—I couldn’t call what we’d done f*****g. The emotional connection we had went beyond anything I’d experienced, hell, beyond anything I’d hoped for, and I found contentment in that even though I hadn’t yet tasted his lips.
Yet.
He spent the week up north at his home, his club, while I toiled away still trying to find my missing gir
