Lily Thompson
I woke up furious.
Furious at him. Furious at myself. Furious at the fact that my body still hummed like a live wire hours after he’d kissed me, touched me, almost had me only to pull back with that maddening calm.
“I want to wait,” he’d said, like patience was some kind of gift. Like restraint was the key to undoing me.
I should have been relieved. I should have rolled my eyes and laughed in his face. This should have given me time to rethink, get a grip of myself.
But instead, I’d lain awake all night, heat pooling between my thighs, my brain on fire with one question: What does Ryan Edwards consider special?
Because if this was just about s*x, he’d have taken the deal. He’d have stripped me bare and had me against the wall until we were too dizzy to stand.
But he ha
