The Replacement (16 page)

CHAPTER 9

The air in the tent is warmer and stuffy. I slip off my jacket and crawl onto Ryder’s lap, stationing my knees on each side of him. He welcomes me, drinking me in. His eyes rake down, then back up, and his arms move to encase me against him. I look down into his soulful gaze, running my fingers through his hair just as I’ve been wanting to. The soft crackle of the fire outside seeps into the tent, mixing with the music Ryder’s turned on. I recognize it: “Born to Die” by Lana Del Rey.

“Touch me,” I whisper against his mouth, pulling lightly on his bottom lip with my teeth. I bring my arms up and rest my elbows on top of his shoulders, tangling his hair tighter between my fingers.

“This position feels familiar,” he laughs under his breath, smiling into my kiss. He cups my head, skimming my cheek lightly. I feel as if I’ll shatter in his hands. “How do you want it, baby?”

“Like this.”

“Is this your favorite?” He subtly rolls his hips up, meeting me with a soft thrust.

“Yes.” With him, it will be. I couldn’t hold back the truth if I tried. I’m rarely on top, and when I am, it’s with a man who doesn’t know how to touch me. And one who certainly doesn’t look at me the way Ryder does.

His hands find the hem of my sweater and slip underneath, slowly creeping up. They explore the sides of my torso, then glide down my rib cage before climbing back up to the bottom curves of my breasts. I whimper and dip my hips, prompting a sharp hiss from his lips. He pulls back from my mouth and gasps slightly, grazing his fingers along my curves, running them from side to side. He plays with each swell, taking his time feeling their weight.

Another whimper breaks free from my throat and his control slips.

His hands become more desperate, cupping and kneading my breasts, groping hard at my nipples. He stops abruptly, reaching down to snatch the hem of my sweater up and over my head. My bra goes right with it, and I hear the fine sound of a zipper beneath me, feel him tugging at the button of my jeans. I don’t wait for him to undo it, instead reaching for his jacket. I shrug it down his shoulders and work fast over the buttons of his flannel shirt.

“I can’t wait to feel you,” he breathes, glancing down as I work to undress him. His mouth doesn’t wander far from mine, nipping and sucking at my lips as I go. “Can I taste you first?” he asks when I reach the bottom button. My throat locks up and I forget how to speak.

No one’s ever asked me like that before.

I nod softly and let his shirt slide down his arms. It gathers at his wrists and he discards it to the side, then shifts to lower me down on my back in front of him. I’m waiting for him to sense Nate all over me, to freeze and turn disgusted, to cast me out of his home. Instead, he slides my jeans down my legs and trails one finger along my panty line. The sensation makes my skin burn and I wiggle against his fingertip.

“There it is.” He continues teasing my panty line, his eyes falling on my tattoo. It’s just below my right hip bone. “What does it say?” He grazes his thumb over the birdcage and then skims the bird flying from the open door. The bird carries a heart with an inscription. “Quand on veut, on peut,” I say. “When one wants, one can. The French equivalent for
where there’s a will, there’s a way.
”

His gaze lifts and burns me for a moment. “I love it. Just like I love this,” he says, kneeling in front of me. He sits back on his heels and appraises me. I can feel his gaze make a lazy trail from my eyes to my lips, then down the slope of my neck. It lingers on my breasts and slithers down to my navel, finally landing on the panty line he’s been playing with. “Seeing you bare, wet, and mine.” He lowers himself to my thighs.

I have to look away.

“Elise,” he breathes against my inner thigh. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”

I don’t speak, just hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties and start to peel them down my hips.

His hands reach out and stop me. “Let me.” He maintains his stare, but I can’t give him what he wants. I can’t hold the contact. He finishes peeling my panties off and his head floats back down, his mouth just inches from my clit. “Delicious,” he whispers, sliding two fingers inside of me just as he leans in to lick slowly. My back arches and I bow off the sleeping bag at the feel of his tongue.

“Shit,” I pant, my hands drifting down to his head.

“Elise, your eyes.” His fingers glide deeper inside as his tongue flicks my clit. The pleasure is so deep, so razor sharp, I can’t focus on anything else but his touch. “Stay with me, baby.”

He pumps his fingers back and forth and my lids flitter open. I roll my head slightly so I’m able to look down at him. His penetrating chocolate eyes hammer into me and he rewards me with another luscious lick. He pumps his fingers harder as he works me with his tongue and I begin to grind against him, the rhythm he’s setting sending me coasting into a tumultuous storm. It’s brewing inside and out, rattling my bones, and everything about it makes me squirm.

“Ryder, oh my God.” The pressure of his tongue is too much, sending me to the edge too fast, too soon, but I can’t pull away. I wriggle beneath him as I feel the build, but his hands clamp down on my hips and he holds me still, pressing me into the sleeping bag. “Ryder, fuck!”

He groans against me, his tongue thrashing harder and harder. I’m going to explode. His neighbors, nearby park rangers, and all of Snow White’s little animal friends are going to find pieces of me strewn across this tent, because he’s turning me inside out and I can’t fucking hold myself together.

I resort to begging. “Please,” I cry, shamelessly guiding his head against me, “oh please, please, please.” I feel the thrum of a laugh deep in his throat—a smug, really fucking sexy laugh that reverberates sublimely against me, causing a desperate gasp to rise from my chest. A beat passes before he increases the friction of his tongue while thrusting a third finger inside of me.

An explosion of light sails over me and I free fall into a blanket of clouds and stars and pale moonlight. The universe wraps its arms around me and wrings me dry, until it has taken every last drop from my veins. I shout Ryder’s name and jerk beneath him. His hands turn ironclad on my hips, the pressure of his mouth unyielding as I seek relief. I twitch and twist from left to right, and the warmth of his mouth finally lets up. I hear the tear of a wrapper and another zipper, and his coarse hands slip underneath the small of my back. He tenderly lifts me up and guides me back onto his lap, his hand grasping the nape of my neck.

Our eyes meet.

“You’re dangerous,” Ryder says. “Bad fucking news, baby.” He draws me up and then sinks me slowly down, until he’s buried deep, stretching me completely. We both release an unrestrained breath, adjusting to the sensation. He grasps tighter at my neck, bringing his forehead to mine. I’m able to hold his gaze longer this time, relishing in the way he prompts me to ride him. His fingers dig into my hips and urge them on, rocking them back and forth. Moaning, he tilts his head to suck at my neck.

My rhythmic waves are fast, the soft graze of Ryder’s teeth on my flesh drawing a long, feral moan from my throat. “Damn it,” I hiss against his shoulder, taking him deeper and deeper with each new wave. It’s then that my eyes begin to drift shut, and I begin to grant myself the luxury of allowing my head to fall back. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too preoccupied with his tongue and his teeth, and his hands are frantically gripping at my back, grasping at me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.

“Slow down, baby,” he works to ease the roll of my hips, “let me watch you. I like to watch.”

I’m burning from head to toe, and my body has taken the reins, but I focus on slowing my pace. It’s worth it to watch him watching me. If that’s what he wants, it’s his.

My waist rolls and I rise, then glide back down in descent. His chin drops slightly, his eyes crawling up and down my silhouette as I move, his jaw slightly agape. With blazing eyes, he leans forward every few seconds to steal a taste, drawing my skin into his mouth and sucking hard. He especially likes my breasts. He can’t keep his eyes or mouth off of them, and I have no problem with his obsession, except for the fact that it’s speeding up the simmering pool building low in my stomach. My inner thighs are buzzing, my clit throbbing painfully with the impending release.

“Let me hear you again,” he says gruffly, running his nose up the length of my exposed throat. “Come for me.” His words are a siren, and I surrender to them, holding nothing back. I let go, allowing sensation to slowly unravel me. I’m just about there.

Flashes of Nate pinning me to his apartment wall pierce my thoughts, followed by visions of the few times Christian let me ride him. His hands were strong, his words powerful, but no matter how careful he was with me, I was never fragile in his arms. Not like this. Not like I could shatter into a million pieces.

My mind quickly expels the images so intent on steamrolling me. They rush forward at a hundred miles an hour, relentless and showing no mercy, but I hit them like a dam and they crash. I focus on the delicious sounds Ryder’s making beneath me: pained moans and tight, low growls as he pumps deep, mouthwatering thrusts into me, over and over again. The gentle determination of his hands distracts me further, and I realize I’m in trouble. He has it all wrong.

He’s the dangerous one.

We both come on loud, stilted shouts, and it takes a few seconds for me to roll to a complete stop before I can manage to catch my breath. I teeter to the side and fall off his lap. He sighs and flops onto his back, letting his legs go slack against the sleeping bag. He lifts his head and slides his arm underneath, propping himself up. I move to lie next to him and snuggle up to his chest. His arm drifts down and lands perfectly around my waist, like a puzzle piece that’s been missing. Our breathing begins to even out and Lana Del Rey’s soft, sensual vocals continue to play as we lie there quietly, listening. The music begins to lull me into a deep rest. Sleep finally takes me, and I gladly give in.

Snip, snip, snip.

A slicing sound shreds my thoughts, cutting deeply.

“Darling, please,” my mom’s voice splinters through, claiming my full attention. “Don’t make her do this. It’s cruel.”

“She has to learn, Elena,” my dad says sternly. His face appears and I realize I’m sitting at the vanity table again, facing the mirror like I always am. My mother stands to my left, her arms crossed nervously across her chest. She’s biting her nail, her brow and lips pinched in concern. My father is directly behind me, his reflection forming a halo over my golden blonde hair. “Get rid of it, Elise.”

“But Dad,” I cry, feeling my body shake on a sob, “you always tell me my hair is perfect. Don’t you want me to be beautiful, like Mom?”

“You’ve forgotten what a gift you have,” he replies, his hand hovering over my shoulder, handing me something sharp and shiny. “You want to spend time with dykes? Then it’s time you look like one.”

“Please,” I choke, unable to rip my eyes from the large pair of scissors he’s forcing into my hands.

“Darling,” my mom says with urgency, “this has gone far enough. You’ve made your point.”

“Keep quiet, Elena. Don’t tell me how to parent my daughter. She will do this.” His cold, clammy fingers hit mine, shoving the scissors into my hands. He closes my fist, forcing me to grip them and I squirm, trying desperately to pull my hands away. “Elise,” he barks harshly, “that’s enough. Either you do it, or I will.”

His words are so callous, I try appealing to his paternal side. I drop the scissors and swivel around to reach for him, grabbing and pleading for him to hug me. If he’ll just touch me, just hold me. “Dad, I love you. Please, don’t do this to me. I’m sorry you’re upset with me—please!” I manage to wrap my arms around his waist, but he peels them off and pushes them away, bending down to snatch the scissors up from the floor. His fingers dig into my hair, grasping at the roots, then clamp down hard as he turns me back around to face the mirror.

“Darling, no!” my mom cries, jolting forward to intervene.

“Elena, get out.” My father blocks her and gathers up another fistful of my hair. “Get out
now
, before I do something I’ll regret.”

“I’m begging you, darling, stop. Please, please God, stop!”

Snip.

I cry out at the first cut. My mother covers her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why are you doing this?” she sobs, her hands trembling.

“I said get out, you stupid, hideous whore. Out!”

My mother finally breaks, her entire frame caving in on itself. She flees from the bedroom, leaving me at the mercy of my father. He grabs another fistful of hair, then another, each slice more frantic than the first. His movements are rough and erratic, my head being yanked every which way as he hacks at my long locks. My hysterical cries have been replaced with deep, internal wails, sobs that can only be heard on the inside, beating their heavy drum at my soul. My heart is thrashing against my rib cage and I pray for it to be quick.

Someone or something must hear me, because my father’s hands let go.

The scissors drop to the vanity table with a loud clatter, and a cloud of blonde hair hovers all around me, strands floating down to my shoulders. Chunks tumble off my chest and arms, plummeting to the carpet. My father looks at me once through the mirror and then stalks away, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him, as if he didn’t just manhandle me and massacre my perfect blonde hair.