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Riddick’s gaze slides down to Ryan’s very hard cock that’s straining inside his jeans, and his eyes go dark. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you can do this just fine.”
“But…” Ryan glances at me, his gaze uncertain.
“Your doctor gave the all clear, as long as you don’t strain yourself,” I tell him, just a little smugly.
“You mean…?” Now he looks startled.
Because we talked to his doctor about it? Or because he thinks it’s too soon?
“As long as you’re not the one doing the fucking,” Riddick says, “and aren’t fucked into the mattress, it’s all good. Orgasms are good for your heart. Pleasure is the best medicine.”
Ryan visibly chews on this, unconvinced.
I can understand that. In his shoes, I’d be terrified to put my newly-fixed heart to the test so soon. It’s hard, seeing him so unsure. He was such a cocksure guy before, pun intended.
But it was a serious surgery, and maybe we’re pushing him too far, too soon.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I say softly and reach over to caress his jaw. “We thought that if you didn’t have to put effort into it, and with your doc’s blessings, it would be something you’d enjoy, that’s all.”
“Bry’s right, we didn’t mean to pressure you,” Riddick says. “Let’s just lie back down and enjoy the afternoon.”
Ryan doesn’t seem to be listening. His gaze is faraway. He’s still pressing his hand to his sternum. “I do want it,” he whispers eventually. “You have no idea…” He clears his throat, his pretty green eyes shinin
g too bright. “When I thought I’d die… When I thought I’d lost you… My memory kept returning here, to us making love in front of the fire and in my bedroom upstairs.”
Making love.
Yes, that’s what it was.
“And if my doctor says it’s fine, I have nothing to argue, but you haven’t…” He licks his lips. “You haven’t seen.”
“Seen what?” Riddick asks, gaze narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
Ryan lets out a long breath. “You haven’t even seen my scar.”
I frown. “The incision from the surgery?”
He winces and nods.
I exchange a helpless, confused look with Riddick. “You think your scar will stop us from wanting you?”
The moment I ask the question, Ryan flinches, and I realize that’s exactly what he thinks.
Good God.
“You idiot,” Riddick says.
“Are you nuts?” I ask.
Ryan opens his mouth but no sound comes out.
Riddick sighs, and I rub a hand over my lips, not knowing what to say after this. There is nothing I can say.
“Let us show you,” I hear myself say anyway, “how much we want you.”
Riddick growls low in his throat, and has Ryan lying down on the cushions and bared in seconds. Shirt unbuttoned and thrown open, zipper lowered and pants shoved down around Ryan’s narrow hips, bunched over muscular thighs.
Riddick traces the red, angry scar bisecting Ryan’s chest with a tender fingertip and I take it in for the first time.
