It Ends With Us (20 page)

“You know what I like the most about you?”

“I already know this answer,” I say, smiling. “My mouth.”

He leans his head back against the couch. “Oh yeah. That does come first. But do you know what my second favorite thing about you is?”

I shake my head.

“You don’t put pressure on me to be something I’m incapable of being. You accept me exactly how I am.”

I smile. “Well, in all fairness, you’re a little different from when I first met you. You aren’t so anti-girlfriend anymore.”

“That’s because you make it easy,” he says, sliding a hand inside the back of my shirt. “It’s easy being with you. I can still have the career I’ve always
wanted, but you make it ten times better with the way you support me. When I’m with you, I feel like I get to have my cake and eat it, too.”

Now both of his hands are beneath my shirt, pressed against my back. He pulls me toward him and kisses me. I grin against his mouth and whisper, “Is it the best cake you’ve ever
tasted?”

One of his hands moves to the back of my bra and he unfastens it with ease. “I’m pretty sure, but maybe I need another taste of it to be positive.” He pulls my shirt and bra
over my head. I begin to push myself off of him so I can pull off my jeans, but he pulls me back onto his lap. He grabs his stethoscope and puts it in his ears, then presses the diaphragm against
my chest, right over my heart.

“What’s got your heart so worked up, Lily?”

I shrug innocently. “It might have a little to do with you, Dr. Kincaid.”

He drops the end of the stethoscope and then lifts me off of him, pushing me back onto the couch. He spreads my legs and kneels down on the couch between them, placing the stethoscope against my
chest again. He uses his other hand to hold himself up as he continues listening to my heart.

“I’d say you’re at about ninety beats per minute,” he says.

“Is that good or bad?”

He grins and lowers himself on top of me. “I’ll be satisfied when it reaches one forty.”

Yeah. If it reaches 140, I’m thinking I’ll be satisfied, too. He lowers his mouth to my chest and my eyes fall shut when I feel his tongue slide across my breast. He takes me in his
mouth, keeping the stethoscope pressed against my chest the entire time. “You’re at about one hundred now,” he says. He wraps the stethoscope around his neck again and then pulls
back, unbuttoning my jeans. Once he slides them off of me, he turns me over until I’m on my stomach, my arms draped over the arm of the couch.

“Get on your knees,” he says.

I do what he says and before I’m even adjusted, I feel the cold metal of the stethoscope meet my chest again, this time with his arm snaked around me from behind. I remain still as he
listens to my heartbeat. His other hand slowly begins to find its way between my legs and then inside my panties and then inside of me. I grip the couch but try to keep the noises to a minimum
while he listens to my heart.

“One hundred and ten,” he says, still unsatisfied.

He pulls my hips back to meet him and then I can feel him freeing himself from his scrubs. He grips my hip with one hand while shoving my panties aside with the other. Then he pushes forward
until he’s all the way inside of me.

I’m grasping the couch with two desperate fists when he pauses to listen to my heart again. “Lily,” he says with mock disappointment. “One twenty. Not quite where I want
you.”

The stethoscope disappears again and his arm curls around my waist. His hand slides down my stomach and settles between my legs. I can no longer keep up with his rhythm. I can barely even stay
on my knees. He’s somehow holding me up with one hand and destroying me in the best possible way with his other hand. Right when I start to tremble, he pulls me upright until my back meets
his chest. He’s still inside me, but now he’s focused on my heart again as he moves his stethoscope around to the front of my chest.

I let out a moan and he presses his lips to my ear. “Shh. No noises.”

I have no idea how I make it through the next thirty seconds without making another sound. One of his arms is wrapped around me with the stethoscope pressed to my chest. His other arm is tight
against my stomach as his hand continues its magic between my legs. He’s still somehow deep inside me and I’m trying to move against him, but he’s rock solid as the tremors begin
to rush through me. My legs are shaking and my hands are at my sides, gripping the tops of his thighs as it takes every ounce of my strength not to scream out his name.

I’m still shaking when he lifts my hand and places the diaphragm against my wrist. After several seconds, he pulls the stethoscope away and tosses it to the floor. “One fifty,”
he says with satisfaction. He pulls out of me and flips me onto my back and then his mouth is on mine and he’s inside me again.

My body is too weak to move and I can’t even open my eyes and watch him. He thrusts against me several times and then holds still, groaning into my mouth. He drops on top of me, tense, yet
shaking.

He kisses my neck and then his lips meet the tattoo of the heart on my collarbone. He finally settles against my neck and sighs.

“Have I already mentioned tonight how much I like you?” he asks.

I laugh. “Once or twice.”

“Consider this the third time,” he says. “I like you. Everything about you, Lily. Being inside of you. Being outside of you. Being near you. I like it all.”

I smile, loving how his words feel against my skin. Inside my heart. I open my mouth to tell him I like him, too, but my voice is cut off by the sound of his phone.

He groans against my neck and then pulls out of me and reaches for his phone. He pulls his scrubs back into place and laughs as he looks at his caller ID.

“It’s my mother,” he says, leaning over and kissing the top of my knee that’s resting against the back of the couch. He tosses the phone aside and then stands and walks
over to my desk, grabbing a box of tissues.

This is always awkward, having to clean up after sex. But I can’t say it’s ever been this awkward before, knowing his mother is on the other end of that ring.

Once all my clothes are back in place, he pulls me against him on the couch and I lie down on top of him, resting my head on his chest.

It’s after ten now and I’m so comfortable I debate just sleeping here for the night. Ryle’s phone makes another noise, alerting him to a new voice mail. The thought of seeing
him interact with his mother makes me smile. Allysa talks about their parents some, but I’ve never really talked to Ryle about them before.

“Do you get along with your parents?”

His arm is stroking mine gently. “Yeah, I do. They’re good people. We hit a rough patch when I was a teenager, but we worked through it. I talk to my mother almost daily
now.”

I fold my arms over his chest and rest my chin on them, looking up at him. “Will you tell me more about your mother? Allysa told me they moved to England a few years ago. And that they
were in Australia on vacation, but that was like a month ago.”

He laughs. “My mother? Well . . . my mother is very overbearing. Very judgmental, especially of the people she loves the most. She’s never missed a single church
service. And I have never heard her refer to my father as anything other than Dr. Kincaid.”

Despite the warnings, he smiles the whole time he talks about her.

“Your father is a doctor, too?”

He nods. “Psychiatrist. He chose a field that also allowed him to have a normal life. Smart man.”

“Do they ever visit you in Boston?”

“Not really. My mother hates flying, so Allysa and I fly to England a couple of times a year. She does want to meet you, though, so you might be going with us on the next trip.”

I grin. “You’ve told your mother about me?”

“Of course,” he says. “This is kind of a monumental thing, you know. Me having a girlfriend. She calls me every day to make sure I haven’t screwed it up
somehow.”

I laugh, which makes him reach for his phone. “You think I’m kidding? I guarantee she somehow brought you up in the voice mail she just left.” He presses a few keys and then
begins to play the voice mail.

“Hey, sweetheart! It’s your mom. Haven’t spoken to you since yesterday. Miss you. Give Lily a hug for me. You do still see her, right? Allysa says you can’t stop
talking about her. She is still your girlfriend, right? Okay. Gretchen’s here, we’re having high tea. Love you. Kiss kiss.”

I press my face against his chest and laugh. “We’ve only been dating a few months. How much do you talk about me?”

He pulls my hand up between us and kisses it. “Too much, Lily. Way too much.”

I smile. “I can’t wait to meet them. Not only did they raise an incredible daughter, but they made you. That’s pretty impressive.”

His arms tighten around me and he kisses the top of my head.

“What was your brother’s name?” I ask him.

I can feel a slight stiffness in him after I ask that. I regret bringing it up, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Emerson.”

I can tell by his voice that it’s not something he wants to talk about right now. Instead of pressing it further, I lift my head and scoot forward, pressing my mouth to his.

I should know better. Kisses can’t seem to stop at just kisses when it comes to me and Ryle. In a matter of minutes, he’s inside of me again, but this time it’s everything the
other time wasn’t.

This time we make love.

My phone rings. I pick it up to see who it is and I’m a little taken aback. It’s the first time Ryle has ever called me. We always just text. How odd to have a
boyfriend for over three months that I’ve never once spoken to on the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says.

I smile cheesily at the sound of his voice. “Hey, boyfriend.”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m taking the day off tomorrow. Your floral shop doesn’t open until one o’clock on Sundays. I’m on my way to your apartment with two bottles of wine. You want to
have a sleepover with your boyfriend and have drunken sex all night and sleep until noon?”

It’s really embarrassing what his words do to me. I smile and say, “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m cooking you dinner. And I’m wearing an apron.”

“Oh yeah?” he says.

“
Just
an apron.” And then I hang up.

A few seconds later, I get a text message.

I’m almost finished preparing the casserole mixture when the door opens. I pour it into the glass pan and don’t turn around when I hear him walk into the kitchen. When I said I was
just wearing an apron, I meant it. I’m not even wearing panties.

I can hear him suck in a rush of air when I reach over to the oven and stick the casserole inside. I might reach a little too far for show when I do it. When I close the oven, I don’t face
him. I grab a rag and start wiping down the oven, making sure to sway my hips as much as possible. I squeal when I feel a piercing sting on my right butt cheek. I spin around and Ryle is grinning,
holding two bottles of wine.

“Did you just
bite
me?”

He gives me an innocent look. “Don’t tempt the scorpion if you don’t want to get stung.” He eyes me up and down while he opens one of the bottles. He holds it up before
he pours us a glass and says, “It’s vintage.”

“
Vintage
,” I say with mock impression. “What’s the special occasion?”

He hands me a glass and says, “I’m going to be an uncle. I have a smoking hot girlfriend. And I get to perform a very rare, possibly once-in-a-lifetime craniopagus separation on
Monday.”

“A cranio-
what
?”

He finishes off his glass of wine and pours himself another one. “Craniopagus separation. Conjoined twins,” he says. He points to a spot on the top of his head and taps it.
“Attached right here. We’ve been studying them since they were born. It’s a very rare surgery.
Very
rare.”

For the first time, I think I’m genuinely turned on by him as a doctor. I mean, I admire his drive. I admire his dedication. But seeing how excited he is about what he’s doing for a
living is seriously sexy.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Not sure. They’re young, so being under general anesthesia for too long is a concern.” He holds up his right hand and wiggles his fingers. “But this is a very
special hand that has been through almost half a million dollars’ worth of specialty education. I have a lot of faith in this hand.”

I walk over to him and press my lips to his palm. “I’m a little fond of this hand, too.”

He slides the hand down to my neck and then spins me so that I’m flush against the counter. I gasp, because I wasn’t expecting that.

He pushes himself against me from behind and slowly slides his hand down the side of my body. I press my palms into the granite and close my eyes, already feeling the rush of the wine.

“This hand,” he whispers, “is the steadiest hand in all of Boston.”

He pushes on the back of my neck, bending me further over the counter. His hand meets the inside of my knee and he glides it upward. Slowly.
Jesus.

He pushes my legs apart, and then his fingers are inside me. I moan and try to find something to hold on to. I grip the faucet, just as he begins to work magic.

And then, just like a magician, his hand disappears.

I hear him walking out of the kitchen. I watch as he passes the front of the counter. He winks at me, downs the rest of his glass of wine and says, “I’m gonna take a quick
shower.”

What a tease.

“You asshole!” I yell after him.

“I’m not an asshole!” he yells from my bedroom. “I’m a highly trained neurosurgeon!”

I laugh and pour myself another glass of wine.

I’ll show him who the tease really is.

• • •

I’m on my third glass of wine when he walks out of my bedroom.