“Fuck work. I hate paperwork, I’d rather work you.”
I giggle, but his statement makes me curious. “What’s your favorite part of your job?” He ignores me and starts sliding his hand up my shirt but I stop his attempt. “You didn’t answer my question,” I say, biting back a smile.
“That’s because I don’t want to talk, baby, I want to fuck.” He brings his mouth to mine again, and as hard as it is for me to do, I push him away then sit up and straddle him. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He groans, gripping my hips and bringing his mouth to my collarbone.
Chuckling, I push him away again. “I’m serious. I want to know.”
When he realizes I’m not going to let it go, he drops his head back on the couch with a frustrated breath. “What was the question?”
“I said, what’s your favorite part of your job?”
I watch him think about it before his eyes drop to my chest, blatantly staring at my boobs. Grabbing his face between my hands I bring his gaze back to mine. “Focus, Ryder!” I scold firmly, but bite my lip and try to stop the smile that wants to break free.
He gives me a dirty grin, not ashamed in the least. The man is seriously cute sometimes.
“Okay, okay.” He finally relents. “What’s my favorite part of my job?” He repeats my question then shrugs. “I don’t know. I like almost everything about it other than the paperwork. But I guess, if I had to pick one, I’d say it’s delivering justice. Especially for people who don’t get a voice.”
I tilt my head in question. “You mean the victims?”
“Yeah. Some of my cases deal with victims of civil rights. People who are considered lower class and get fucked over by assholes who are in positions of power.”
Like my father.
He voices my thoughts, treading carefully. “Take these girls for example. They’re kids who got delivered a shitty hand. They don’t have any family that give a shit about them, and no one cares to look for them, which is why they are in a group home to begin with. They are perceived as troubled teens, or junkies, which is what makes them easy targets. People don’t see they’re humans with just as many rights as anyone else. I remember what that was like, how it was to be judged because of where you came from, or rather who. People would fuck you over in a blink of an eye because they had the money and power that you didn’t. I couldn’t do a goddamn thing about any of it most of my life, but now I can. And I love bringing these assholes down as much as I love fighting for all the people who don’t get a voice because they’ve already been labeled.”
I sit stunned, his words completely breaking my heart. He’s right, he was labeled years ago, and he never had anyone to fight for him. But in the end he prevailed, he worked hard and never gave up.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I frame his face then lean in and kiss his lips. “I’m so proud of you,” I tell him softly, knowing no one has ever said that to him before. “I’m proud of you for working so hard and never giving up. I’m proud of you for being strong and fighting for what’s right. And most of all, I’m proud of who you are. These girls are lucky to have you…” I shake my head. “No, scratch that, this country is lucky to have you fight for them. I’m lucky to have you, and I will fight for you, Ryder. Always.”
Something passes over his expression, something painful yet beautiful, and before I can anticipate it, he crushes his mouth to mine, kissing me with an intensity that steals my breath. I wrap my arms around his neck and give just as good as I get, wanting to show him just how much he means to me.
“Ryder?” I mumble against his lips.
“Yeah, baby?”
“We can fuck now,” I tell him, smiling into our kiss.
He growls. “Fuck yeah.”
I let out a giggle which turns into a squeal of surprise when my back suddenly hits the couch, his body covering mine. Lifting my hips I grind against his erection and whimper, my panties growing wetter by the second. He groans and cups my ass to bring me closer while his mouth begins trailing down my neck. I start clawing at his shirt frantically, desperately wanting to feel his hard, naked body. Just as I start pulling it off, someone knocks on my door.
I still, but Ryder continues his delicious assault. “Ryder, someone is at the door.”
“Fuck them, they can wait, or better yet, go away.” He slips his hand under my shirt and I moan when he cups my breast. I think about agreeing until the knock on my door becomes more insistent.
“Emily, open up. I know you’re in there.”
We both freeze at the sound of my father’s voice, and Ryder’s expression turns dangerously hard. “Stay here,” he commands before getting up.
I quickly sit up and fix myself as he walks to the door. He glances back at me to make sure I’m decent before opening it. My heart thunders in my chest, scared for what’s about to happen.
Ryder leans against the door, blocking me from my father’s view. “What do you want?” he greets coldly.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m here to see my daughter.”
“Wrong. She is my business, and you aren’t going to see her until you tell me what you want.”
There’s a moment of silence before my father speaks again. “Listen, you let me see my daughter now or there will be serious repercussions.” My stomach sinks at the icy disdain that drips from his threat.
“Better be careful, Senator, sometimes we don’t realize just who we’re threatening.”
I stand up and quickly make my way over to the door before things get out of hand. I step in front of Ryder and feel him tense behind me, clearly not happy that I didn’t stay put. “What do you want, father?”
“I want to talk to you for a minute… Alone,” he adds, glancing at Ryder.
Before I have a chance to respond, Ryder does: “Not going to happen, old man.”
“Both of you stop it already,” I snap, knowing this is getting us nowhere. “Ryder is right, whatever you have to say, you can say in front of him. If you’re here to fight then leave. I don’t need it.”
My father registers how serious I am, and although his jaw is hard, he finally backs off. “I’m not here to fight. I just… I came to check on you.”
I falter in surprise. “To check on me?”
He nods and Ryder expels a disbelieving grunt. I too know he’s full of shit. He hasn’t worried about me a day in his life.
“Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing behind me.
I back up, bumping into Ryder, and he walks in, heading straight to the far corner of the living room. I go to sit over on the couch, but Ryder holds me back, keeping me close to him. We stare at my father and wait for him to say something. I have no idea what he’s up to, but I’m hoping he won’t be here long.
He clears his throat before finally breaking the awkward silence. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been. At brunch you said you were having a hard time adjusting and that you were thinking about trying hypnotherapy again. I was wondering if that’s still the case, and what doctor you plan to see. I want to make sure they’re qualified enough.”
Yeah, right. Ryder touches my back, warning me to tread cautiously. “I haven’t thought about it lately. I have other things I’m focusing on at the moment.”
He nods, seeming pleased about that. “Have you had any more nightmares?”
Anyone who didn’t know my father would think he was calm and cool right now, but I know better. He’s nervous. How did I never piece this together before? “No, I haven’t,” I grate out, angrily, even though I try hard not to. It enrages me to know I’ve lived a lie almost my entire life. To know I lived in the dark for so long because of something he did.
Relief flickers in his gaze. “Well that’s good.” I don’t respond because I’m finding it hard to keep my patience. “Your mother wanted me to make sure you were still coming to the charity dinner next week.”
“Of course she did. She wants to make sure this false image she has portrayed of our perfect little family doesn’t get squashed publicly.”