Thank you for the reviews. ;)

Chapter 12

Ryan had been right, as always. She'd been sore the next day and still a little the day after that. Ryan hadn't pushed to do anything she didn't want to do and she loved him for it. Now, though, she was ready to experiment, to find different positions and try new things. It was like she had to have it...now...five minutes ago...whenever.

Ryan seemed unaware that she was about to use him for practice when she walked into the bedroom where he'd been getting dressed.

Looking over his shoulder, Ryan grabbed his watch from the table and spoke to her. "What do you want to do? You want to go out tonight? Go to the bar, maybe."

Summer felt coy. She liked catching him unaware. "Why go out to a sweaty bar filled with people when I could get you sweaty here, alone."

Yes, it was cheesy and sounded like it came out of the latest porn flick, but she liked the way his eyes darkened and the muscle in his cheek jumped after the words came out of her mouth. It was the reaction she was going for. Since they'd had sex, Summer felt sexier, thought sexier, talked sexier. Maybe it was that sex had come to dominate her mind, that sometimes she would close her eyes at the most random of moments and see/feel/hear Ryan as he moved inside her. She had dissected it, memorized her favourite parts and could play them in her head. They could be just sitting, watching televison, and her mind would wander. She wondered if Ryan was thinking about it all the time.

Ryan gave her the once over. She was wearing a short skirt and one of those tank tops she knew drove him nuts. The smile on his face was lopsided. "Good point."

"Come here." Summer reached out and touched his wrist, dragging his unclasped watch off and setting it on the dresser.

It was dark. Just a small lamp beside the bed was lighting the room. It was almost too dark to see his face, to be able to tell if his cheeks were flushed. She liked to imagine they were, though; that he was blushing from her touch. Her own cheeks were burning and the tips of her ears were warm.

Ryan's hands circled her waist, his skin hot on her midriff, his fingers seeking greater contact. Her breath caught in her throat. She should have been used to this by now. Months of foreplay should have educated her. But each time he touched her it was like he knew what she needed. Like his fingers could read the secrets under her skin.

He kept looking at her mouth. Indecent thoughts began to swirl inside her brain and a deep throb started between her legs. Leaning forward, she kissed him. Just as peck and then she moved in for more, touching her tongue against his lips, prying his mouth open and letting her hot tongue slip inside.

He tasted like toothpaste, but felt like a straight shot of bourbon pooling in her stomach. Warmth flooded her veins.

Summer could get used to this. Used to learning about the different textures, lines, curves and tastes of his skin. Knowing him better than anyone else ever could. Yeah, she could get used to that.

It had been raining earlier and the air still smelled a little musty. Underneath that, she could smell Ryan. Same soap as always, so clean and simple, she wanted to sink into him.

Summer walked him backward, breaking the kiss to push him onto the bed. He landed with an 'oomph' and she had to laugh at the look on his face. "Sorry," she said, mounting the bed and lifting herself over him. Straddling his thighs, her fingers lifted up his shirt, touching soft skin over corded muscle.

They kissed and groped and laughed. Summer could feel Ryan's erection pressing into her and she moved her hips, delicately, experimentally, rotating. She groaned and then he did.

The urgent, electric need had been unexpected. Making her hands leave him, she gripped the ends of her tank-top and pulled it off, throwing it to the ground. Her hands found him again, trembling over his shoulder and biceps and back under his shirt. Pushing the cotton up, she insisted he lift up so she could pull the shirt over his head. Her body crashed into his before he'd even finished stripping.

Chest to chest, Summer stretched out over him, feeling every ridge and angle against her. She rocked against him, balanced by his hands cupping her ass. And it was so good. And so right. She was so ready for this, ready to learn everything all over again.

Ryan's tongue found the slope of her breasts. He kissed her through the silken material of her bra, drawing his teeth against her nipple and biting down ever so gently.

Wet from his kisses, Ryan pulled down the strap of her bra, arching up to sample the skin there. Summer's breathing got shallow. She held the back of his head, pressing his face against her breasts. Their bodies tangled together, a hedonistic mass of limbs.

The beat of Ryan's heart was raging through her ears. So loud she could practically feel the vibrations.

"Someone's at the door."

She had gone dizzy and blind from his tongue. Her ears, too, had become fussy. "What?"

Ryan's voice was raw. His eyes were clouded by lust. "The door. Should we...?"

Summer looked around the room, bringing her eyes back into focus, and heard the knocking. No, they shouldn't get the door. Whoever was at the door could go to hell as far as she was concerned. But she knew, looking at Ryan, one of them were going to answer it. It could be important. Though, she couldn't imagine what was as important as this. One more slow, deep kiss and, reluctantly, she broke from his embrace.

"I'll get it," she said. Jumping off the bed, she searched for her discarded shirt, leaving him lying there alone.

Finding her shirt, she pulled it on and turned back to look at him. On his back, his flat stomach bare and jeans bulging, Ryan made a picture she very much wanted to get back to and admire. "You stay right where you are," she commanded and turned to go.

Straightening out her clothing and flattening down her hair, Summer opened the door. Her jaw dropped. "Shirley?!"

"Hi, Summer."

It had been a good day. No, a great day. And now everything was tainted. Summer eyed her father's secretary with apprehension. "What's going on? How did you know I was here?" She stepped over the threshold, looking over the other woman's shoulder to make sure she was alone. Satisfied, she stepped back inside, allowing Shirley entrance.

"Your father said you were going to France." Shirley pulled out a paper from inside her purse. She read from it. "Pontoise, France. The Saint Martin de France school." Stuffing the paper back into her purse, she looked at Summer. Her eyes were sceptical. "It didn't make sense that your car would be missing. Your father was so busy he wouldn't have noticed and your step-mother was always... Well, that's neither here nor there. I took a chance and ran a check. There was a ticket..." Shirley again relied on the contents of her purse. She pulled out a card with neat scrawl on it. "That was a few weeks ago... The rest was easy to figure out. I should have thought about coming to Chino sooner. After all, it's where you ended up last time."

Summer folded her arms across her chest in defiance. "I'm not going back!"

"No, hun," Shirley said in a soft voice. She reached out and touched Summer's arm. Summer recoiled. Shirley tilted her head to the side and took a deep breath. "That's not why I'm here. Your father and step-mother... How do I say this...?" She sighed. "There was an accident."

"An accident?" Outside, the storm started up again, brewing with a different intensity. The wind howled against the window. Clouds took over the sky outside, making everything go black. Rain began to come down hard. It mirrored the typhoon inside Summer's brain.

Ryan, hair a mess and clothes dishevelled, came to Summer's side. "What kind of accident?"

Shirley's face paled. "I've been trying to find you for nearly a week. Their plane... Oh sweetie, he was on his way to see you."

"Oh, no." Summer's stomach dropped. She was shaking her head in disbelief. They couldn't be....

"I'm so sorry," Shirley said, swallowing hard. "You'll have to contact Mr. Delaney at his office and he'll help you make the arrangements."

"A-Arrangements?"

"For the funeral, dear."

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Right. Right, the funeral." Summer took a few short breaths. Why was it so hard to breathe?

"They've been cremated already, but people will expect a funeral. I can help if you'd like."

She felt numb, outside of herself. "O-okay." It was hard to talk past the lump in her throat.

"I'd better be going." Shirley stopped at the door. "I'm sorry, Summer."

"Yeah," Summer replied, only half-aware she was speaking at all.

The door closed behind Shirley with a soft click. Summer turned to Ryan, her eyes exploring his face, searching for something that would make sense. "It's my fault, Ryan. They never would have been on that plane if I hadn't lied. Oh, God!"

"It's not your fault," he said, walking her over to the couch. They sat down together. Summer was shaking her head very slowly. She felt like she was living through a nightmare. This couldn't be happening.

"I don't even know what to feel. They were practically strangers. But he was my dad and I can't even remember my real mother, you know?"

"I know."

Summer stood. Pacing the room, she bit her nails and looked around without really seeing anything. Grabbing Ryan's cigarettes, she pulled one out of the pack and struggled to light it.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?!"

Ryan sighed. "You don't even smoke."

"Today I do!" she snapped, igniting the cigarette. Summer inhaled deeply. She could feel the smoke pass through her lungs and she did her best not to choke. Another drag and she was coughing violently.

Ryan took the cigarette from her fingers, butted it out and patted her on the back. "Come 'ere." Summer let him hold her in his arms. It felt good and safe.

Summer watched Ryan from the corner of her eye. So confident and sure in his movements even when he knew she was watching him. She had passed out and when she'd woken up to find him missing, she'd bolted upright in bed until she heard the sound of the shower running. She'd slipped off the bed and taken off her clothes, pulled on one of Ryan's old t-shirts that smelled like him, and a pair of his boxers and then gotten under the covers and waited.

Boxer shorts. He was looking for boxer shorts. They had a bad habit of disappearing, especially since she so enjoyed stealing them from him and wearing them to bed. She knew he wasn't going to find any; she'd taken his last pair and was currently wearing them under the covers.

His hair was wet from the shower he'd just had and the water dripped down his back and sank into the towel around his waist. Summer watched several drops slide down his skin before something inside her seemed to flip and she realized how badly she just wanted to forget. Wanted something...no, needed something to help her forget. Ryan. She needed him in a way she'd never needed anyone.

She'd insisted on waiting until the morning to go back to Newport Beach. Ryan was eager to please and had agreed. The thought of going back was killing her. Just thinking about it made her chest ache. So she didn't. Wouldn't. She focussed on the drops of water on Ryan's back as she got out of bed.

Ryan turned and watched her. She felt it. Felt his eyes on her skin. Now was the time to be sure, confident. To prove to herself that she was a different person than she had been. Stronger.

Gripping the ends of her t-shirt, she pulled it over her head, baring her breasts. Next she let Ryan's boxers slip off her body and pool at her feet. All evidence of her femininity was on display. For him. For herself. Without shame.

Ryan stood motionless. His eyes travelled over her and she refused to blush. Refused to be modest, if only this one time. She needed this. Needed to feel in control. Ryan let her. He wouldn't allow her to be embarrassed. She loved him for it.

It took one tug for the towel to fall to the floor and then she was in his arms, her body angling to accept his. His skin was warm and damp where their bodies met. She couldn't wait for kisses. The need was too great. It pressed down on her like a vice. Sensing the urgency, he drove inside her, pressing her to the wall, wiping everything else from her mind. It was more than she expected and her orgasm built rapidly, firing through her bones as Ryan thrust inside her, taking her away from herself. When she closed her eyes, she imagined the world had faded away. Nothing mattered but what was happening between them. None of it mattered. Not phone calls, caterers or an inheritance. Not even a box of ashes.

She didn't remember falling asleep and her body ached when she woke up. Ached in places she didn't know she had. It wasn't a unpleasant painful ache, though. More like the kind of ache she got after exercising when she hadn't for a while.

Ryan was asleep. His breathing even and shallow. She watched him for a long time before she let her head fall onto his chest and listened to his heart. It was strong and steady. It calmed her.

Summer slept most of the drive to Newport. Or at least, pretended to. Ryan couldn't be sure which was correct. The night before had been rough on her. She'd tossed and turned and murmured in her sleep. Once, just past midnight, she woke up and felt around for him next to her. Seeing he was there, she latched onto him like she was afraid he would disappear. He wasn't sure what to say to take the pain away. The truth was he was powerless to help and felt as much.

The house was cold and empty when they entered it. Ryan was overwhelmed by the size of it. It was bigger than his middle school had been. It was the kind of home people dreamed of owning. The kind of place his mother had always spoken so highly of; what she would have bought had her lottery numbers ever paid out: 'You and me, Ryan, and a big house overlooking the ocean...' Dawn had never been lucky and she always said you needed luck to own something so beautiful. Ryan didn't see what was so special about it. He doubted Summer ever felt that lucky living in it.

An iciness stirred his blood, making it run slow so that everything felt magnified. He felt small in this house. Small and cold. He imagined Summer had felt the same way when she had lived here. Trapped.

Summer didn't offer to take him on a tour. Instead, she led him up the stairs and down a long corridor. Opening the door to a room at the very end of the hall, Summer walked through it and he followed.

She looked tired, like a little girl ready to be put down for her nap.

"This is your room?" Obvious question. Of course this was her room. Everything was purple and pink. Ryan felt very young standing in it and wondered if Summer felt the same. It was like someone had freeze-framed her childhood and tacked it onto the walls.

"Was my room," she corrected.

"Why don't you lay down."

"I'm fine."

They both knew that was a lie, but Ryan refused to push. Summer would rather crash out of exhaustion than admit to being tired. He knew she thought it made her weak. It didn't. It only made her human. But he understood, so he wouldn't force her to do anything.

The doorbell echoed throughout the house. A long, haunting sound.

Ryan followed Summer down the stairs and stood behind her as she answered the door. Shirley stood there, dressed in black and holding a casserole dish. She smiled.

"Hi. I thought you might be hungry," she said, looking at the casserole. "Well, here." She shoved the covered dish into Summer's arms. It was Summer's turn to stare idly at the dish. Shirley cleared her throat. "I made you an appointment with Mr. Delaney for four o'clock. Think you're up to it?"

Summer nodded, though Ryan couldn't be sure if she had even understood the question.

Summer stared and tried to pay attention but her brain just wouldn't cooperate.

"People will be coming around seven."

"What?"

"I-I know it's not my place, but I went ahead and called the caterers, put an announcement in the paper, contacted your father's friends... It's just, you're so young, and I... Well, I knew you didn't have anyone else and I couldn't let you go through this alone."

At a loss for words, Summer looked to Ryan for help.

"We appreciate it, really," he said and took Shirley's hand.

"I'm sorry," Summer said after a minute. The tears were already welling up in her eyes.

Shirley cocked her head to the side and touched Summer's cheek. "Don't be sorry, sweetie. I wish there was more I could do."

Summer leaned into the touch. True, she didn't know Shirley well, but she was kind and sweet and motherly. Summer longed for that motherly affection so desperately, she'd take whatever small dose she could, even from a practical stranger.

Realizing what she was doing, Summer stepped back, embarrassed. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Shirley looked between Summer and Ryan, forcing a smile. "Things'll get better," she assured them and turned to leave.

It felt like an empty promise. And Summer felt betrayed.

Ryan closed the door, locked it.

Summer looked down at the dish in her hands.

A casserole. Shirley had brought her a casserole. Why did people always bring food when someone died? It wasn't like Summer could eat anything. It wasn't like she was hungry. She didn't get it.

They were put in an office with large leather chairs and big windows. Summer stared straight ahead at the painting on the wall. It was an abstract. Deep blues and yellows swirled together. She wondered if it was supposed to be calming. It just made her feel dizzy.

Ryan was by her side. He seemed to always be at her side now.

The room was too cold and Summer's flesh broke out into goose bumps. She listened as the will was being read without retaining much of what was being said. There was something about the overseas investments and property down South that she knew, without looking at the document, had belonged to her grandfather. The house was hers. The cars, the boat, jewellery... all of it hers.

Summer continued to look at the painting. She concentrated on the details. If she didn't, she would burst into tears.

They hadn't been bad people, her parents. They were flawed like everyone else. Just as human as everyone else. And everything they had worked for, all that they had treasured, was now hers. They couldn't take it with them. It seemed so silly. So unimportant. It was just stuff. Obtained by sacrificing time with her. They knew every bit of money they had, every fine jewel and expensive foreign car. It was all there in black and white.

What was the point to it? Where was the life or the things that mattered?

Summer pulled her eyes away from the painting. She turned her head to the left and looked at Ryan. He was what mattered. He was her life now. She was going to make it count.

She took his hand and smiled.