Page 93 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Ryker

My lips were still tingling from Skylar’s kiss, as I followed Kiaan out the door. He moved fast, shoulders rigid with hurt, heading around the side of the cabin, toward the trees at the edge of the property. I wanted to call out to him, but what the hell would I say? Sorry you caught me making out with the woman we’re both into?

Sorry I’d gotten hard thinking about both of you while stuck in that bathroom last night? He might not have known that part. I quickened my pace, pulse hammering in my throat.

“Kiaan, wait.”

My voice came out rougher than I intended.

He didn’t slow down, just raised a hand dismissively without turning.

“It’s fine. Go back to her.”

Something in his tone—the raw hurt beneath the practiced indifference—pushed me forward. I caught up to him in six long strides, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, the sight hitting me like a punch to the sternum.

“It’s not what you think,”

I said, immediately realizing how pathetic that sounded.

Kiaan laughed, a sharp, brittle sound that held no humor.

“Really? Because it looked like you won, firefighter. Congratulations.”

“I don’t want this to be a fucking competition.”

“What other option is there?”

He tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip on his shoulder.

“Let me go, Ryker.”

Instead, I backed him up against the side of Skylar’s cabin, my forearm pressing against his chest. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep him there. Up close, I could see the faint stubble along his jaw, smell the expensive cologne that clung to his skin, feel the heat of him even through his clothes.

“We need to talk about this,”

I insisted.

“I just need you to stop running for a minute.”

“What’s there to talk about? You were practically fucking her in the bathroom.”

His voice cracked on the last word, the carefully constructed arrogance slipping.

“It’s fine. I get it. You’re the better man. The steady, reliable one who fixes things and builds shelves and knows how to be there for people.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh yeah? What is it like, then?”

I stared at him, really stared, seeing past the practiced smirk to the vulnerability beneath. This was Kiaan—the same Kiaan who’d stayed up all night on voice chat when my mom died, telling me ridiculous stories about his college adventures to keep me from spiraling. The same Kiaan who’d sent me a custom-built gaming PC when mine had died last year, brushing it off a.

“just some extra parts I had lying around”

even though we both knew that was bullshit.

The same Kiaan who’d made me laugh when nothing else could, who’d challenged me to be better in every raid, who’d become as essential to my life as breathing without either of us realizing it.

“No one’s the better man,”

I said, softening my hold but not backing away.

“This isn’t about winning or losing.”

“Then what is it about?”

he demanded, eyes flashing with anger, hurt, and something else—something that made my skin prickle with awareness.

Words failed me, as they so often did. So I did what firefighters are trained to do—acted instead. I grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head against the rough cedar siding, my body pressing against his, close enough to feel his heart hammering against my chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

he gasped, but he didn’t struggle, didn’t try to break free.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing, only that I couldn’t stand seeing that pain in his eyes, couldn’t bear the thought that I’d caused it. Kiaan’s breath came fast and shallow, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that burned.

“It’s not about winning,”

I repeated, frustration building in my chest.

“Because I don’t want you out of the equation. I want both of you.”

Kiaan went still, his expression shifting from hurt to confusion.

“What did you just say?”

I pressed my forehead against his, our faces so close I could feel his breath on my lips.

“I want both of you,”

I repeated, the truth of it settling deep in my bones.

“Yesterday, in that bathroom, listening to you talk about everything we’ve been through together, all I could think about was how much you mean to me. How much you’ve both always meant to me.”

We stayed like that for a heartbeat, two, breathing each other’s air, the tension between us shifting into something electric, dangerous. I released his wrists, letting my hands slide down his arms, across his shoulders, until I was cradling his face between my palms. His skin was warm and rough with stubble. I stroked my thumb along his jaw, feeling him tremble.

“Ryker?”

“I want to kiss you,”

I said, tracing my thumb over his lower lip.

“So fucking badly. I ache for a taste of you.”

His breath caught, and he didn’t answer with words; he just nodded. And I closed the distance between us, pressing my mouth to his in a kiss that was nothing like the one I’d shared with Skylar minutes earlier. Where that had been soft and exploratory, this was rough, desperate, years of unacknowledged desire crashing together at once.

For a moment, Kiaan froze, and I thought I’d made a terrible mistake. Then his hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer as he opened his mouth to mine. The taste of him—minty and clean, like he’d just brushed his teeth—sent heat flooding through me, pooling low in my belly, making my cock harden against his hip.

I groaned into his mouth, sliding one hand into his hair, gripping the soft strands as I deepened the kiss. My other hand moved to his throat, feeling his pulse race beneath my palm. He made a sound—half whimper, half moan—that shot straight to my groin, making me press him harder against the wall.

It was fucking intoxicating, this new discovery. The solid muscle of him beneath my hands, so different from the soft curves I was used to, yet somehow just as arousing. More, even, because this was Kiaan—brilliant, arrogant, vulnerable Kiaan who’d been my friend for six years, who’d seen me at my lowest and still stuck around.

I pulled back just enough to see his face, to make sure this was real. His eyes were dark with desire, lips swollen from my kiss, cheeks flushed. He looked wrecked, beautiful in a way I’d never allowed myself to acknowledge before.

“Fuck,”

I breathed, trailing my fingers along his jaw.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. I can’t get enough of how beautiful you are.”

Something flashed across his face—doubt, fear, hope, I couldn’t tell. His hands were still tangled in my shirt, neither pulling me closer nor pushing me away.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,”

he said, voice rough.

“I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to touch you. And then with Skylar this morning...”

I trailed off, unsure how to explain the tangle of desire and confusion.

“You were thinking about me while you were with her?”

The wonder in his voice broke something open inside me.

“Yes,”

I admitted, pressing my forehead to his again.

“When you walked in, I wanted nothing more than for you to join us. To kiss her, to kiss me.”

Kiaan’s breath hitched. His hand came up to cup my face, thumb tracing my lower lip in a gesture so intimate it made my chest ache. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me again. Instead, he placed both hands on my chest and pushed, gentle but firm.

“We can’t do this,”

he said, though his body language contradicted his words, arching toward me even as he tried to create distance.

“Why not?”

I kept my hands on his face, unwilling to let go now that I’d finally touched him.

“Because it’s fucked up. Because we’re both here for Skylar. Because I’ve never—”

He broke off, looking away.

“I’ve never been with a man before.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

“Me neither.”

His eyes snapped back to mine.

“But you’re bi. You’ve said so.”

“Theoretical knowledge isn’t the same as practical experience.”

I stroked my thumb along his cheekbone, feeling him lean into the touch despite himself.

“I’ve thought about it. Wanted it. Just never found the right person to explore with.”

“And I’m the right person?”

His voice was small, uncertain in a way I’d never heard from him before.

The vulnerability in his question undid me. This was Kiaan Malhotra, tech genius, self-made billionaire, the most confident person I knew—looking at me like I held some answer he desperately needed.

“I think you might be,”

I said honestly.

“You and Skylar both.”

He took a shaky breath, then stepped sideways, breaking contact. The loss of his warmth left me feeling unanchored, adrift.

“I need to think,”

he said, running a hand through his hair.

“This is... a lot.”

I nodded, letting him move past me.

“I understand.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, then looked back at me.

“Will you give me a little time alone with her? This afternoon.”

I nodded.

“Of course.”

“You’re not worried I’d do something to sabotage you?”

I smirked at him.

“Both of us were there for that kiss a moment ago, jackass. I know how you respond to me.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes, and turned and walked away. But he didn’t argue with me.