Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)

by Kennedy Ryan

For the ones who have used your magic to lift, protect, and illuminate everybody else… rest is our new resistance. Rest & shine, my loves. Rest & shine.

“A woman is free if she lives by her own standards and creates her own destiny.” —Mary McLeod Bethune, educator, philanthropist, activist

She is long lines and deep curves. Lush and ripe like summer fruit. A handful.

“Coming right up.” He shifts his gaze to Maverick. “Mr. Bell? The usual? Maker’s Mark?”

Maverick Bell, then

In a moment that felt hopeless, Maverick injected hope.

We so rarely truly see people in their hurt. It’s even rarer not to flinch—not to look away from another’s pain.

I can’t help but think that maybe beauty’s never wasted and maybe Maverick’s right. Nothing ever happens by chance.

In my twenties, I was just running. Always in the streets and for what? In my thirties, I started asking big questions and looking for answers. Now I know exactly who I am and what I want. And I can finally afford myself.”

‘Candy’ by Cameo.”

about him being really fine and lickable.”

“When he called,” I continue softly, toying with my chopsticks, “my heart kinda skipped a beat and my pulse picked up and I… I think I’m attracted to him.” “He’s an attractive man.” Soledad glances at the photo. “I mean, Black surfer boy. Whew. I’m getting Judah a board.”

I see something I like much more than I should.

This whole encounter feels like we’ve fallen into a well, and the rest of the world is above ground, completely oblivious that down here,

I could stay at the bottom of this well all night learning Hendrix’s secrets, her fears. Sharing mine.

His kindness, his consideration, his caring is the lure.

Maverick turns to face us, and our eyes connect. The glance is as hot and quick as a drop of oil in a pan, but we both look away immediately.

Standing tall in a black discreetly Gucci T-shirt that molds his powerful chest and biceps, dark jeans, and vintage J’s, the man is gasp-worthy.

There’s a magnetic field beneath that layer of class and sophistication that I have trouble resisting.

His hand at my elbow stops me from walking away. I relish the hardness of his body pressed into me for a few seconds. Every one of my curves wants to mold to the unyielding lines of him. Smells good. Feels good. Looks good.

want to hide my lips from him because what if he’s imagining how they would feel pressed to his, open under his. Because that’s the rogue thought torturing my mind right now.

My whole life is a calculus of risk and reward. It’s undeniable that pursuing Hendrix involves risk, but the reward of possibly having something with her outweighs the pitfalls we’d inevitably have to negotiate.

I’ve never been more fascinated by any woman than I am by Hendrix. The juxtaposition of power and vulnerability, of brazenness and restraint—it’s got me wide-open. I’m good at keeping my emotions in check, but I don’t want to. I’m not good at denying myself something I want. And I’m finally admitting to myself that I want Hendrix. Bad.

“I’m calling you this week,”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

And yet, when the text message comes through and I see it’s him, that traitorous heart of mine starts batting its wings like a hummingbird on steroids.

“I just want to see you, Hen.”

I don’t want to acknowledge the way my nipples pebble under my satin top from the sensation of that deep voice licking over me. This is so dangerous. And surely not wise.

The words I’ll take you hang in the air, a lasso whipping overhead, ready to fall over my shoulders, slip around my waist and draw me in.

and dip my head to catch the scent at her neck. It’s something fresh and clean, with top notes of fuck me against a wall.

She moves between wildly different spaces, never pretending to be anyone but herself. Her level of authenticity is rare and compelling. She’s as at home in her own skin as anyone I’ve ever met.

The air is alive between us. It breathes. It seethes. It has a pulse that pounds loud in my ears every second we stand too close.

every molecule of my body is tuned to his. Magnetized.

The look in his eyes intoxicates me. It’s a cocktail of affection and desire and impatience.

“We may have, you know, done some dry-humping.” “Dry-humping?” Soledad places both feet on

“Is it still considered dry-humping if you come?” I risk a mischievous look at my friend. “’Cause lemme tell you, it was one of the best orgasms of my life.”

do about them.” Last night, was Maverick asking me to give up my dreams? Or asking to run with me while I chase them?

That man’s been living rent-free in my head… and in my bed, if fantasies count.

The way he makes me feel. The way he makes me laugh. The way he makes me think.

God, the way he sees me.

Sweetest Taboo” seeps

After this, there’s no way I’ll go the rest of my life without having her again.

The ghost of Maverick’s touch haunts me everywhere—kisses along my shoulders and tender brushes of his lips at the curve of my neck. His fingers threaded with mine while he made a mess of our kiss. Sloppy, greedy feasting; eating each other like a buffet.

“You bring a goddess offerings. The whiskey is a gift, an expression of worship.”

“If you’re saying that I’m a—” “I am saying that.”

“If you give me the chance, I’ll make you feel like the god...

“I want you in your right mind.” His mouth kicks up into a one-sided grin. “So we can negotiate.” “Negotiate?” “I’m very good at it.” “So am I.” “I’m counting on it.” “What exactly are we negotiating?” “Our future.”

There are parts of you that want to be held, want to be needed and loved. That is just as emotionally valid as the parts of you that crave independence.

“My life won’t be measured just in what I did, but who I did it with. Who I chose to be in friendship with. In relationship with. I think that’s where real contentment is found, and I think I could find it with you.”