Then one of the kids comes over and is cute as hell and watching him interact with Rhett does things to my ovaries. I decide it’s time to get out before I say anything idiotic and bail, but not before I can convince him to come over. And come. Come and come. Just that. No other crap. No bearing our souls and talking about our dream houses and shit like that.
I’m going to ignore the fact that I know a lot of things about Rhett that I wish I didn’t. Like that he has a spot on his back, that, when kissed, drives him wild. And that he worries at his left thumb, but not the right. And that he smiles differently at me than he smiles at other people.
Yup, I am shoving all that junk inside a mental closet and nailing that shut. Might as well add a metal door on top of that. Made of . . . impenetrable stuff.
I focus on schoolwork and practice as much as I can, but I keep thinking about my parents and if Melissa has gone to the house and gotten my things yet. I have to turn my phone off so I’m not able to see if she’s sent me any messages. I think she’s going tomorrow. I hope. I need her to go ASAP so I can get this off my mind and think about something else. Anything else.
Since I’m so distracted, I end up falling out of almost every stunt. My legs just won’t cooperate, and finally Coach has us work on leading our crowd cheer for our submission tape. It includes stunts and motions, and everything has to be so precise; there’s no room for error. We also have to juggle stunting with poms and signs, which always adds an extra element of chaos.
She makes us go one by one and project to the very last seat in the gym. I don’t mind at all. I’ve done it plenty of times before, but Rhett seems a little nervous.
“You’re gonna be fine. Just remember to support your diaphragm,” I say, putting my hand on his stomach. It’s really just an excuse to touch him, but I’m going to tell myself that I’m helping. I’m just very concerned about his voice projection.
He starts out quiet until we heckle him to get louder. Finally, he gets there with a nervous grin on his face but goes through the whole thing without missing a beat. Coach calls the end of practice and I rush home so I can be ready for Rhett.
I’m so jittery that I take the shortest shower ever and then I have nothing to do but dry my hair and wait for him to get his ass over here. He’s going to be very busy tonight. I’m in desperate need of some sexual healing. Or just some plain old sex
The minute he knocks on the door, I’ve got it open and I don’t even let him say hello before I’m jumping into his arms. Fortunately, he’s had quite a bit of practice with catching me. The door slams shut behind his back and my momentum drives us into it.
I go for it and kiss him hard, hard enough that our noses smash together and I can’t breathe, but who cares about that? His fingers dig into my ass and he doesn’t seem to be upset about anything that’s currently happening, so I move my hands from around his neck to try and pull up his shirt so I can feel his chest. Tonight I need skin. Lots of skin. Lots of his skin on my skin.
I manage to get his shirt sort of up, but then I need to get mine up and that requires him putting me down.
“Clothes off now,” I say as we break the kiss, and he just nods and starts ripping everything off. My hands are shaking, I want him so much. I can barely get my pants off, but finally I do and expect him to push me toward the couch or the bedroom, but he just picks me up again, turns and then my back is up against the door. Nice. We haven’t done this one yet.
I’m jammed between Rhett and the wall, but who gives a fuck? Somehow he got a condom on when I was fumbling with my clothes so it’s the work of a moment until he’s inside me. Honestly, I’ve been thinking about this all day, so I’m more than ready.
“Fuck,” I say and bite his shoulder as he fills me. I need this. I need this so much.
“Luna,” he says before pulling almost all the way out and slamming into me. My back smashes against the door and I’m sure my neighbors are going to hear us, but, once again, do not care. I should think they’d be happy that someone is getting laid.
I come hard and fast and definitely draw blood when I dig my nails into his back, but he practically roars and then comes himself. It’s wild and out of control and incredible.
Yes, Rhett Miller and I are sexually compatible.
* * *
After we unstick my ass from the door and Rhett cleans himself up, we sort of put our clothes on and go to make some food. My stomach is pissed at me for ignoring it in favor of sex.
“So,” Rhett says as he deveins some shrimp. I refused on the basis that it’s gross. I’m chopping the asparagus, and there’s a pot of water boiling for the gnocchi. Until tonight, I’ve been pronouncing that word wrong, apparently. So I learned something. And I had an orgasm. It’s been a success. I deserve a medal.
“So . . .” I say, trailing off.
“So, what was with the door attack when I got here?” I turn my back to him so he can’t see my face. He knows me too well now and can read my emotions, the bastard.
“Horny as fuck?” I say and he snorts.
“Fair enough. I wanted you too. It’s hard not to touch you during practice. I have to give myself a pep talk every time.” Yeah, I have to do the same thing. Sometimes I wish there were a neon sign above his head flashing NO TOUCHING when we’re out in public. Or maybe whenever I touch him, I’d get a little electrical zap.
“Good. Then we’re on the same page. Or door, in this case?” I turn around, and he’s grinning at me in that way that makes my stomach do tumbling passes in my body.
I quickly look away and focus extra hard on the asparagus. It’s already chopped, but I don’t want to stop chopping.
“You ready?” he asks, sneaking up behind me and putting his hands on my waist. Before I can think, I’m leaning back against his chest and letting him surround me with his arms. I feel so small, but so protected.
“Yeah,” I say softly and try to move away from him. He lets me go and takes the chopping board with the asparagus on it and throws it in the pan with the shrimp.
“This is gonna cook up quick,” he says, adding some garlic into the pan with the shrimp and asparagus. He’s making some sort of sauce, but I’m a bit distracted and just let him take care of it because he seemed to want to. I think I’m not the only one with something on their mind. He’s moving with less precision than he normally does. Rhett is never clumsy, so it’s strange.
I wonder what he has on his mind, but if I ask, then I’ll have to talk about my own shit and I’m not going anywhere near that. No way in hell.
Haphazardly I wash and rinse the dishes as he takes care of everything else. We’re on the couch with plates less than ten minutes later and I’ve got a movie going, but I’m 90 percent sure neither of us is actually paying attention to it.
I’m eating but not really tasting anything. I just . . . I just want him to fuck my brains out until I can’t think anymore. About anything. I want to lie in complete tingly exhaustion from too many orgasms and then fall into a sleep so thick that it lasts for hours and hours.
So I put my plate down on the coffee table, grab his, ignoring his protests and set it on the table before I climb into his lap and latch my mouth to his.
“What—” he tries to say, but I shove my tongue in his mouth and go at it until his arms wind around me to pull me closer.
Good boy. I smile and lift my arms so he can get my shirt over my head. Why did we even put clothes back on is beyond me. There really was no point. Just have to take them off again. One of these days I’d like Rhett to do a sexy striptease with some Magic Mike moves, but this is not that day.
He growls and the sound goes straight to my lady bits. Rhett picks me up and carries me until I’m sitting sideways on the arm of the couch. Oh, I hope he’s going to do what I think he’s going to—
Rhett Miller is an oral master. And it’s not just because of the beard. He’s figured out how to push each and every button I have until I come so hard that sometimes I think I’ve died a litt
le. Isn’t that what the French call it? With Rhett, it feels that way. Or that I’m spinning off into other galaxies and traveling through space and time. I may have seen Jesus once or twice.
He doesn’t stop until I come four times in quick succession, which I didn’t even know was possible for me. By the end of it all, I’m on the couch and wondering if my limbs have actually turned into liquid.
Rhett’s face appears in my line of vision and he grins.
“Can we talk now?”
“About. What?” I say. Words are hard.
“About why you’re using sex to avoid talking to me about whatever is bothering you and made you show up at my work today.” I squint at him.
“What?”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you. We are friends, aren’t we? That’s part of this whole deal?” I look away from his face. Really? He wants to do this now?
“Dude, you are killing my afterglow.” I slowly sit up and grab his shirt so at least I’ll sort of be covered.
He puts his boxers on and sits next to me. The air smells like sex.
“Sorry about that,” he says as he adjusts himself. He hasn’t even gotten off yet in this round. I should probably feel bad about that, but I’m too busy being annoyed that he’s killing my current coping mechanism.
I sigh, lean my head back on the couch, and rest my feet on the coffee table.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble.
“Clearly. But if you do, I’m here.” He puts his hand on my knee and I want to glare at it or shake it off, but he gives me a little squeeze and I can’t. Rhett is a really great guy and sometimes (a lot of times) I take it for granted. And also treat him like crap. I must be seriously good at blow jobs for him to put up with me.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. For a moment, I imagine opening my mouth and telling him everything. Telling him about being adopted and how I didn’t know until I was nineteen and found the records. How my parents never really cared for me and how I’m here to find my birth mother. And how nothing will stop me from doing that. Not even a hot, tattooed guy who makes my stomach flutter every time I look at him.
I think about it, but there is no way in hell I’m doing it. When you’re so used to keeping secrets, learning how to not keep them is a monumental task. Definitely not there yet. Not with him. Maybe not ever.
“Do you want to go fuck now?” he asks and I turn my head to find him smiling. It’s that smile that I only see when it’s the two of us together. The secret smile only I get to see that nearly stops my heart.
“Yeah,” I say, holding my arms out for him to carry me to bed.
Rhett
She’s avoiding and I wish I could say no to sex and convince her to get everything off her chest, but she’s slammed the door shut on me and anyone who would try to get through. I don’t want to make her put up more walls by trying too hard. Then I’d lose all the ground I’ve already gained with her. I want her to trust me. You can’t force trust. Even if the girl is being beautiful and stubborn and infuriating. It’s on her, now.
Actually, she’s on me now, and she’s so fucking beautiful I can’t believe that she’s even here with me. I don’t think I truly appreciated her when we first met. I saw her gorgeousness, but there’s so much more to her than that. It’s in the way she moves and how she laughs and the way she helps her friends. It’s just . . . her. The packaging is hot as fuck, but I’m falling for what’s inside . . .
Nope. Shut that shit down, Rhett. Shut it down right now. You can’t fall in love with her because that’s not how this works. And she’ll know. She’ll see it and at the first sign she’s going to fucking bolt like a startled deer.
Looks like I’m going to have to put up some walls of my own.
* * *
“You should probably go,” she says for the third time. We’re in bed next to each other. She never lets me hold her after sex, but our sides are touching and I can feel the heat from her skin. Her fingers are just barely brushing the back of my knuckles. I’m not even sure she knows that she’s doing it. I keep my hand rigid so any sudden movement doesn’t scare her off.
“I should,” I say, turning onto my side so I can see her better.
“Yup, you should,” she says, biting her bottom lip. I might be reading too much into things, but I think she doesn’t want me to leave.
“I don’t have to, you know,” I say in a low voice.
“But that’s how this works,” she says, throwing my earlier words back at me.
“Maybe we could bend the rules for one night? Just one night.” I fully intend to try and bend the rules for all the nights, but if I can just get one, I think she’ll start softening. Plus, it’s annoying to have to leave a warm and comfortable bed full of a beautiful girl and go home to an empty one in the middle of the night.
She looks into my eyes and I stay perfectly still. No sudden movements. She blinks once.
“Okay.” I resist the urge to pump my fist in the air. I do not resist the smile that covers my face.
She narrows her eyes and shoves me a little.
“It’s just for tonight and only tonight. Because I’m being nice and sharing my bed with you. I swear to God, if you snore, I’m going to murder you, chop up your body, and feed it to the garbage disposal.” Shit, that’s an intense mental image.
“I don’t snore. I don’t think,” I say, trying to recall if I do. No one has ever mentioned it, so I don’t think so. But I hope that even if I do, I can cut it out for this one night. I’d rather not be chopped up and fed to the garbage disposal if I can help it.
“You’d better not,” she says and then sighs. “I have a spare toothbrush under the sink just in case. No one’s used it, so knock yourself out.” Wow. Toothbrush privileges. I’m moving up in the world.
“Be right back,” I say and head to her bathroom. I’ve used it plenty of times, but not quite in this context. I decide that snooping in the medicine cabinet is a dick move, so I just go for the toothbrush and figure using her toothpaste is implied, since I don’t happen to have any. I’m just squeezing it onto my new toothbrush when the door opens and she walks in.
“Hello? Heard of knocking?” I ask. She rolls her eyes.
“I’ve had your dick in my mouth. Multiple times. I’m not going to see much I haven’t seen before.” She reaches around me and grabs her toothbrush, ripping the paste tube out of my hand as well and smearing it on her brush. I guess we’re doing this?
So there we are, both brushing our teeth at two in the morning, and it feels like I’m in a whole other universe. This level of intimacy with Freya is making me freak out just a little. Maybe this staying over wasn’t the best idea. But then she shoves me aside so we can share the tiny sink and she smiles at me with toothpaste dribbling down her chin and I realize that this is pretty fucking special.
* * *
Once we’re both done with our nightly rituals and back in bed, I hold out my arms.
“We have to spoon. That’s part of the rules of sleeping with me. I like to snuggle,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
She rolls her eyes but slides over until her back is pressed up against my chest and her hair is in my face, and I tentatively drape my arm over her stomach. She quivers a little at my touch, but then takes a breath and settles her head more firmly into the pillow.
“I’m probably going to spread out because I’m used to having a bed to myself. Hope you don’t mind,” she says.
“Not at all.” She can fucking sleep on my face, and I’d be fine with it.
I’m not closing my eyes yet. I’m going to sit here and watch the way the little strands of her hair move when I exhale. She sighs and snuggles just a little bit closer. I have to lift my chin, and she tucks herself right under it. I hope she doesn’t move her head or she’s going to knock my teeth out.
She wiggles just a little bit more and then stills. I wait as her body relaxes and her breathing gets more even and deep. I’m tired as fuck, but I d
on’t want to sleep because I don’t want to miss this.
Sleep has its own agenda and not long after I tell myself I’m going to try and stay up, my eyes shut and the next thing I know, there’s an alarm ringing and a blond firecracker cursing in my arms.
“Fuck, I hate mornings,” she says, her voice rough with sleep. So fucking sexy. I release my hold on her and she turns around.
“Hi,” she says, grinning at me.
“Good morning, Luna,” I say. She doesn’t stop the smile that appears when I say her nickname.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asks, brushing some of her hair out of her face. It’s literally everywhere. How did that happen?
“Yeah, I did. It was nice holding onto you.” I actually don’t feel like shit this morning, despite only sleeping a few hours.
“Ditto,” she says, stretching her arms over her head, shoulders and elbows cracking. Since we’re well into our season, we’re allowed to take one day off running each week. Today is going to be mine and Freya’s day. Otherwise, I would be calling out, because there’s no way I’m dragging my ass down to the field house right now. This house could burn down around me and I wouldn’t leave. Unless she came with me, obviously.
“I hate eating first thing in the morning, but if you want to make yourself something, go for it.” She yawns and closes her eyes. I have the suspicion that it takes Freya quite a while to actually wake up, judging on how she is when she shows up to run.
“I think I will,” I say, and reluctantly let go of her. She says she doesn’t like to eat first thing, but who can say no to breakfast when it’s delivered to you in bed?
Since I know my way around Freya’s kitchen, I get some pancakes going with minimal noise. I peek in on her a few times, and she’s dozed off again. I try not to be too smug about the fact that she’s rolled over to the side of the bed that I was on and is all starfished out, limbs going everywhere. Still heartbreakingly gorgeous.
I find a tray on top of one of her cabinets and fill it with a plate with pancakes, a bottle of syrup (real maple syrup), two forks, two knives, and two glasses of orange juice. I want to put something cute on there like a flower, but there isn’t anything at my disposal, so I hope the breakfast is enough to impress her.