by S. E. Hall
You can’t say things like that.” She chews her lip, staring at me with those big green eyes filled with a smoky innocence she can’t hide any better than she can decide on.
“Just did,” I growl, shoving my hands through her hair and pulling back her head.
I crash my mouth over hers, any semblance of control extinct. At first she resists me, lips clamped in a firm line, but for this particular girl—I’m willing to work a little for it.
“Stop thinking. Open for me,” I hum upon her lips then trace their seam with the tip of my tongue, urging her to surrender.
After a few more seconds of stubbornness, with a breathy moan, she does. Her mouth is small, warm, and tastes of sweet liquor, and the longer I slide my tongue along hers, the deeper into the kiss she falls. She’s only listening to her body now, letting it take over. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her fingers creep into my hair and tug.
Never leaving her mouth, I hoist her into my lap and yank one short leg up and over so she’s straddling me. Much better. This way I can feel the heat between her legs as she wriggles against the hard-on in my jeans and she can feel what she does to me, what she’s been doing to me since I met her. She wants this as badly as I do—there’s nothing indecisive about the way she kisses me now. She gently bites my lip, and her throaty moans drive me crazy as she writhes harder against me, as though fighting her way through the non-existence space between us. And her little noises, fuck me but her little noises have me struggling not to take her right now, right here on this bench.
“Reece,” I groan into her mouth, about to forget that we probably need to continue this elsewhere.
I grab her ass with both hands, squeezing, moving her faster. It’s not as though we’ll get arrested for public indecency. This is Vegas. I nip across her jawline, sucking down her neck… which means I left her mouth free.
“I thought we agreed we weren’t gonna do this?” She tries to sound resolute, but I hear louder her latent want, that she’s silently asking me to vindicate, as she scoots back and off my lap. “Now you’re messing up the yellow too.”
“I’m messing up the yellow?” I scoff, adjusting some painfully neglected parts. “Teaspoon, I’ve been stopping on green since the night we met.”
“You have?”
“You felt the answer to that, just rubbed yourself all over it.” I grab her thighs and pull her back to me. “Don’t play coy with me. And don’t act like I’m the only one on this bench thinking about my dick sliding inside you right now.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, but it’s followed up immediately by a low hum. She likes dirty talk. But I know, without question, she’d deny it if I asked. My closet naughty girl—I can deal with that.
“Would it slide right inside you, Reece? Are you nice and ready for it?” I husk in her ear, moving my hand higher up her thigh.
“Yes.” She doesn’t realize she’s moaning, her forehead dropping against my shoulder, making her ear even more accessible.
“Yes what?” Hand now there, I press two fingers exactly where she wants me, and she shudders for me with a soft whimper, parting her legs slightly. “Yes what, Reece?”
“Yes, I want you. How could I not?” She rocks her hips into my hand. Her breathing quickens, face still hidden in my shirt. “You have… you have to stop,” she pants.
“But you don’t want me to. You want me to make you—”
The loud, intrusive backfire of a car startles her… and stabs me in the dick. No, I mean it; it actually feels as if someone reached over and cut my dick off, just for ironic shits and giggles.
The moment’s gone, de-fucking-stroyed, and the only thing in her expression as she jolts backward and out of my grasp is recognition. Of where we are. What she almost let herself get lost in. I can see I’m losing her. The rate of her rising and falling chest is approaching dangerous, the sweet flush of her cheeks now a fully enflamed, scorching red, and that little tongue is working her lips so hard and fast they’re gonna chafe.
She’s five seconds from crying, running… or coding.
Only one thing I can do at this point.
“Rhett! Have you lost your mind? Put me down!”
She’s squealing, her arms and legs flailing wildly from the second I throw her over my shoulder. Not that she’s bothering me; all of her rubbing against me, tits bouncing and ass wiggling, is more than enjoyable.
“Settle down, or people are gonna think I’m abducting you and call the cops.” I swat her squirmy ass, and she shrieks.
“You are abducting me!”
“And I’m okay with that. Not sure the cops would be though.” I quicken my pace toward my car and set her on her feet when we’re there.
Goddamn, she’s adorable, and I take a second to appreciate it before I fuck it up, literally. Her hair’s tousled, and she’s fuming like a little one-woman storm as she pats it down. Her whole body trembling, eyes narrowed, and mouth all twisted up—she’s the vision I didn’t know I was looking for… until I saw it.
But this little fit she’s feigning… she can’t fool me any more than I seem to be able to fool her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks with just a touch of snark.
“I think I’ve covered that.”
“Rhett, we can’t. Especially now.” She stops my advance by pressing a shaky hand against my chest.
“Now that what? It’s my birthday, you came back to me, sang to me? Or maybe now that I know you kiss with all that spice of yours? No, I know—we can’t now that I’m standing here timing my pulse in my dick. Is that it?” I cover her hand with mine and start to guide it southward, but she tears it from my hold.
The consideration in her eyes morphs to indecision, and I feel a shift in the air between us the instant she reaches a verdict. “I have an idea. A different remedy for you this time.”
I’m almost sure she doesn’t mean a blowjob, and yet I still find myself anxious over any possibility. That’s the thing about Reece that’s most perplexing—and reconfirmed every time I’m around her. Whatever she has in mind, I’ll enjoy it. Look forward to it. Feel alive with it.
“You’re fun, Teaspoon.” I didn’t mean to say that aloud.
“As are you,” she responds instantly, voice warm and sincere. “Thank you for being so understanding about everything. I really am sorry, and I’m gonna do my best to make it up to you.”
Just keeps testing my resolve—little minx.
“Stop!” She swats at my chest when I wiggle my eyebrows. “I don’t mean fellatio!”
So the thought did cross her mind.
“Did you really just say fellatio?” I laugh and open her door. “We’re gonna have to work on your dirty talk. You love when I talk dirty to you; don’t you think I might enjoy hearing some back?”
As I round the car, I don’t have to look this time. I hear her pop up the lock on my side.
“Where are we going?” she asks when I’m in the driver’s seat—figuratively and literally.
“My house.”
“But I was gonna get a room here, at Goldsbury. I didn’t feel safe depending on Landry for a place to stay—we’ve seen how well that works out.”
“You feel safe depending on me, staying at mine?” I start the car with hopeful confidence.
“Yes,” she confirms softly, triggering a wave of possessive pride in my chest. “What about my bag? I left it in the back of Landry’s car.”
“Which is parked right over there.” I point. “What do you want to bet it’s not locked?”
We’re both hungry, so I swung through a drive-through, where I could’ve sworn I ordered nuggets and she ordered some salad wrap thing. But now she’s sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, wearing her own T-shirt and shorts—not quite as sexy as seeing her in mine, but damn close—popping my chicken nuggets in her mouth with an antagonistic smirk.
My first mistake was politely waiting to eat, instead pouring us both drinks, while she changed into somet
hing more comfortable. The second was dumbly answering “yes” when she asked if nuggets were what I always ordered. Next thing I knew, we had switched orders. Or rather, she had grabbed my nuggets, shoved the wrap thing in my hand, and run from me around the apartment. She’d already popped three in her mouth by the time I caught her, so I swatted her ass—I was looking for an excuse to do that again anyway—and let her win.
“Mhmm.” She wipes her mouth and rubs her belly. “So good. How was yours?”
“Delicious.” I refuse to admit it was tasteless and unfulfilling.
“Hand me your trash, I’ll throw it away.” She calls over her shoulder, “Hey, do you have instruments here?”
“I have a few guitars and maybe just a knock-around keyboard. Drums are in storage. Why?”
She returns from the kitchen, staring at her miniature pink toenails. “Can I use one of your guitars?”
“Sure.” I stand and hold out my hand to her. “Come pick one.”
I lead her down the hall and open the door to the spare bedroom where I keep my instruments, some sound equipment, and all my lyric books. I wish I could have my kit here with me, but there’s simply not enough space.
“Can I play the Taylor?” she whispers, running her fingertips softly across the sleek body and up the fret.
“Of course, might need tuned. So what all do you play?” I let her walk out first and shut the door behind us.
She goes for the couch, and I sit beside her. “Guitar, piano, violin. Pretty much everything except the drums.” She laughs. “What about you?”
“Very little piano and no violin. What do you like playing best?”
Happy with the tuning now, she settles my favorite guitar in her lap. Her eyes drift away in serious pondering before she responds. “Lyrics are my favorite part of any piece, and I love to sing. But if I’m gonna play, I’d have to say piano. It was the instrument I learned first, and I guess it stuck.” She smiles. “I already know your answer. Drums, right?”
“Definitely. Even if I’m on guitar, I’m tapping my foot. The beat, it’s the pulse pumping all the other parts. ”
“Yeah,” she says softly, nodding. ”I get that.”
She’s looking too closely, so I clear my throat. “You gonna play for me or what?”
“Are you neighbors gonna care? It’s kinda late.”
“Fuck ‘em,” I grunt and force myself to scoot over some to give her room to wow me. “What’re you planning to serenade me with, Teaspoon?”
Her answer is the first chord, then the second, of “If Only That Were True,” one of the songs I sold to Crescendo. “Sing it with me,” she whispers, eliminating any possibility of refusing her. “I’ll take the top.”
Well, I would hope so. I can’t hit those high notes. More importantly, does she really not realize how often she pops innuendos into a sentence?
She begins to sing in a rare voice, so well suited for my words it’s uncanny, and erases all my other thoughts.
“I’ve done some of this, a lot more of that
Too much of most, and I’m starting to see
Everything I’ve tried lately, hasn’t brought you back
It’s only made a bigger mess of me.”
I make my way through the accompaniment of the next stanza, even half the chorus, but then I stop singing. I’d rather listen. My words, her voice… it’d bring a lesser man to his knees.
When she comes to the end of the song, she reaches up and touches my mouth, tracing it. “See, it worked—you’re smiling. Your remedy.”
“So it would seem, Teaspoon, so it would seem. Is that the one you’re gonna record first?”
She rises without replying and walks over to her purse on the kitchen counter. Watching me carefully, she returns to sit beside me, an envelope in her outstretched hand. “Nope. That’s the one, I’m hoping, we’re gonna record together first. This is your new contract, selling Crescendo, well me, fifty percent rights to both songs you were already cut a check for. The other fifty percent is yours. Here, take it.” She taps the envelope on my hand.
“What’s your father gonna say about this?” I have no idea why I’m asking. I don’t give a damn about her father, but my heart’s racing with an enthusiasm I thought I’d never feel again, and I don’t trust myself to say anything else just yet.
“Oh, he’ll have lots to say, loudly.” She laughs. “But other than just annoying noise, it really has no bearing. I haven’t cut him out yet, and I won’t if he can get on board. We’ll see.” She shrugs happily, as carefree as I’ve ever seen her, and presses the envelope into my hand. I guess I’m silent too long for her comfort because she stands quickly and talks even faster. “Read it, think about it, let me know. So am I staying here all night?”
I nod, doing nothing to hide the slow sweep of my eyes over her, and growl purposefully.
“You gonna fight with me if I try to refuse the bed again?” she sasses, hand on her hip.
“Absolutely. And, Reece?” Her brows arch at my huskier tone. “I’m only gonna say this once, and we both know I’m praying you don’t listen, but if you wander out of that room this time, I will take you.”
“O-okay.” Her voice trembles, as do her legs, as she slowly turns and walks away.
I fight the urge to watch. Her sweet little ass heading toward my bedroom is more than any man should have to resist.
“I haven’t forgotten I owe you an in-person breakfast, don’t worry,” she calls.
“We’ve got a good-bye breakfast with Liz and them in the morning,” I counter.
“We?”
“We. Say yes.” I chuckle. Our dynamic is so new, but oddly natural.
“Yes.”
Yes she says. With less hesitation and more instinct every time.
This morning has been unusually silent and awkward and the car ride less than informative. Rhett has yet to mention a word about the contract or my proposition, and for some reason, I don’t think he wants me to bring them up either. It’s a big decision—I can understand he needs some time to deliberate. But the drive turns delightful when he cranks up “I’ve Got This Friend” and starts singing. I join in, grinning so wide through our entire duet that my cheeks ache.
Huh, I guess the ride’s informative after all. My song choice seems to have struck a chord with him.
After parking, he helps me out of the car and holds my hand as we enter the restaurant. Five familiar heads turn our way when the bell above the door chimes our arrival in classic diner fashion. Rhett immediately firms his hold on my hand, twining his fingers through mine. The blond sister from last night, Sommerlyn if I remember correctly, lasers in on me with her scathing glare immediately.
I lean into him and whisper, “Did you ‘visit Hawaii’ with her?”
“I’ve never visited anywhere with her, so I’m not real sure where that shit’s coming from. But Liz will fix it fast, you watch. Come on.” He tugs me toward the table.
“Well, if it turns out looks actually can kill, don’t you dare let my mother pick out what I wear in my casket,” I mutter as we reach the group.
He bends down to kiss the top of Liz’s head then grins at the guys. “Morning, gentlemen, what’s good?” He’s downright… jovial. He pulls out a chair for me then his own.
Liz leans forward, looking down the table at him. “Rhett, sorry we left early last night. I forgot to even give you your present.” She passes down an envelope, and I watch from the corner of my eye as he opens the card with a two-hundred-dollar Music Center gift card inside.
“Thank you, and Cannon,” he says.
“You’re welcome.” She smiles while Cannon grumbles the same into his coffee.
Not that I know him well enough to recognize his “happy” look, but I’m going to venture to say…it’s not the one he’s wearing. He’s in a better mood than his sister though—I can feel her stare still pinned on me. I’m giving myself a headache from purposely avoiding looking in her direction.
“It me
ant a lot to me that you guys came down, but I get the whole ‘kid free’ thing, no worries,” Rhett tells Lizzie, reaching under the table to caress my leg.
“Oh,” Cannon pipes up, “I don’t think you do get it!”
“Stop,” Liz chastises him. “Mouth shut.”
“What?” Rhett eggs Cannon on with a devilishly innocent grin.
“Rhett, decide what you want to order,” Liz snaps at him, then does the same at her husband. “You too! You know better than to invite curiosity with those two.” She nods at each Foster brother.
I can see Jarrett’s wheels turning from here, his head toggling furiously between us as they bicker. Smoke practically blows out of his ears as he waits for his opening to jump in on whatever action is brewing.
“Oh, oh!” Jarrett snickers, eyes positively glowing the second he thinks he’s got it.
I’m really hoping he doesn’t.
“I know what we’re talking about. Check it out.” He elbows Landry. “Pilot Cannon was denied his red wings. Ha, I’m right, aren’t I, Blackwell?” he yells across the table.
What did he just say?
Rhett bends his head to my ear. “No telling what’s coming next. Brace yourself.”
“You”—Liz points at Jarrett with a shaky finger—“zip it. And you”—she focuses back on Cannon—“answer him and see what happens. Everyone ready to order?” she scream-chirps way too happily.
A waitress runs over, wide-eyed and ashen from Liz’s volume and tone if I had to guess. I’m sure I look about the same.
I don’t think Jarrett knows how to whisper—that or he’s not even trying in the interest of antagonism—but we all hear what he says next in Landry’s ear. “Liz started her period on their one night of solitude and denied him access. No red wings for Cannon. He’s so bound up over there, he might climb the building and start shooting. Earning your red wings means—”
“Got it.” Landry slaps a hand over his mouth, to cease all our pain, then she knocks him upside the back of the head with the other hand just as Liz slams her menu on the table.
“Jarrett Paul Foster, what the hell’s wrong with you? Are you versed in anything besides menstrual cycles? And for the love of God, learn how to whisper! Did you ever go have your hearing checked? We’re in mixed company, you crude, freaking—ugh!” Liz screams ‘til she’s out of breath, stands, and marches out of the restaurant.
