Fools Rush In

by Lilliana Anderson

  He broke eye contact. “Can we just go surfing before the tide changes?”

  “Sure,” I said, unlocking the car.

  He’d told me all I needed to know.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Who The Fuck Are You

  I missed Sam. Missed resting my head in his chest. The way he brushed my hair. The way his hands roamed my body. Making love until I was at the point of exhaustion every might.

  Making love? Did I seriously just think that? Huh.

  As if reading my mind, my phone vibrated from a message.

  Sam: I’m hungry for peaches.

  Smiling to myself, I bit my lip while I tried to figure out what to type back.

  Me: That’s interesting. I was just lying here thinking how empty I am without your giant cocktail.

  Being blunt was going to have to do.

  Sam: Take everything off. Send me a picture.

  Me: What if someone sees?

  Sam: They won’t. I’m alone. I’m hard. And I’m thinking about you.

  Me: Show me first.

  A few moments later, a picture came through of Sam holding his cock.

  I squirmed where I lay in the bed. Lord, I was obsessed with this man and what he could do to my body.

  Sam: Your turn.

  With my heart picking up a few beats, I got out of bed and went into the bathroom to strip. Then I stood in front of the mirror, practicing my pose for a bit to decide what looked more alluring. My back arched? Standing with my hand on my hip? Putting my foot on the side of the tub so he could see a little pink? There was a lot of pressure on.

  Sam: I’m dying here, peaches.

  Not wanting my husband to die with a giant hard-on, (you wouldn’t believe how often this actually happens) I quickly took a shot and sent it through. It was my reflection in the mirror, a hand on my waist and my hip kicked out to the side. Sexy but subtle.

  Sam: Beautiful. Now a close-up. I want to see you touching yourself.

  How was I even supposed to take a photo like that? Did I just hold the phone as low as I could and hope for the best? Or did I set it up and take the photo with my toes or something?

  To make things even more uncomfortable, I still hadn’t done any sort of solo touching since Sam and I had been together—he’d always been so readily available.

  Jesus, how do I? I tried to work out how to hold the camera first. Standing with my legs apart, then with my foot back on the edge of the bath, which seemed OK, I could work with that. Now I just needed to—holy shit!

  My phone vibrated and fell out of my hand onto the tiled floor. Scrambling to pick it up, I breathed a sigh of relief when the screen wasn’t cracked. Then I sucked my breath in because of the message preview: the tip of Sam’s dick with a tiny drop of precum on the end with the caption ‘don’t be shy.’ Oh my!

  I wasn’t trying to be shy. I was trying to be precise. Vag shots weren’t nearly as easy as cock shots seemed to be.

  Going with the leg on the tub again, I opened the camera and flipped it into selfie mode before I slipped a finger between my folds and took the shot.

  Send.

  Sam: Keep going until you come.

  Sam: Film it and send it to me.

  Um. OK. How was I supposed to accomplish that? I’d never gotten myself off before, so of course I had zero experience filming it. I supposed I could just mimic what Sam did to me. But the more I thought about it, the more it made me feel uncomfortable. I was doing this for him, not because it was something I wanted to do.

  With my thumbs hovering over the keypad, I considered how I was going to word my reply. I didn’t want to make him feel rejected in any way, just wanted to convey that I’d hit my sexting limit.

  I decided to call instead.

  “Peaches.” His sexy voice sounded delighted to hear from me.

  “I’m not comfortable doing that in a video. I’m not exactly comfortable doing that at all,” I blurted, a slight edge of panic to my voice.

  He chuckled. “That’s fine. Why don’t you just lie down and talk to me instead?”

  “You’re not going to try and talk me into it?” I was a little shocked that he’d given up so easily.

  “I’m never going to try and force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with. I’ve always told you that.”

  “Then why did you marry me?” I snapped. I didn’t really know why. Perhaps it was because I was uncomfortable over his request, or because of my realisations over the depth of our relationship. Maybe it was because he was gone and I wanted him here. I was on edge.

  There was a slight pause. “What’s going on, peaches?”

  Pulling a cotton dressing gown on, I wrapped it closed and sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel messed up in the head.”

  “Because your friend is there?”

  “She hasn’t exactly been a ray of sunshine but no, it’s not her. It’s me. I think I’m just starting to realise a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how little I really know you.”

  Silence.

  “Sam?”

  “I’m here. What don’t you know about me?” His tone changed from soft to brash.

  I bit my lip. “I found out you went to prison.”

  “Jasmine needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

  “Don’t blame her. You’re the one who needs to open up more.”

  “What, like you? Who the fuck are you to judge me when you don’t even know who the hell you are? Were you ever planning on telling me you couldn’t have kids? Telling me anything about yourself that I didn’t have to figure out for myself? You're a closed book. The only person you’re showing anyone is the person Jasmine has made you into.”

  “That’s not true,” I argued. He was speaking lies. I was trying to fit in, but I was still me.

  “Isn’t it? Take a look at yourself, Alesha. You don’t even know who you are without being told by someone else. You can’t sit there and tell me I’m the problem when you’re nothing but an empty shell we filled up and forced to behave.”

  I gasped and he hung up in my ear.

  Ow. I wasn’t expecting things to go downhill so fast. I contemplated calling him back, but my emotions were high and I probably would have started calling him names if he answered, going for his jugular the way he had mine. Was that what he really thought of me? That I was an empty shell they filled? What the fuck? I’d been trying so hard to be the woman I needed to be, the woman he wanted. He’d seemed to be proud of me. Had I been doing it all wrong? How long had he felt that way?

  I stared down at my phone, gripping it so hard my knuckles went white. Why didn’t he say something? Did he begrudge the time I was spending with his mother? And if it was a problem, why didn’t he step in? Why didn’t he try to redirect me, something? If he didn’t like who I was becoming, why—emotion climbed up my throat, closing it off as I hiccupped and sobbed, frustrated and confused. Angry at the way he’d spoken.

  In the end, I decided just to go to bed and stare at the ceiling. As time ticked by, I couldn’t sleep and switched to watching the numbers change on the clock, counting the moments until he’d return home so I could demand that he explain what he meant, what he wanted. I didn’t understand, and it made an aching throb bounce in my head. I needed everything to be right between us again.

  I closed my eyes and longed for his touch, longed to rewind time just enough so we didn’t fight over the phone. I should have just kept my mouth shut, spoken to him about prison when he got home, been able to watch his face when he reacted. Because that was it, wasn’t it? I’d hit a sore point, a topic he didn’t want to discuss, and he’d reacted as though I’d attacked.

  Jesus.

  I sighed and rolled onto my back. He was trying to spend a moment with me and I attacked him. Now I just felt shitty.

  I picked up my phone, not wanting to leave things on such a sour note. I didn’t want him to stew in anger, then decide we didn’t work as a couple anymore.

/>   Flipping on the bedside lamp, I pulled back the covers and propped my phone against them, set to record. Then I parted my thighs and made the video he’d asked for, focusing on how much he meant to me, how much I wanted him in my life until I hit my climax. Then I sent him the video, attaching the caption ‘I only care about who I am with you’.

  A few minutes later, I got a single word reply: Peaches…

  I wasn’t exactly sure if it was good or bad, but it told me he cared enough to still pick up his phone, enough to give me peace of mind so I could get some sleep. We could talk it out properly when he got home.

  Except that wasn’t quite how it worked out.

  The next time I saw him, he was carrying a bloodied and beaten Toby into the house.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Don’t Change Yourself For Anyone

  “What the hell happened?” Jasmine demanded as Sam dumped Toby in the nearest bathroom.

  He was holding his dress shirt bunched against his face. What was once white was now splotched with bright red. I dropped to my knees in front of him, instantly going into nursemaid mode. It was something that had become natural to me over the years since my mother left.

  “Nate,” Sam said, not sounding the least bit impressed. “This idiot decided it was a good idea to declare his fucking love for Holland.”

  “You love Holland?” I asked, seriously shocked. I’d noticed the discomfort between them, but I’d thought he didn’t like having her around, not that he hated having to watch her fall in love with his brother. How heartbreaking.

  Toby’s eyes—what I could see of them through the swelling—met mine. I could tell he knew he’d fucked up. I placed my hand on his knee and urged him to take the shirt away from his face. There was dried blood everywhere, a bright red trickle coming from his nose. His jaw was swollen, his eyebrow split, and his hands and elbows were grazed.

  “Looks like he did a number on you.” I opened the cabinet to pull out the first aid kit so I could clean him up.

  “What’s all the blood? Is his nose broken?” Jasmine asked, hovering over me.

  Sam nodded. “I already put it back in place. He’s going to have a bit of bruising and be really uncomfortable for a while.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jasmine said. “I don’t understand how any of this came about.”

  “Why don’t we go get Tobes some painkillers? I can get you a stiff drink and tell you all about it,” Sam said, putting his arm around his mother’s shoulders to guide her out of the cramped bathroom.

  “How long has this been going on?” I asked when we were alone.

  Toby’s eyes shifted to the side and he winced as I cleaned his cuts. “I saw her first,” he said by way of explanation.

  “You saw her first? You mean before all this happened?”

  He nodded. “During recon. You know we were targeting you, right?”

  “I do,” I said quietly, trying to ignore the flash of irritation that flared in my chest at the reminder.

  “I was the one watching you, mapping out your movements. I saw her with you, and I wanted her.”

  Of course he did. Holland always had a special quality that lured other people in. I had and would always be invisible by her side.

  “Did Nate know that?”

  “No. But I forbade them all to go anywhere near her. I never do that, so I kind of thought they’d get it, you know? Sam got it.”

  What if Sam had seen her first? I hated the thought.

  “Did he want her too?” I made myself ask.

  “What? No. He just understood that I was into her, that she wasn’t to be messed with.”

  “But it was OK for them to mess with me?” I wasn’t going to lie, hearing Holland was put up on some pedestal while I was considered Cartwright family fodder hurt. It made me feel less important.

  His brow creased, and then he winced because it must have hurt. He shook his head, trying to grab my hand. “God, Leesh, this was all before we knew how awesome you were. There’s no way I’d let anyone mess with you now.”

  That didn’t really help take away my hurt, but I understood the sentiment enough to let it go. Pulling my hand free, I gave him a small smile. “It’s OK.” I peeled a butterfly strip to hold the split in his eyebrow together.

  I cleaned and dabbed with antiseptic, and he winced and hissed like a baby.

  “So what caused this all to come to a head?” I asked, trying to distract him from the pain so he’d quit flinching.

  “You know I took her to that wedding she was singing at today?” I nodded. “Well, I drank a little too much and when she was singing, I convinced myself she’d be better off with me, so I told her. Then… then I kissed her. Nate saw the whole thing go down.”

  “Wow,” I breathed. “I can’t believe you kissed her and got caught. That’s crazy.”

  “Laugh if you need to. It was stupid and impulsive, and I deserved to get the shit beat out of me.”

  “No, Toby. No one deserves this. Especially not from family. Why does Nate keep doing this to you all? First it was the twins, now you. Has it always been this way?”

  He shook his head. “It’s just life with brothers. Sometimes we sort things out with our fists.”

  “It shouldn’t be like that.”

  “But it is.”

  Sam returned with painkillers and an ice pack. “How’s the patient?”

  Toby took the pills, then held the ice pack against his jaw.

  “He’ll live,” I responded, sighing as I stood up and started cleaning everything up.

  Toby stood to leave. “Thanks, Leesh,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss against my cheek. “You’re a good egg.”

  Sam laughed. “Dude, I can’t believe you’re kissing my wife right in front of me. Didn’t you learn your lesson today?” It was all delivered in a teasing tone, along with the jabs Sam directed in the air around Toby.

  “Very funny, fuckface,” Toby said, smiling a little but obviously in too much pain to laugh. “Do I need to talk to Jasmine, or is she fine?”

  “She’s fine, man,” Sam said. “Go rest. Kris and Abs will be back in about an hour, so she’ll be distracted questioning them over the job.”

  “All right, thanks.” Toby tapped his balled-up fist against Sam’s shoulder, then ambled out of the bathroom, which gave Sam the chance to turn his attention to me.

  “How was the job?” I asked, my voice cool as I focused on zipping the first aid kit before I put it back in the cabinet. I was still hurt by what he’d said the night before, but I really didn’t have the energy to rehash it all.

  He leaned against the door. “We did good. And when the profits come through, we’ll feel a hell of a lot richer.”

  “Why don’t you just steal money so you’re paid right away?”

  He laughed. “Because big money jobs are filled with risk. None of us wants to get caught. I definitely don’t want to get caught again.”

  There. He’d brought it up himself, which meant I was right, his reaction was because I’d confronted him about going to prison.

  “Were you trying to steal money?”

  He nodded. “I was taking the safe from a Licensed Post Office. They only cleaned it out once a month, so there were thousands of dollars inside it. I took a risk, didn’t take enough manpower, and I was the one who got caught.”

  “Who didn’t get caught?” I asked.

  “Nate.”

  “You went to prison and he got away?”

  Sam nodded. That explained a lot of the tension between them.

  “Oh Sam.”

  He held up his hand, so I bit my lip and kept the words inside when I wanted to express how hard that must have been for him, locked inside while Nate walked free.

  “No one knows,” he said. “No one knows he was there except for him, me and now you.”

  I nodded, astounded that he was trusting me with such a secret. “I won’t tell a soul,” I promised.

  “I know you won’t, and after tonight, I r
eally don’t want to talk about this again. I probably don’t need to tell you that prison isn’t a fun place to be.”

  I leaned against the vanity and folded my arms. “Did…?” I didn’t know if I should ask, but my curiosity won. “Did they do any, um, bad things to you?”

  “You want to know if anyone made me their bitch?”

  “Well, yeah. You’re very pretty.”

  That earned me a smile. “My arsehole is untouched,” he assured me. “But I did have to fight every single day I was in there. And I never want to go through that again. This may shock you, but I’m a fairly peaceful guy. Give me an ocean filled with great waves and a babe like you by my side and I’m a happy man.”

  “Don’t you mean a shell like me?” It was petty, but I couldn’t just let his words go unmentioned. They hurt me.

  Taking a step forward, he pulled me against him, our hands entwined behind my back, my chest pressed to his. “I regret every word I said to you last night.”

  “All of them?”

  He grinned and hugged me a little tighter. “All the shitty ones.”

  “You were really mean.”

  “I hated that you and Jasmine were talking about shit I didn’t want aired behind my back.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me yourself?”

  “Because it’s the worst part of me. I didn’t want you to know I’d spent every day of that eighteen months wondering if it was going to be my last. Prison made me feel weak and frightened, and I don’t want you to see me as anything other than strong.”

  “Sam,” I started, saying his name like a sigh. I wanted to tell him I could never view him that way, that he was always strong and fierce in my eyes and that it helped to know he had vulnerabilities too. It made him more human than god. But he pressed a finger against my lips to quiet me.