Coming Swoon (Brunch Bros #4)

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Sybil shoved her phone in her back pocket and peeked out the backdoor of Stardust. The black-and-white cat had been eating from the bowl she’d put out, but darted back behind the dumpster when the door creaked. She shut the door and locked it. She might not be any good at catching cats, but she’d managed to lure Peter to her house. Except that was hardly an accomplishment. If she’d blinked “house” to him in Morse code, he would have shown up on her doorstep.

As she locked up for the night, she wracked her brain trying to remember the state of her house. She wasn’t a messy person, but she hadn’t had a lot of free time to clean lately. Would he care? Did it matter? Could she shove him upstairs so he wouldn’t notice the dishes in the sink? When had she last done laundry? Was her hamper overflowing?

The butterflies in her stomach raced back and forth as she speed-walked to her car. Maybe she should have told him more than fifteen minutes.

Her hand froze as she put the key in the ignition.

When had she last shaved her legs?

Sybil cursed under her breath as her car rumbled to life. Too late now. Of course there was always the chance she was putting the horse before the cart. Maybe Peter didn’t want to fuck. Maybe he wanted to talk instead.

The thought made her shudder. She didn’t want to talk. The entire point of casual was not talking.

Crane Cove had sparse traffic during the day, and at night the streets were empty. It helped that a larger-than-the-nationwide-average number of residents couldn’t drive after dark. So Sybil let her foot rest heavily on the gas, confidently rolled through stop signs, and made it to her street in record time.

She slowed to a crawl after she made her turn because something was wrong. Sure, she couldn’t remember if she’d washed her sheets in the last two weeks, but she did know she hadn’t left the TV on because she rarely used it. There was no reason the screen should be lighting up her front window.

Did she have a very bold burglar?

No, she had a sister who came home with no warning at the most inconvenient time. Mallory’s car was parked in the driveway, so she had to park on the street next to the mailbox.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Sybil cursed, digging through her purse for her phone, then emptying the contents on her passenger seat before she remembered it was in her pocket. If Mallory was home, she couldn’t have Peter over. Depending on her level of jet lag, Mallory wouldn’t go to sleep for hours, so Sybil couldn’t even postpone the visit.

She hoped like hell he hadn’t left the hotel yet.

Sybil

Abort. Abort. Abort. Do not come.

She hit send and waited for the tiny clock below her message to turn into a check mark to confirm it had been sent.

“Please go through,” she pleaded with her phone.

The clock turned into a check mark, and she sighed. Peter was chronically late. He probably hadn’t even made it to the lobby yet. As long as he was using the hotel’s Wi-Fi on his phone, he should get her message before he left.

As a precaution, she copied the message and sent it three more times.

Sybil shoved everything back into her purse and slammed her car door shut. Long-simmering frustrations sparked into a blaze. Mallory got to come and go as she pleased. She never gave Sybil a heads-up about when she was coming home. Not a call, not a text, not even an email. Hell, most of the time Sybil didn’t even know where in the world her sister was. Weeks or months would go by, and then one day her sister would be home. It must be nice to have no responsibilities and heaps of wasted potential. Sybil was using all of her potential, and it was exhausting.

“You parked in my spot,” Sybil said as she crossed the threshold.

Mallory leaned her head over the back of the couch to look at her. “Did the extra few feet from the curb kill you?”

“Would they have killed you?” She glared at the TV. “What are you watching?”

“ My Cousin Vinny ,” Mallory answered and turned her attention back to her movie. “Want to watch? I made popcorn.”

Sybil didn’t want to watch, but she could see the front walk from the couch, and if Peter didn’t get her messages, she could hopefully intercept him before he got to the door.

“Sure.” She picked a spot with a good view of the street and pretended like she was interested in the movie. Every minute or so, she’d glance out the window. No sign of Peter yet.

“Marisa Tomei won an Oscar for this,” Mallory pointed out.

Sybil checked her phone. No response. Three hundred and sixty-four days of the year she loved living in a town with shitty cell phone service. Today was the exception.

“Sybil?”

Mallory’s forceful tone made her head snap up.

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted some popcorn.” Mallory held out the bowl.

“Oh.” Sybil helped herself to a small handful. “Thanks.”

They watched in silence for a few minutes. How had the bad guy from Home Alone landed Marisa Tomei in any universe?

“When did you get in?” Sybil asked, reaching for the bowl.

Mallory shrugged and held it out again. “About two hours ago?”

“And you didn’t come find me to tell me you were home?”

“What’s the point? You were going to be home soon anyway. Me being home doesn’t change your life.”

Except this time, it did.

Movement on the front walk caught her eye, and every curse word Sybil knew flashed through her mind. Peter, hood up and hat on, was more than halfway to the door.

“Mal, I had a really long day. Could you go get me some water?” Sybil tried to sound pathetic and it worked, because her sister paused the movie and got up.

As soon as Mallory disappeared into the kitchen, Sybil began to wave her arms, hoping the movement would get Peter’s attention. If Mallory hadn’t paused the movie, she could have opened the door and told him to go away.

He looked her way and her heart leapt. She had his attention. Then he gave her a crooked grin and this time her heart did a somersault. Of all the nights for Mallory to come back to town, she had to pick this one.

Sybil tried to shoo him away, but he cocked his head and frowned. Instead of retreating to the street, he came up to the bushes that were planted in front of the porch.

“Go. Away,” she mouthed, and tried to wave him off. He didn’t budge. But he squinted. Crap. She was backlit by the TV. Sybil tried again, this time sweeping her hand from left to right rapidly. Peter looked to the right and then walked out of her sightline.

“What are you doing?” Mallory asked.

Sybil camouflaged her startled jump by turning around on the couch. “I heard a fly. I think I got it.”

“Okay, Mr. Miyagi,” she said, and handed Sybil a glass of ice water. Mallory took up her former position on the couch and started the movie.

Disappointment filled every available nook and cranny inside of Sybil. So much for her night of fun. She’d text him later to explain what had happened and he’d probably understand. Peter was sweet like that.

Thump!

They both looked at the ceiling. The muffled sound had come from upstairs.

“What was that?” Mallory asked.

“Something probably fell,” Sybil said and stood up. “I’ll go look.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Sybil shook her head. “No. Watch your movie.”

If the new shelf she’d hung in her room, the one she’d bragged to Connor she hadn’t needed his help with, had fallen off the wall, she was never going to hear the end of it. Then again, she didn’t have to tell Connor it had fallen. But Mallory probably would. There were a lot of books on that shelf. Should she have used longer screws?

She got to the top of the stairs and heard a noise from her bedroom, like her window being closed. The hairs on her arms stood on end and her skin prickled.

Slowly, carefully, quietly, she crept down the hall.

Had she remembered to close her window before she left? She needed to install screens on the old windows before there was a repeat of the bird incident. If there was a wild animal in her room, she was calling the police. She’d had enough of being a strong, independent woman for one day.

Cautiously, Sybil wrapped her hand around her doorknob and eased the door open. Nothing scurried into the hall. She opened the door wider and saw her bookshelf was still on the wall, overburdened with books she didn’t have any space for but wanted to keep. The final extension of her arm revealed the source of the noise.

Peter had his back to the door, inspecting the small collection of photos she kept by her dresser. There was one of her, Mallory, and the McMahon boys at Thanksgiving seven or eight years ago, overfilling a couch and smiling widely. A picture of her in the old Stardust Coffee cart from when she’d started the business; she was scowling because she’d told Mallory not to take the picture. Then there was the trio of photos from Graham and Eloise’s wedding: her and Eloise, the bridesmaids plus Connor, and then the entire bridal party.

All the things she cared most about in the world, preserved on film and kept safe in frames.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind her. “I said go away! Not break into my house.”

Peter turned, confused instead of contrite. “I thought you wanted me to climb the tree.”

“Why would I want you to climb the tree? That’s so dangerous. What if the branch broke or you missed the roof and fell?” A horrible image of his broken body on her lawn flashed through her mind and a nauseating shiver ran down her spine.

“Because we talked about the tree,” he reminded her. “You were pointing to the tree so I thought this was a fantasy you wanted to act out.”

Sybil groaned. “I wasn’t pointing to the tree. I was trying to tell you to shoo!” She went to the window and peered out the glass. The tree looked far away and flimsy when she tried to imagine how Peter had managed to get himself onto the roof and into her window. The nausea returned, and she shook her head. “ Never do that again. And we will never be charades partners.”

Peter drew her back against him, his strong arms wrapped around her middle.“I’m fine,” he murmured in her ear, the brim of his baseball cap bumping her face.

“And why are you dressed like a cut-rate burglar?” she bristled and pushed his hat off his head.

Peter chuckled. “They’re my sneaking-around clothes. I’m trying to be stealthy.”

His arms tightened around her, the pressure oddly soothing. Sybil relaxed a little.

“Why did you want me to go away? Did you change your mind?”

The tension returned twofold. It had taken him all of thirty seconds to make her forget that her sister was downstairs.

“Mallory came home unexpectedly. There’s no good reason for you to be here at this time of night.” She frowned. “I don’t know how I’m going to sneak you out of here while she’s awake.”

“Then you’ll have to be very”—his lips brushed her neck and her pulse jumped—“ very ” —his teeth scraped her jaw—“quiet.”

A pathetic, needy whimper bubbled up and escaped as Peter slowly, torturously kissed her neck and jaw, hitting every tender spot he’d discovered ages ago. All the reasons she should say no and push him away went up in smoke and were blown away by a desperate, greedy wind.

“What makes you think I want this?” she asked while putting one of his hands on her breast and the other at the waistband of her pants. She didn’t want him to stop, but she wasn’t ready to beg yet.

“I can stop,” he offered and tried to withdraw his hands. Hers clamped down on them and held them in place. His suppressed laugh rumbled against her back. “That’s what I thought.”

“Could you shut the fuck up and kiss me already?”

Peter had always taken direction well. He caught her mouth in the hungrier sequel of the kiss they’d shared on set. His tongue plunged into her mouth, stealing her appreciative moans for himself. The hand at her waistband slipped beneath the fabric, and Sybil congratulated herself on choosing comfort that morning because the lack of buttons and zippers made it easy for his fingers to explore. When the tip of his middle finger brushed her clit, a shudder like an earthquake rolled through her body. Seemingly encouraged, his hand went deeper into her pants and she tilted her hips as if it would make things easier.

“Fuck,” he moaned into her mouth as he ran two fingers up and down the length of her opening, spreading around the wetness that was rapidly growing. “I missed this.”

She wanted to snort. Peter had probably been up to his eyeballs in pussy the last dozen years. But any contempt died when his lubricated fingers began to rub her clit in firm circles.

Yes, she’d missed this too.

“Hey!” The exclamation came out louder than she’d intended when he withdrew his hand from her pants. Any further protest was tabled when he licked his fingers clean, his eyes fluttering closed like he was tasting decadent chocolate.

“Mmm…More.”

She didn’t know if it was a demand or a request, but either way she wasn’t going to argue. Sybil took his hand and tried to guide it back to her pants, but he resisted.

“No, I want to taste you direct from the source.” He intertwined their fingers and squeezed. “Please.”

The pleading in his blue eyes seemed like it was for something a lot deeper than sex. She needed to check her life insurance policy because he was going to make her heart explode before he left.

“Okay,” she whispered and led him the few feet to her bed.

Sybil had been with men since Peter. The number was sparse, but it wasn’t zero. So why did she feel like a virgin all over again, like she’d never done this before? Did she undress? Did she let him undress her? Or did she keep it business like and just take off her pants?

And did she pay any attention to his very obvious erection attempting to bust out through his sweatpants?

Thankfully, Peter made the choice for her. He backed her into the bed until she had no choice but to sit down, then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings.

“Lift your hips,” he requested and she complied. Underwear and leggings were peeled off simultaneously and discarded off to the side.

“That’s better,” he sighed, sinking to the ground to kneel next to the bed. Firm but gentle hands pressed on her inner thighs and pushed her legs open wide, exposing her to him completely. “So much better.”

There was very little preamble. A few perfunctory kisses to her inner thighs, then Peter began to eat her pussy with the same enthusiasm and dedication she remembered so well. He licked and sucked, paying particular attention to her clit, flicking his tongue over it in firm, quick circles, because of course he remembered exactly how she liked it. She’d have been annoyed at his perfection if he hadn’t been making her feel so damn good.

So damn good, but something was missing. She needed…

Peter slid two fingers inside of her, and Sybil’s arms, which she’d been using to prop herself up to watch him work his magic, lost all structural integrity. She flopped back on the bed with a strangled moan and bit the side of her hand to try and muffle a small scream as he found the really good spot inside.

It was pathetic how close she was already. Pressure built and twisted inside of her, and she wanted it to go on forever as much as she craved sweet release. One of her hands squeezed her breast, while the other tangled in Peter’s hair to hold him in place. But given the blissful noises he was making, there wasn’t much threat of him stopping anytime soon.

The finish line was so close she wanted to cry. It drew closer, then got a little farther away, then close again, in that frustrating ebb and flow orgasms had when she was on the precipice of one.

Almost…there…

Sybil arched her back to see if a change in position would help, and opened her eyes.

Her bedroom door was open. Mallory and Crane Cove’s night watchman Willis stood there, eyes wide, mouths open in shock.

“Oh my god!”