16. Cohen
Chapter 16
Cohen
L ightning fractures the night sky, a web of electric veins illuminating my bedroom in sharp, fleeting bursts. I'm lying in bed, sheets tangled around me, anticipating the next rumble of thunder.
I’m not sleeping. Haven’t been for hours. The storm is relentless, but it’s not the only reason I'm awake.
Skylar.
She’s here, under the same roof, her presence a silent siren call that drowns out even the storm outside. I can almost feel the weight of her in this house, an invisible force that pulls at me, demanding my attention, my focus, everything.
She…doesn’t seem to want me the way she does my brother and Theo. But, damn if she doesn’t get under my skin—the way she walked into my life, into this home, and unsettled me so thoroughly.
A sharper crack of thunder snaps me back to the present, and I sit up, running a hand through my shaggier-than-usual hair. The shadows dance on the walls as the storm rages. It’s chaos, a perfect reflection of the turmoil inside me.
Skylar Deveraux. Just thinking of her name sends an unfamiliar jolt through me. There’s something about her—a fiery independence, a challenge in every word she speaks. And beneath that, something else...a guarded vulnerability that she keeps hidden away, locked tight behind a fortress of sass and sarcasm.
There’s something so familiar about her that I can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s just the fact that I want to put my fingers on her. Every. Damn. Inch of her.
It’s been a while for me. Between Elodie, work, moving, and trying to come to terms with what happened to my marriage, I haven’t exactly had time. Outside of that wild weekend in Vegas shortly after my wife left me—a weekend that I only vaguely remember thanks to copious amounts of alcohol— there’s been nothing. No one.
I haven’t even thought about anyone. Until Skylar.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, the need to see her, to confirm she's real and not just some vivid figment of my imagination, overwhelming. She's probably asleep, untouched by the storm, cocooned in her new room while I'm wide awake, restless with thoughts of her.
But there’s no denying it now—Skylar has invaded my space, my head, my goddamn dreams. It's madness, but it's there, a pull as undeniable as gravity.
"Get a grip, Cohen," I mutter to myself, but the empty room offers no reply, just the echo of my own words. Rising from the bed, I decide it's futile to try and sleep. With each flash of lightning, with each tremor of thunder, there's an image of her, hauntingly vivid, seared into the darkness behind my eyes.
The storm won't let me rest. But neither will Skylar Deveraux.
The kitchen tiles are cold against my bare feet as I pad through the darkness, guided by occasional flickers of lightning illuminating the space. It's eerie, this silence between the booms of thunder, like the world is holding its breath. I reach for a glass, the clink of it hitting the marble countertop louder than I anticipated it would be in the stillness.
"Damn," I whisper to myself, hoping the sound hasn't traveled far. I fill the glass with water from the fridge, the gentle whir of the appliance a comforting background noise.
As I lean back against the counter, a soft rustle echoes from outside. The covered patio. I freeze, listening intently. There it is again—a subtle shuffle of movement that can't be the wind. Curiosity piqued and water forgotten, I edge toward the sliding door, pressing my face against the cool glass to peer into the shadows.
Lightning flashes, stark and revealing. Skylar is out there, her figure just a silhouette against the tempestuous backdrop. She's huddled on a wicker chair, knees drawn up to her chest, looking every bit the enigma she is.
Sliding the door open, I step onto the patio, the rain-scented air fresh against my skin. "Can't sleep?" My voice breaks the quiet, and she jumps, her head snapping in my direction, hazel eyes wide in surprise.
"Jesus, Cohen!" Her hand flies to her chest, and there's a hint of irritation in her tone. "You scared the hell out of me."
"Sorry." I offer a sheepish grin, watching as she relaxes back into her chair. "The storm's pretty wild tonight, huh?"
Skylar nods, tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "Yeah, it's like the sky's throwing a tantrum. Impressive, though." Her gaze follows the jagged branches of lightning across the sky, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Ever think that maybe it's just trying to get someone's attention?" I muse aloud, taking a seat beside her. The storm seems to echo my inner turmoil—chaotic, unpredictable, electric.
"Who's attention? God's?" She chuckles, her quick wit surfacing even now, in the middle of the night under a raging sky.
"Maybe yours," I shoot back, meeting her eyes. There's a spark there, a challenge, and it sends a thrill through me.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teases, her laughter mingling with the distant rumble of thunder.
"Yeah?" I lean in closer, drawn to the warmth of her despite the chill in the air. "Even during a late-night rendezvous with Mother Nature?"
"Especially then." Skylar's smile falters a little, her gaze flitting away from mine. Her walls are up again, that icy, unapproachable aura slipping back into place. But for a moment, just a fleeting moment, I saw something else there.
We sit in companionable silence, the storm our soundtrack, as we exchange anecdotes about the most ridiculous things we've ever been afraid of. Her stories are laced with sarcasm, but the laughter that spills from her is genuine, and its music to my ears.
"Snakes," she admits after a particularly loud clap of thunder. "I know it's cliché, but they really give me the creeps."
"Reasonable fear," I agree, nodding solemnly before breaking into a grin. "Mine's clowns. Can't stand them."
"Clowns?" Skylar raises an eyebrow, her hazel eyes dancing with amusement. "Now that's an image—big, tough Cohen Rhodes brought down by a red nose and oversized shoes."
"Hey, those shoes could be hiding anything," I protest, but I'm smiling too, caught up in the ridiculousness of it all.
The patter of rain against the patio roof syncs with the thudding of my heart—a rhythm of restlessness that refuses to subside. Hell, it’s only gotten worse now that I can see her instead of just daydream about her. I take a deep breath, feeling the humid air fill my lungs, tasting the storm on my tongue.
"So," I begin, tentatively breaking the lull in conversation. "You mentioned you haven't been serious with anyone since...since Theo." I watch her body language, trying to read the story her tense shoulders are whispering. “What happened between you two?”
She sighs, the sound mingling with the distant roll of thunder. "We were kids, you know? High school sweethearts, but more. Or, at least, that's what I thought we were." A bitter smile flickers across her lips, and then it's gone, like it was never there. "But our families had other plans. His parents shipped him off to some fancy boarding school across the country to keep him away from me. Just like that..." She snaps her fingers, the sharp sound punctuating her point. "I didn't hear from him again until a few weeks ago, when he showed up out of nowhere."
I let the weight of her words settle between us, feeling the remnants of her heartache as if they're my own. It's a familiar sting, one that echoes inside me, too.
"Your turn." Skylar turns to face me now, her hazel eyes probing. "What's your story? Who left their mark on Cohen Rhodes?"
I chuckle dryly, the sound more self-deprecating than anything else. "Ah, well, there's not much to tell." I tug at the frayed edge of my shirt, buying time, wishing the fabric could absorb the unease that comes with opening old wounds. "Married young, had a daughter...but my ex, she was always chasing something bigger, something I couldn't give her. Eventually, she found it—or someone who could offer it—and that was that."
It was most of the truth. But, saying she ran off with her yoga instructor to Europe to “find herself” sounds as ridiculous out loud as it did when I read her haphazardly scribbled note.
Yup. She left me via a note. And, not just me, but Elodie, who definitely didn’t deserve to be abandoned by her own damn mother.
"Divorced?" Skylar asks, the word soft but heavy, like it's soaked in empathy rather than pity.
"Yep." I nod, the simple gesture feeling as if I'm affirming more than just my marital status. As if I'm acknowledging the toll it took on me, the way it shaped the man I am now—cautious, yet still craving connection.
"Sounds like we've both weathered our fair share of storms," she says, standing up and stretching her arms, her silhouette blending with the shadows.
"Seems so," I reply, the words hanging in the air, mingling with the scent of rain-soaked earth.
My feet carry me closer to her, drawn like a compass needle to true north. Skylar's gaze, those deep-set hazel eyes hold storms of their own. I feel the pull of her gravity.
"Skylar," I breathe, my voice barely above the whisper of wind outside.
Her lips part slightly, an invitation written in the softness of her breath. I lean in, every fiber of my being screaming to close the distance, to taste the cool air on her skin. But the space between us is more than just inches—it's lifetimes, heartbreaks, walls built so high I can't see where they end.
I hover there, caught in the eye of my own hurricane, then retreat as if snapped back by an invisible tether. Confusion washes over me, cold and uninvited. Why does she undo me like this? Why now, when everything inside me is already a maelstrom?
"Goodnight, Cohen," she murmurs, her voice steady against the chaos of my thoughts.
"Night," I reply, watching her silhouette fade into the house, leaving me alone with the roar of the storm.
Minutes tick by, or maybe hours—the time warps around me. I'm not sure what compels me to follow her, some force beyond reason or logic. My feet move of their own accord, carrying me through the silent corridors, shadows playing tricks on my eyes.
When I reach her door, it's ajar, and the charged energy within hits me like a physical blow. Theo's there, his light brown curls haloed by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The atmosphere thickens, heavy with something unsaid, something unfinished.
I freeze.
Skylar stands with her back to me, Theo close behind her. His hands rest on her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt as if he’s staking a claim. Then, as if sensing my presence, he turns his head slightly—just enough for me to see the look in his eyes before his lips find hers.
Something tightens in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. I should leave. I should turn away. But I don’t.
I can’t.
The air between us crackles, thick with the weight of something I don’t want to name. The storm outside howls against the windows, but it’s nothing compared to the one raging inside me.
And for the first time in a long time, I have no idea whether I want to fight it—or let it pull me under.
I linger in the doorway, a spectator to an unfolding scene that feels both intimate and alien. Each of their movements seems choreographed in a dance I don't know the steps to, yet I can't tear my eyes away.
The air is a living thing, charged with the same electricity that dances across Skylar's skin under Theo's deliberate touch. My hand grips the door frame tighter, knuckles whitening as I watch, unable to look away.
Theo meets my gaze, his smile a silent challenge—or is it an invitation? His hands continue their journey across her body, peeling away fabric like layers of a mystery I'm desperate to understand. Each open-mouthed kiss he places on her flesh sears me too, though I'm nothing but a ghost in the doorway.
Skylar's back arches, and I wonder if she senses me here. The thought that she might knowingly accept this dual adoration sends a surge of heat through me. But she’s made no move to acknowledge my presence. I should leave. But selfishness roots me to the spot. I’m desperate to witness her unraveling, even from the shadows.
Fabric falls away completely, relinquished to the floor, and Theo guides Skylar with a gentle firmness that speaks volumes of their past intimacy. She folds forward, hands pressed into the mattress, presenting to him—to us—the most intimate parts of her being.
It's a sight so raw, so vulnerably erotic, that it has my heart pounding against my ribs, a frenetic drummer urging me toward the brink of madness.
"Fuck." The word escapes me in a breathless whisper. Her plush, pink pussy glistens with arousal.
The bulge in my pants is almost painful. My hand grasps at my erection, feeling the pulse of blood pumping through it with each throb. I’m so fucking hard, my dick is weeping with anticipation. I can feel the dampness, proof of my own unchecked need.
Skylar shifts slightly, whether in discomfort or anticipation, I can't tell. But the movement draws my gaze to the junction of her thighs once more, and I'm captivated by the sheer perfection of her. I'm undone by her, utterly and irrevocably lost to this beautiful woman.
Theo's grin is a silent challenge, a predatory curl of his lips before he drops to his knees behind her. His head dips, and he vanishes between Skylar's thighs. The sound of her sharp inhale is nearly drowned by another rumble of thunder.
I bite down on my fist, to stop myself from groaning out loud. My hand shifts, fingers tightening around the hardness straining against the fabric of my pajama pants. The pressure is both relief and torture, grounding me in this moment where chaos reigns in my mind.
Theo's movements are deliberate, worshipful, as he indulges in Skylar's offering. He pulls back then, repositioning himself with his back against the mattress. He grabs hold of her thighs and throws his head back until it’s nestled snugly between Skylar's parted legs.
"Ride my face," he demands.
Her compliance is immediate. She moves over him, finding her position, taking control of his head.
From this angle, I can see everything . Every detail.
Those plush pink folds, the trail of moisture running down her inner thighs, and the way Theo's skilled tongue glides between her velvety lips.
I am a voyeur here, torn between the ache to join them and the weight of my own restraint. Every nerve ending screams for release, but it's the echo of raw need in Skylar's muffled moans that threatens to shatter my resolve.
I can't tear my gaze away. Theo's tongue paints a rhythm of pleasure on Skylar, each stroke a lightning strike that seems to ignite her very essence. Her moans pierce the air, each one luring me deeper, tempting me further.
"Quiet," Theo's voice is a low growl, punctuated by a sharp slap to her ass that sends a quiver through her body. "Or I'll stop."
"Don't you dare stop," she fires back, her tone threaded with defiance and desire, a challenge flung into the face of the storm.
Her muffled moans mix with the wet sound of Theo’s tongue dragging through her arousal are obscene. Fuck. Heat coils low in my stomach, sharp and insistent.
My dick is so hard I’m pretty sure a stiff breeze is enough to make me come.
Theo's dedication to Skylar's pleasure is a testament, something bordering sacred—a ritual that commands my undivided attention. His tongue dips lower, delving with precision as if he's mapping every secret inch of her, coaxing out the beads of desire that now glisten on his chin.
I should be anywhere but here, a voice in my head protests, a feeble attempt at honor in the face of raw need. But the crescendo of Skylar's moans wraps around me, binding me to the spot. The sight of her thighs trembling, the waves of her impending climax nearly tangible in the air—it seizes me, holds me captive.
She’s coming, and it's nothing less than cataclysmic. Her body arches, a bow drawn taut before releasing its arrow, her voice cracking the air like thunder. Each shudder that wracks her form etches itself into my memory.
The aftermath is tender, Theo's mouth gentle as he guides her through the aftershocks, licking her through it. He's an artist, I think, even as jealousy gnaws at my guts. Then, he lifts his head, eyes blazing with triumph, and catches me in his gaze. "Cohen," he says, his voice roughened by lust, "you need to taste her."
Heat crawls up my neck, a flush of embarrassment.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, my heart thundering in my ears.
My feet shuffle backward, the instinct to flee is overpowering. The room feels smaller, the air heavy with a tension that coils around my spine. But Theo's voice cuts through the haze, a command wrapped in velvet.
"Stay, Cohen. We're just getting started."
It’s casual, the way he says it, like we're discussing the weather and not the unraveling of my self-control. I shake my head, trying to find the firm ground of resistance. My eyes flicker to Skylar, searching for an excuse, any reason to escape the spell she effortlessly casts.
Then she moves.
Her arm extends, her fingers splayed in an offering or a plea—I can't tell which. Her voice slices through my thoughts, every syllable laced with authority and something softer, something that makes my chest ache.
"Stay."
There is no way I could possibly say no to her.