Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

26. Tabitha

CHAPTER 26

TABITHA

My husband has no fucking business looking this good. That’s how I’m justifying pouncing on him. Because Rhys and I are far too complicated for this to be a good idea.

Grief is still my constant companion, and a feeling I’ve become numb to carrying with me. I should be too sad—too angry—to maul this man.

But right now, I don’t feel any of those things. No, I feel electric. With Rhys holding me, I feel no sadness. And I want more of that feeling. Straddling his lap, with his hands on my waist, and that fucking mask tossed a few stairs up—I want him .

My hands cup his bristled jawline as I move my mouth, savoring this sensation.

He stills.

But then his fingers flex on my waist in a way that sends a current straight to my core. He makes no other move, so I take the lead, firm and demanding from the first swipe of my tongue. Leaving no sliver of doubt in his mind about what I’m after.

A quick nip at his bottom lip gets me a groan and a whispered, “Fuck, I’ve dreamed of this,” against my damp lips.

Then he grabs the back of my head and sears me with a kiss of his own. Like everything he does, there’s a raw power to each motion. The way his tongue lays claim. The way his opposite hand roams my hip, as though he’s touched me a million times before this moment.

His hand slips beneath my sweater to splay over my back. Having his hands on my body does nothing but drive me wild. It makes me want so much more, and that desperate feeling coursing through my veins gives me pause.

My fingers flutter over his cheeks. I cling to him, and he clings back. We fall into a rhythm. Give and take. Hard and soft. There’s no fumbling, no rushing, no clanking of teeth. We are perfectly in sync.

My heart thuds with a heavy, undeniable certainty as I kiss Rhys. I roll my hips and grind myself down, the hardness of him responding immediately. And when I startle back up, his hand lands on my shoulder, pushing me back onto him.

“Rhys,” I whisper, dragging the tip of my nose over his cheek while my fingers tangle in his mussed hair. “We should…”

He peppers kisses over the column of my throat with a reverence that makes my chest ache and my hips swivel. Pressure coils behind my hip bones as a familiar heat races up my spine.

“What should we do, Tabby?”

Tabby .

God, I almost purr at the way my name rumbles his throat.

“We should… You should?—”

His fingers slide down the column of my spine with firm, even pressure, and my ability to form words evaporates.

“Make you come before you leave for girls’ night?” I hear the taunt in his tone and feel the rasp of his stubbled cheek, no doubt hitching up into a smirk against my chest. “Tell me you’re on birth control so I can dream about fucking you bare, Tabby.”

“I am. Yesss.” I hiss the word, eyes fluttering shut as I imagine how it would feel to have him slide between my legs. To ride him. To have him fill me the way I’m sure only he can.

God, it would be heaven.

I grind down on him, lost to the fantasy.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, lifting his hips to match my fervor. He sends me into a delirious haze, dry fucking me while he sears me with another kiss that promises so damn much.

We claw at each other frantically. I’m drunk on him, and I want more. I want it all. His big hands. His deep moans. The smell of his skin all around me. Him moving inside of me, pushing me higher with every thrust.

My skin sizzles, and I feel ready to rip my clothes off just to feel more of him.

I can barely breathe. One sharp breath in and one slow exhale. My complicated feelings about Rhys and where we began have me twisted up beyond comprehension.

That’s why I don’t want to let this fantasy become reality.

But I don’t want him to stop either. I want this to go on forever.

His palm roams over the curve of my ass, fingers edging lower. When I drop my gaze to meet his, I’m met with pure heat, and what looks an awful lot like… vulnerability.

Like he can read my mind, he says, “Tell me I should stop, Tabby. Tell me I should stop, and I will.”

His thumb circles against my jeans as he waits.

I breathe him in, and he breathes me out, both of us toeing the edge of what could be a disastrous fall.

And I realize it might not just be disastrous for Milo. It could be disastrous for me and for Rhys. Because kissing him to make myself feel better when he’s looking at me like I hung the moon feels dangerous.

Dangerous, because when he looks at me like that, my heart beats harder and my brain starts asking questions that I don’t especially know how to cope with. Questions like…

You’re sure you want this marriage to be fake?

All at once, I’m struck by the gravity of the situation. We aren’t just two people anymore. There’s a legal element, a co-parenting element. His fortune. My restaurant. The ways this could go bad are… bad .

So I pull back. For his protection and for mine.

I fumble around like an awkward mess as I try to extricate myself from him while avoiding falling down the stairs. “Listen,” I mutter as I look over my shoulder to place my foot safely. “I don’t really want you to stop. But that’s why we should.”

When I sneak a peek back down at him, his features have twisted into an expression that is the perfect blend of amused and confused. “It’s a bad idea.”

His lips quirk, and he regards me calmly—save for the massive ridge in his pants. There’s nothing calm about the way his dick is standing at attention right now. “Is that so?”

My eyes roll. Is that so ? He says that all the time. “Yeah. Milo.”

His head tilts in question. Like Milo isn’t a good enough reason for me to back out of whatever just happened.

“And you. And me. Just… complicated.”

He nods, lips twitching with amusement but never breaking into a smile. “Making my wife come is a bad idea because… complicated . Did I get that right?”

I prop my hands on my hips. “Listen, I can tell you’re mocking me, but you know I’m right. If you were thinking with your head and not your massive dick, you’d agree.”

Fuck my life . Why did I have to compliment the size of his dick again? He’s never going to let me live this down. I’m practically spoon-feeding him.

I need to get away, so I head up the stairs, stepping over his shoulder and focusing on making it to the door. If I don’t, his adorable fucking smirk may annoy me enough that I drop down and enjoy his offer.

“Sorry,” I say. “I lost my head there for a second. If it’s any consolation, in another lifetime, I’d climb you like a tree, and not think twice.”

He lets out a beleaguered sigh as I reach the top of the stairs, and his voice comes out more tortured than I expected, his parting words hitting me right in the chest. “That’s no consolation at all, Tabby.”

“Why are your cheeks all flushed?” Rosie eyes me suspiciously over the rim of her drink.

I swallow and look away, pretending to take in the decor here at the Reach. “They’re not. I was in a rush and put on too much blush. It’s very grade ten of me.” It’s a lie. All my blush rubbed off on Rhys’s stubble, and my cheeks are flushed because I can’t stop thinking about how it felt when he held me down on his dick.

A suspicious, “Hmm,” is all I get back.

From the corner of my eye, I see Skylar give her Rosie a firm elbow from her side of the booth. “Ease off. They’re newlyweds .”

The word drips with innuendo, and I can’t help but scoff. If you only knew .

Luckily, Doris cuts off the conversation as she storms up to the table with a pretty blond girl in tow. “Girls,” she barks in her signature smoker’s voice, and we all straighten immediately. Doris has never been anything but sweet to us, but there is an authoritative vibe about her that doesn’t seem to fade, no matter how old I get.

“Doris, we’re women,” Rosie corrects playfully, only for Doris to roll her eyes.

“Funny, I didn’t overhear you calling it women’s night when you walked in giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls.”

I snort and take a sip of my red wine.

“See? The emo one knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

Skylar almost sprays her drink across the table but covers by dabbing daintily at the sides of her mouth.

My brows shoot up, and I lower the wine glass. “Wait. Am I the emo one?”

“Am I the only one who remembers the phase with all the black makeup and clothes? Even the elastics on your braces were black.”

I smirk. Fucking Doris. Been around long enough that she’s practically a town encyclopedia.

“Which one am I?” Rosie asks with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“The bratty one,” Doris responds, and we all laugh. Then she points at Skylar with an affectionate glimmer in her eye. “And that’s the smart one.”

Skylar’s reaction to the compliment seems almost bashful. After years in the spotlight, where compliments focused on everything except her intelligence, I think Doris’s praise hits differently for Skylar. It’s special—and more sentimental than she’d ever let on.

“Anyway, girls . This is Gwen.” She shoves the blond woman forward and smiles brightly. “She’s new in town, working at the yoga studio I go to. Helps me stay limber for the bedroom. But she’s been sitting up at the bar like I’m her only friend, and she doesn’t realize how old I am, which is just sad. So I’m pawning her off on you.”

Gwen palms Doris’s shoulder with a light laugh. “Doris, please, I’m fine?—”

“She’s fine all right. All the regulars are eyeing up her tits like they’re available to order off the menu or something. Guess she’s the busty one.”

My eyes drop and bulge a bit. I can’t blame them. Gwen has all the right curves in all the right places. Soft and feminine in every way while I feel like a scrawny, flat board. Except when Rhys’s hands are on me, asking me what he should do.

God, I really need to stop thinking about the stairs.

Gwen’s cheeks blaze in time with mine, but her eyes twinkle with mirth. I can’t help but jump in and save her from the roll that Doris is on right now.

I scootch over on the banquette and pat the vinyl seat. “Gwen, get in before shit gets any worse.”

She smiles at me with a mix of surprise and gratitude and swiftly takes a seat.

Doris brushes her hands together like she’s just finished building something, and who knows, maybe she has. “Good. A team of four for our first trivia night.”

“Wait, what?”

“Thursdays. Trivia night. Bet the smart one read the sign on her way in and knew this already.”

Skylar sips her drink and shrugs. “I mean… maybe.”

“Told ya.” Doris turns to leave. “Lucky y’all have her to carry your asses through this.”

I shoot a bemused look at Gwen, who is laughing into her clenched fist, and then Rosie, who is watching Doris walk away with a look of awe on her face.

It’s Skylar’s sugary voice that brings all of our attention back to the table. “Trivia might be fun, no?” Her grin widens as she leans back in her seat. “Don’t worry. I’ll carry your asses.”

We all laugh, then Rosie looks across the table and salutes our newest addition. “Gwen, welcome to women’s night.”

Gwen raises her beer in a toast. “Thank you all for having me. Do we have names? Or should I stick with Emo, Bratty, and Smart?”

I glance over at the woman with a subtle shake of my head. “I like you, Gwen. My name is Tabby.”

She brightens. “Oh! Chef Tabby?”

I regard her with a casual shrug. “That’s me.”

“Rhys talks about you all the time.”

Now my head tilts at her, piecing together how they know each other while ignoring the sharp jab of unfounded jealousy that just cropped up in my gut. “Does he?”

“Oh yeah. He’s been coming to my classes, and he’s quiet, ya know? So I’ve tried to get him talking a bit, and he’s always all”—she puffs up and drops her voice in imitation of him—“ My wife this, my wife that. Did you know my wife owns that restaurant? ”

My jaw goes slack, and she sighs dreamily. “He’s so proud of you, you know? God, it’s adorable.” She grins at me. “So, at any rate, it’s nice to meet you.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting her to say, but it sure as shit wasn’t that . I don’t even know how to respond. All I know is my tummy feels warm, my chest tingles, and my fingers itch to run through Rhys’s hair again.

But Rosie’s snark doesn’t miss a beat.

“Oh weird. It’s like you’re putting on too much blush right before our eyes.”