Chapter 26
Riley
Ismash my fist into the lumpiest pillow to ever grace a sofa and pull the sheet over my bare legs. The tank top and panties that I put on still feel too hot with no fan on in the living room.
The ceiling fan squeaks like a mouse in a trap, so I refuse to turn it on. The sheet feels like a safety net, but after a slim moment, I toss it aside, too. The fan in Spencer’s room works perfectly, as does his small box air conditioner. The one in Ivy’s room does, too.
I swipe at the sweat forming on my brow and sigh. It could be worse—I could be broke and have to pull out of school. I could still be obliged to attend Lockwood family dinners with Stace.
Somehow, the peace and tranquility that comes with a healthy bank account and country air trumps the lot.
The crickets won’t let up outside about the balmy temperature, and I swear that makes the room even hotter.
I flip the stupid lumpy pillow over to the cooler side and wriggle toward the edge of the sofa. The last thing I want is the warmth of the sofa’s back on my, well, back.
I lose a long, annoyed groan, slamming my fists into the pillow for good measure. How is it this hot?
The air changes, the willows outside hissing with the shift. A rumble echoes overhead. Sitting up, I see a flash beyond the curtains of green, now dulled grey by the dark night.
Well, that explains it.
I lay back down, listening to the storm approach. Mother Nature never ceases to amaze me. When the crickets go quiet, I know the rain is almost here. The temperature drops to something a little more comfortable as the first patters on the roof start.
Lightning flashes outside, illuminating the room sporadically.
A sigh rattles my chest.
This place is beautiful. It’s so different from home, but beautiful just the same.
The next lightning strike that lights up the room brandishes a tall figure standing, arms crossed, at the end of the sofa.
I jolt as a stifled scream slips past my lips and a tingle shoots up my spine.
Pressing a palm over my racing heart, I lose a breath when I recognize Spencer’s form.
“God above, you eejit, you scared the bejesus out of me,” I chastise.
He chuckles, rounding the sofa and extending a hand down to me.
“I said no, Spence. This is your home. I’m fine with the sofa.”
“Nope. Not going to cut it, Riles.”
“I was almost asleep. Go away.” I wave my hands at him like I’m shooing a fly, and he tilts his head.
“I’m serious. You are wasting my precious sleep right now.”
“And you’re being a stubborn ass. It’s hot as hell out here. Come on.”
“I like the heat,” I say with a tone that could only be described as petulant child.
“Sure, the girl from Northern Ireland has no problem with the heat.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, off with you.”
I roll over, facing the sofa back rest. Not my greatest plan, admittedly, but a statement nonetheless.
Hands slide under my waist and shoulders, and I’m levitating over the sofa a heartbeat later.
“Spence, what the hell?”
I’m cradled against his warmth, against my will, as he pads down the hallway.
The second we cross the threshold of his bedroom, the blissful cool air from his air conditioner finds my sweaty skin. Goosebumps wash over every inch of my body.
My thin sleep tank feels set to be ripped in half by my diamond-hard nipples any fecking second.
This is a bad idea.
Spencer has me tucked under the sheet on ‘my’ side of the bed before he crawls over me and flops onto his side on top of the sheet. So, this is his plan . . . trap me under the sheet so I can’t leave.
Huh.
I have news for you, buddy.
I scramble up and out of the sheet and stalk from the room, instantly regretting that decision when the cool air is left behind, but it’s the principle of the thing at this point.
I will not be told what to do. My choices are fir—
A warm, large body wraps around me from behind. My feet leave the floor, and I’m swung over Spencer’s shoulder like a sack of goddamn potatoes.
“Put me down,” I stage-whisper, not wanting to wake Ives.
My fists pummel into the small of his back, and I feel every muscle in his torso flex as he moves under my weight.
“Spencer fecking Lockwood, I said no.”
“Yeah, I know. But you have to stop fighting eventually, Riles. Besides, all that AC for one person doesn’t feel right.”
This time as we cross the bedroom threshold, I’m hauled from his shoulder and tossed airborne.
My back meets the mattress, and I try to catch my breath as Spencer comes to stand by the bed, as if he’s waiting for me to make another run for it and will block any and all attempts.
I cross my arms and stare up at him through the dim light.
Leaning back, he uses his good arm to swing the door almost shut. “Can’t let out that precious AC,” I utter, the urge to roll my eyes so strong right now.
“Or the precious cargo.” Spencer is imitating my pose, arms crossed, and I can just see one eyebrow cocked as he waits for me to slide under the sheet.
“Fine. But you get all handsy on me again, or end up naked . . .”
He leans down, until our faces are almost touching. “O’Malley, the last thing I’m going to give you is what you want.”
My mouth pops open as my brows snap down. But he’s rounding the end of the bed and climbing under the sheet before I can form a response. Rolling over to face the window, Spence gives me his back. His gorgeous, muscled back.
He’s messing with my head?
Or maybe he’s doing exactly what he said he’s doing, sharing the air conditioning.
Did I miss my opportunity?
I swallow past the emotion in my throat.
And why am I upset about it?
When I wake, the room is still dark. And I’m freezing.
How cold does this man keep his air conditioner?
I’m shivering under the thin sheet, hugging my arms around my body, almost rattling the velvet scrunchie from my messy bun.
I manage to roll over, teeth chattering, to find Spencer sprawled out on the bed. His bare chest rises and falls, not a goosebump to be seen on his toned body.
With a harrumph, I poke the sleeping man beside me.
With a groan, he cracks one eye. “Hey. What’s up?”
Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I stutter, “Your arctic temperature, that’s what. Why is the duvet not on the bed? Do you have a blanket or something?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head and sits up. “Which question am I answering first?”
“Blanket, Spence. I’m freezing.”
“They’re stored in Ivy’s room. Her wardrobe is bigger. Plus, we had to share, remember.”
He goes to rise from the bed, and I grab his arm. “No, don’t wake her. I’ll live.”
I wriggle into the bed further, tightening the sheet around me.
“Riles . . .”
“Don’t wake her, Spence. From Northern Ireland, as you so elegantly pointed out earlier tonight, remember?”
He chuckles, laying down. His arms brushes against my back. Oh god, he is so fecking warm.
Without a thought, I loosen the sheet and lift it over him before grabbing his arm and dragging around my body and over my chest.
With a grunt, he shifts, rolling onto his left side as his right arm tugs me backward into his body.
I tamp back the moan elicited by his body heat covering me. Sliding my arm over his, I snuggle in closer.
Moments pass as he serves as my meat blanket. My goosebumps dissipate, and my body relaxes against his.
I shift a little, and his hard length presses against the small of my back. I’m swathed in Spencer, warm and content, but now the heat is rising too fast. The hand wrapped over mine flexes, his fingertips brushing over my collarbone.
When I remain unmoving, his face dips into my hair. “Let me in, Riles.”
God above, I want to.
My panties are slick with need being cocooned with Spence. His scent shrouds me. His touch warms my body, sending sparks flying through my veins simultaneously.
Spencer infiltrates my every sense.
I’ve never ached for anyone like this before.
Like it is very possible I could combust if he doesn’t meet the need he has drawn out in me.
Let me in.
I could do that . . . so easily.
I could simply turn over.
Let Spencer’s hands roam my body.
Let him take whatever he wants.
Take what I desperately want.
What I have pushed down, denied and chastised myself for, for weeks.
Air snaps in and out of my lungs in short spurts. And it’s only when I move his arm lower so it rests over my belly that I realize he’s tracking kisses down my neck.
I can’t do this any more. This pretending he leaves me unaffected. Pretending I don’t want this as much as he does.
“Feck it,” I mutter, rolling back.
Spence lifts his head as I settle on my back before his mouth crashes down to mine.
Nipping, coaxing my mouth wider, he devours me.
My hands crawl into his hair and he groans.
The last time we were this close, he was obsessed with tasting me, and now all I can think of is him in my mouth. Straddling his lap, impaled on him, as he plucks my nipples with his teeth.
The cold long forgotten, I lose a hand from his hair and tug at the waistband of his boxers.
“Riles, baby, slow. I need to take this so fucking slow,” he rasps.
Torture is apparently his MO.
For someone who takes everything at one hundred miles an hour, I’m fecking desperate for him now that the restraints are gone.
“Fine, but I call the shots on this snail’s pace, cowboy.” I shove him onto his back, and he chuckles.
“Yes ma’am. For now.”
I raise a brow at him, and he reaches up.
My messy bun spills out, hair covering my shoulders and falling over my breasts as the scrunchie slides over his hand to his wrist. “Fucking perfect, Riles. Christ, you are so damn beautiful.”
Sitting up, he captures my face, planting his lips to mine before I can respond. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. This much affection, this much chemistry has never found me before.
Overwhelmed and a little emotional would be the understatement of the century. I breathe through the tightness, hands palming his stomach as he grows larger, harder beneath me.
Clearly, Spencer is not going to fit.
I’m five-foot-nothing and petite. He is over six feet tall and built.
The last and only time I had sex was painful, and he was nowhere near as big as Spencer.
Panic claws at my insides.
My hands curl to fists against his chest.
“Hey,” Spence whispers, “What’s going on, baby?”
“I-I can’t do this?” I stutter.
Blue eyes study my face, his palms on my jaw. “Which part, Riles? The physical or the emotional?”
“The . . . the first one. Spence, there is no way that is going to fit.”
We both glance down.
Spence chuckles.
“It is not funny,” I gasp, jaw dropping.
His forehead meets mine. “Riles, you were fucking made for me. We will take it slow, and I will make sure it feels nothing short of goddamn amazing for you.”
I huff through a wobbly breath.
“F-fine.”
His head retracts a little, gaze homed in on mine. “You can tell me to stop at any time, and I will. I promise you. Do you trust me?”
My chin wobbles.
Fecking, stinking, stupid eejit universe . . . What the hell was it thinking? Handing me this incredible man, only for me to have to lose him, too.
Nope.
I am not ruining this with my damn baggage.
“I trust you, Spence,” I breathe.
His chest caves as his jaw feathers.
“Good girl.”