Chapter Five
FIVE
Phoebe
Rocky moves zero muscles. He’s staring through me. I wonder if he’s crawled deep enough to smell the truth like a bloodhound. “Yeah? You want to rock my fucking world, Phoebe Graves? You want to ride me all night while I just come over the mere sight of you?” He pauses. “You’re cringing.”
I am. “I’ve done that before and liked it fine. I’m not selfish in bed.” And I hate that I’m surfacing past hookups while we’re in the midst of hooking up. This feels like a huge relationship faux pas. I did not want failure at first real relationship to be attached to my good name.
His brows furrow. “What makes you think what we’re doing right now is you being selfish?”
“I’m not even touching you,” I whisper hotly. I kind of want my wrists back, but then I don’t. Am I a needy bitch with Rocky? Do I want to be that girl?
Yes.
And no.
Yes-no?
Choices are hard, and it feels like ever since I arrived in Victoria, I’ve had to make bigger ones. Which I should know how to do. I’m twenty-fucking-four, but since I’ve been raised as a follower—rarely the leader, rarely the dictator of where I live or what I’m doing in a job—making my own decisions hasn’t been innate.
I’m used to conferring with the team. Taking a vote. Reasoning with others—like with my best friend. But I can’t think of anything more awkward than asking Hailey to help me decide if I should fuck her older brother on the couch or let him fuck me against the cabinets.
No thank you.
Rocky hasn’t shifted away. He’s still intimately close. “I get off doing this to you. So are you really fucking selfish, Phebs? I could say the same thing about myself.”
I contemplate this. “You prefer being in control?”
“All the time.” His eyes skim me again. “But being this close to you makes me feel very, very out of control.” By the depth of his expression tunneling through me, he clearly likes the unhinged feeling, too.
I breathe in. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, “and so you know”—he pulls away and finds his slacks on the floor—“when I fuck you tonight, you’re going to feel a lot more than just fine .”
Arousal bathes me inch by inch. I squirm for him.
I watch Rocky fish out a condom from his slacks pocket, and I cast a quick glance to the two bedrooms.
His brother or sister could still walk in, and it’s not stopping him. Not as he sheathes his erection and moves back between my legs.
I love the stakes.
The danger.
But really, I love it with Rocky. It’s danger with a soft, padded cushion at the bottom of the fall. It’s danger with an antidote to the poisoned draft. It’s danger with the security and safety of him.
I scoot closer to the edge of the counter. He’s at the perfect height, and as I wrap my legs around his waist, our pelvises are aligned.
Now he lifts my cropped tee back to my collarbones. Cold air hits my nipples, but as he kneads one tender breast and crushes agonizing kisses to my lips, all I feel is heat.
His mouth veers to my ear. “You need to know something while we’re together.”
“Hmm-mm, sure.” I’m so composed and not at all an emotional fool for him.
“This.” He slips his finger against my swollen clit. Oh my God. His whisper pricks my ear again. “ This .” He teases his finger into me. “Is mine.”
I shudder and a noise catches in my throat.
Then his hand leaves the warmth between my legs. He’s suddenly pushing his thick, hard cock into my heat. I try not to unravel at the fullness. Rocky whispers how deep he’s inside me, how my tight, wet pussy belongs to him, how he’s going to take me without pause or restraint—and every carnal word soaks me.
He thrusts at a rough, hypnotic tempo. Since I’ve already come once, the friction and sensitivity sends me so fast.
My eyes threaten to roll back.
“Look at me.” He has two bunches of my hair. Holding my head, he’s guiding my line of sight downward. “See what I’m doing to your cunt?”
He flexes in and out, and I watch his veined shaft disappear inside me. I’m surprised I’m not falling apart. It feels like he has all of me, to do whatever he wants with me, and I am more than happy—and trusting—to place myself in Rocky’s care.
His lips press to the top of my head, and I feel him muffling a “fuck” and grunted groan into my hair. Then he kisses my temple and yanks my hair, causing my scalp to tingle. Ah yes, yes! I don’t just love this.
I love him.
He rams deeper. “Can you keep taking my cock, Phebs? Think your little pussy can handle me? Because I’m not so fucking sure.”
“Yes, and fuck you,” I whisper- moan .
He clutches my face while pounding inside me. “No, fuck you .” Our glares make brutal love, and he thrusts so quickly, I see stars. His hand shields my mouth while my body jostles against him, while his heavy breath is the only sound in the tensed, pleasured air.
Rapidly, he’s unbuckling the belt while he’s thrusting. He frees my arms in milliseconds, but I’m weak as I ascend toward another climax—only able to loosely hold his neck. He takes me off the counter. He has me in his strong arms and melds me to his muscled chest. He bounces me on his cock and then flexes up into me.
This is too much, and yet, I want more. I fear it’ll all stop.
His forehead is on mine. He’s chasing after the heady look in my eyes. I almost scream out his name, but somehow, it’s lost in the haze as I clench around him. Coming in powerful, electric waves.
I gasp into his muscled shoulder.
I feel his cock twitch inside me, and he milks the climax by arching up into me. Once we’re done, he picks me off him and carefully sets me on my feet.
I stumble back against the fridge. Holy shit. That was… wow. I think I finally understand the term fuck your brains out , because I can hardly think straight right now.
He discards the full condom in a paper towel, then throws it in the trash bin. He washes and dries his hands in the sink. Thankfully, I’m not the only one speechless. He’s catching his breath, and when our eyes meet across the kitchen, we both start to smile.
I haven’t had much time to think about what our relationship or sex life would look like together. I probably hoped it’d be this fulfilling, but never, in my wildest dreams, did I think it’d be this fun.
I manage to whisper, “I honestly wasn’t sure if anything could top our first time together.” Where I came four times.
“This beat it?”
I shrug. “Came close.” I pull down my tee. “You’ll have to try harder next time.”
“I’d believe you were flirting with me if you didn’t sound so snide.” He wears a sexy smile, and he runs his fingers through his sweaty hair.
I don’t know why I’m blushing.
What’s happening to me?
Rocky squats at my feet and picks up my panties. He’s about to put them on for me, and my pulse races.
I start to say, “I can…” do it myself.
Yes, I am fully capable of putting on my own panties, but I falter. Because maybe I don’t hate the idea of Rocky being sweet after a rough fuck.
He’s waiting for my response. What I choose might set the standard for our relationship going forward. What if I pick wrong? What if seven years from now, I regret shutting him down, and I’m going to wish Rocky dressed me after he undressed me because he’ll never try again?
He’s about to stand up.
“Wait.” I stop him.
He’s assessing. “You want me to or not?”
“Well, when you say it like that,” I bite back.
A smile flickers across his face. “We’re not solving world hunger here, Phebs. It’s not that serious.”
I ease back against the fridge, and I nod, seeing this isn’t going to make or break the situation between us. What do you want from him, Phoebe? “Yeah. You can,” I murmur.
He helps shimmy my panties up my legs, then my hips. Letting them ride high. He stands opposite me, his hand on my waist, and tension weaves between us, making the air thicker. It’s hard to breathe.
“You’re killing me,” he whispers into a frustrated growl, then he breaks apart to collect his clothes. I find my sweatpants, too.
“I could spend the night at your place.” I suggest the boathouse he’s renting in case we want to hook up again. Less chance of anyone discovering us.
“Your brothers still live with me.”
I give him a weird look. “Your sister and brother live with me.” I motion toward the short hallway where the bedrooms lie. “They’re right there.”
He whispers back, “Neither of which will punch me in the face if they catch me hooking up with you.”
“You’re scared of Nova?” My oldest brother has never gelled with Rocky, but they buried a small hatchet during Halloween. They’re very much on the same can’t-trust-our-parents side now.
Surprisingly, we all are.
Rocky fishes his belt through the loops. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want a black eye.”
“Understandable.”
Nova and Rocky have brawled over less.
Once we’re fully dressed as if nothing indecent just occurred, he comes closer when he sees me rubbing at my sore arms. Rocky massages my biceps and forearm with careful pressure, and my heart flip-flops in new patterns.
He’s been kind to me after many jobs before. He’s wrapped his arms so fiercely around me, hugging me for minutes on end. I fell deeply into those death-gripping seconds with him. I believed he needed the embrace, too.
I sensed him feeling how I was in one piece. I sensed him trying to hold us together. To physically feel that we made it through that city, that moment, that con.
But tonight is different. This isn’t about the end of a job.
A real relationship. Me and Rocky. Yep, it’s still dawning on me that this is happening.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Quietly, he asks, “Have you eaten anything today?”
“Not that much. You?”
“I could eat.”
So I whirl around to open the fridge. Behind me, Rocky weaves his arms around my frame, and on pure instinct, I lean my weight against his body, knowing he’ll hold me tighter. He does. When he plants a kiss to my hair, a stupid smile spreads across my face.
“I didn’t realize you and my sister are living off of…pickles and string cheese?” The shelves are mostly bare, except for a handful of quick snack foods.
“I take offense that you’re outing my string cheese. It’s nutritious and fun .”
“For a four-year-old.”
Smile gone . “For a twenty -four-year-old. And who made you the string cheese police?” I rotate on him, almost wishing I didn’t because his arms drop off me.
“You, apparently.” He sweeps me with a dark yet caring look that skips my pulse, then his brows do this deep, concerned furrow at the barren state of my refrigerator.
“Groceries are expensive,” I remind him.
“Still penny-pinching?” He says it like it’s dumb since I have the tools to trick people into giving me money. But Rocky also isn’t actively roping me into rejoining a life of deceit. Technically, I haven’t really left since I’ve been fake dating Jake.
Deciding what I want to do with my life feels a lot less critically important than figuring out what our parents have hidden from us. Even if Hails orchestrated this move to Victoria so I’d stop grifting, I don’t feel in a rush to quit cold turkey.
I’m just taking everything day by day.
“I know it makes zero sense to you, Rocky, but I haven’t hated being a server.”
“What do you like about it? Seeing as how you’re not in it for the money.”
I shrug. “I’m more myself there than I’ve ever been… anywhere , and when it does suck, I can commiserate with Hailey. Plus, it can be entertaining. I get to see the nucleus of the town drama.”
“You’re in the nucleus, Phebs.” He reaches around me to open a fridge drawer. Empty. “Is this really a product of lack of money or because you can’t cook?”
“I can cook.”
“Microwaved mac ’n’ cheese doesn’t count.”
“Then you can’t cook either,” I say, sounding hostile.
All of us were taught to order food at five-star establishments, not consult a recipe to make it ourselves. Oliver is the only one who’s gone out of his way to learn how to properly sauté a scallop and make hollandaise.
And that’s because he was a sous chef for three weeks.
“Yeah, I can’t cook,” Rocky says roughly, “but I’m the one eating rib eyes from James Beard Award–winning chefs. What are you doing?”
“Thriving.”
He laughs.
I glare. “I hope you choke on those hockey pucks, by the way.” Okay, yes, the award-winning chef isn’t serving charred meat. I’ve smelled those perfectly seared steaks on scoops of garlic mashed potatoes, and my mouth has watered serving them to this old biddy named Margaret at the country club.
“Not hockey pucks. They’re never overcooked. Always rare. Bloody. ” He tips his head to the side. “Just how you like it—since you were, what? Fourteen?”
I flush. “Maybe.”
“Maybe.” He gives me an exposing once-over. “You copied me.”
“What?” I balk.
“I ordered a prime rib so bloody at Spear of course I focused on you.”
I intake a staggered breath, a heady feeling washing over me like I was just dunk-tanked in ice water.
It’s strange how much he’s verbalizing our love. It’s not that strange how much I tailspin at hearing it. I open my mouth to find the words to say back, but he’s inspecting the fridge again.
He picks up a jar with one pickle floating in murky juice. “Eating dill spears for breakfast?”
“ Spicy dill spears, sir.”
He rolls his eyes but he’s starting to smile. “Whatever the fuck, ma’am . That’s not a breakfast.”
“It’s a snack,” I agree. “And Hailey and I mostly eat out.”
“Figured that.” Placing the jar back, he unpockets his phone. “Seaside Griddle is still open. I can order us takeout.” The local breakfast joint is open 24/7 and a short walk down the street.
There must be something worth eating here, though. I’m not ready to give up. “We have milk.” I tug out the half gallon of one percent. “And I know we have cereal in the pantry.”
That’s how I find myself eating bowls of Froot Loops and Fruity Pebbles past one a.m. with Rocky. Lights still on, we’re settled comfortably on the sofa, where I’ve tucked in sheets on the cushion and brought in my bed pillow.
He’s scrolling through Netflix for a movie, and he’s not even asking which genre. He’s already clicked into horror for me.
Giddiness is an overwhelming ingredient in our relationship. The addition almost makes me feel high.
And we’re not even screwing some douchebag out of millions. No one is being double-crossed by our duplicitous hands.
This is just…normal.
I scoop up some Froot Loops and look over at him. By his brooding face, you’d think the TV fleeced him and he’s plotting murder. That’s just Rocky. Sitting in cynicism and hatred, but I’d like to believe he gets enjoyment from being here with me. Or else he’d be long gone by now, and he’s never really left me.
“Would you consider this a date?” I ask him.
His head jerks in slight surprise, but I am confident. I stand fully by this pressing question. He sees and answers honestly. “Sex, dinner, and a movie. Sounds like a date to me.”
“Same.”
“Glad we could agree on something.”
“And look, the earth didn’t rip in half,” I joke.
“There’s still time for that.”
We share a brief, rising smile. Brief because the front door suddenly jostles open. I freeze.
Rocky is a shotgun. He’s quick to his feet, the bowl of Fruity Pebbles in his hand like a projectile weapon, and he’s standing in front of me. First thought is, our parents . They found my address.
They’re making an unwanted visit.
Fear recedes into a mountain of concern as I see who shuffles inside.