21. Abigail
TWENTY-ONE
ABIGAIL
I turned my phone on Do Not Disturb on the drive home and breathed a sigh of relief when we didn’t find my brother waiting for us on my front porch swing. My pulse was erratic, and I couldn’t quite figure out what to do with my hands.
Rex, on the other hand, was cool as ever. He drove like he didn’t have a care in the world, relaxed and confident, occasionally moving his hand off the gear shift to place it on my thigh. The warmth of his palm against my leg sent shivers through me, and by the time he pulled up outside my house, I couldn’t quite breathe right.
Rex came around to my side of the car and let me out. When I fumbled with my keys, he gently took them out of my hands and opened the front door for us. Then his hand swept down my spine, and he let me enter the house ahead of him. His fingers lingered near my tailbone, every touch winding me tighter.
We stripped our shoes and jackets off. I left my purse hanging on one of the hooks by the front door. Then, barefoot on my wooden floorboards, we faced each other.
“I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate universe,” I admitted.
Rex moved closer, his palm sliding down my side to fit into the indent of my waist. “In what way?”
“In the way that Rex Montgomery is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”
“Ouch,” he replied, tugging me closer. “You’re saying you didn’t find me sexy before?”
“Not since I was about seventeen years old,” I said, smiling as I adjusted the collar of his shirt. I let my eyes lift up to meet his and added, “That was before I realized you’re actually kind of a bad boy.”
He laughed, and then he kissed me. From there, Rex’s fingers were braiding in mine, and he was tugging me up the stairs to the bedroom.
I’d been with men since my divorce—the aforementioned men who treated me like a conquest. But this felt different. It felt like there was more on the line, like I was giving something to Rex that I hadn’t given to anyone since my ex-husband.
A part of me.
The part of me that hid behind thick castle walls and crocodile-infested moats. The part of me that craved being loved and cared for, that wanted someone to look at me and see a woman to cherish. I wasn’t just the tough, impulsive troublemaker. I was human, and I needed to be taken care of once in a while. I needed to be loved.
But being loved required opening the gates and letting someone in. Last time I’d done that, my ex had taken a look around and pointed out the crumbling furniture and moth-infested tapestries on the walls. He’d said, Not good enough .
That’s why my heart felt like it was thumping out of my chest when Rex dragged my dress’s zipper down. Why my hands trembled as I unbuttoned his shirt. Why my breaths came short and fast when he swept his thumb over my cheek and brought his mouth down to kiss mine.
There was so much on the line right now. It was all of me, offered up to a man who may or may not deserve it.
But Rex sighed against my lips and touched me like I was made of precious crystal. His eyes were liquid and dark as he pulled away to look at me, and his voice was reverent when he said, “You taste like heaven, Abigail. I could keep kissing you until the sun comes up.”
I couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over my face. In my marriage, sex had become a chore. Badabing, badaboom, get the job done, clean up, move on. We’d stopped kissing. We’d stopped touching.
To have a man like Rex tell me that just exploring my mouth would be enough for him for hours…that was intoxicating. It was powerful enough to help me shred the last of my nerves as I hooked my arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.
His hands were possessive and unhesitating as they swept down my sides and traced the line of my panties. He pulled me close enough that I could feel the ridge of his cock against my stomach, and he groaned into our kiss.
“You drive me so fucking crazy,” he admitted in a low growl. “I dream of having you, Abigail. I wake up wanting the taste of you on my tongue. ”
Walking me backward, he hooked his fingers into my underwear and pushed it down to the floor. I stumbled over them, laughing, and Rex caught me. He scooped me in his arms and laid me down on the bed, draping his body over mine. It was warm and safe and exciting, and all I wanted was for him to press himself inside me so I could finally, finally , feel full and stretched and his.
But Rex had other ideas. He caught my wrists above my head and pinned me down while he kissed my neck, my jaw, my clavicle. Transferring both wrists to one hand, he plumped my breast and took my nipple in his mouth. I arched off the bed with a gasp, and Rex replied with a dark chuckle.
His hips were cradled between my knees, and the soft undulations of my body were nearly beyond my control. I needed friction. I needed him .
As if he could sense my need, Rex deliberately slowed down. His mouth went on a long, sinuous path from my breasts to my stomach and down below my navel as he gradually released my wrists. He inhaled the scent of me and smiled at my flush.
Then he parted my lips—and devoured me. I threw an arm over my eyes and bit back a sob. Pleasure shattered through me, almost too big to reckon with. When I came back to myself, Rex wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and watched me with dark, dark eyes.
“I want you, Abigail,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” I replied. “Please. Now.”
“I want you more than I’ve wanted anyone. I feel like I’m going to break apart the minute I’m inside you.”
I smiled. “Good.”
Rex huffed, and a condom appeared in his hands. He shucked off his pants and tore off the shirt I’d unbuttoned, and then he was above me, sheathed and hard and beautiful. I reached between us to touch him, squeezing the base of his shaft as a sharp breath blew through his lips.
“This changes things, Abigail,” he said. “You and me. This isn’t fake. Not for me.”
One last, desperate dart of panic went through me. Would Rex hurt me the way my ex-husband had? Would he get sick of me, decide I wasn’t good enough? Would he try to change me because he suddenly decided I was too much work? I wasn’t subservient enough? I wasn’t good enough? I wasn’t quiet or tidy or perfect enough?
Then Rex’s eyes softened, and he touched my cheek with his hand. “Let me in, beautiful,” he whispered.
He didn’t mean physically.
The panic evaporated. I softened beneath him, wound my arms around his neck, and took him inside my body. At the first stretch of his entrance, a shudder went through my body. I sank my fingernails into his shoulders and caught his lips with mine. He entered me slowly, moaning into my mouth, destroying any hope I’d had of keeping one shred of my heart to myself.
And I let him in. I smiled against his kiss and held him tight, arching my back to welcome his intrusion. I reached down to pull him tighter to me, wanting more. More of him. More stretch. More pressure. More weight. More Rex.
One broad palm landed beside my head. Rex exhaled sharply, then snapped his hips back and forward again. Hard.
I cried out, pleasure shattering through me.
“Sorry,” he panted. “Didn’t mean to?— ”
“Again,” I begged.
His eyes shot to mine. A short, sharp breath—and he thrust inside me once more. Then it was a frenzy. We moved in tandem, limbs and hands and teeth and tongues. I wanted him deeper.
“Slow down, Abigail,” he panted. “I want this to last.”
“The second time can last,” I said, levering my hips so he’d flip onto his back. I landed above him, catching myself with my palms against his chest, and let out a laugh. “Right now, I need you deep and hard and mean, Rex.”
Surprise and lust flashed across his face, and then his hands clamped over my waist and he thrust his hips upward from beneath me. I gasped—and he did it again. And again. And again.
“I’m supposed”—I fought to catch my breath—“I’m supposed to be setting the pace in this position.”
Rex just laughed. “You said deep and hard and mean, Abigail,” he reminded me, his voice low and rough.
Then I was flipped onto my stomach, and Rex was hauling my hips up. My hands twisted into the sheets as I felt his hand between my legs, giving me a quick caress before his cock was at my entrance once more. This position made him feel bigger and deeper and?—
“Oh!” I cried, burying my face in my pillows to hide the tears leaking from my eyes. It was pleasure and ecstasy and joy all wrapped up in one. It was the feel of his hands stroking me so tenderly while his hips drove deeper and deeper inside me. It was the soft murmur of his voice as he told me how beautiful I looked and how long he’d been waiting to feel this.
I came with a shudder, crying his name. He urged me on, reaching around my hip to roll my clit between his fingers, and my orgasm went on and on and on. Then I felt him stiffen, and his movements became jagged and rough.
Smiling against the bed as Rex came, I turned my head to try to catch my breath. My muscles were jelly. My lungs were burning. Every inch of me felt wrung out and sated.
I tumbled onto my side and Rex lay down beside me. I threw my arm over his chest, and he picked it up to press a kiss to my wrist. We panted in silence on crumpled, sweaty sheets, and when my brain started working again, I realized Rex had been right.
It did change things, and it wasn’t fake for me either. Gulping, I glanced over at the man beside me. He turned his head, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I’m discovering that I’m actually a fan of blackmail,” I told him.
He laughed, curling his body around mine. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said, voice a low rumble next to my ear.
There were reasons not to get ahead of myself. The past had taught me that men lied, and they demanded more than they gave. Ultimately, they left. But in that moment, wrapped up in Rex’s embrace, I forgot all of that and let myself imagine a world where a man as good as Rex actually chose me for his own.
And in the end, he was right about another thing: the second time did last longer.