Chapter Nineteen
Monroe
Now that Rhodes is actually inside my apartment, I panic.
Not outwardly, but internally, where my thoughts start racing, where my pulse starts hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to break out.
What am I doing?
“I’ll go get you some…” I look around the room, trying to decide what my end goal is here. “I’ll go get you some pillows.”
Rhodes huffs a quiet laugh, leaning back against the wall like he’s got all the time in the world. “Perfect. Just what I want. Pillows.”
My face burns. Again. Twice in one night, I’ve turned into some flustered schoolgirl version of myself, and Rhodes is eating it up. I spin on my heel and escape down the hallway, toward the closet.
With the pillows secured, I turn around, intending to go back and prepare a bed on my couch, when I smack straight into Rhodes’ muscled chest. I squeak and stumble backward, dropping the pillows to the floor.
He steps predatorily toward me, kicking them out of the way, until my back meets the wall, cool against my overheated skin. Rhodes tilts my chin up to look at him.
Slow. Deliberate.
“Hi, Monroe.”
His voice is a low rasp, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, a challenge, a claim all wrapped in one.
I swallow hard, my breathing uneven.
“Hi, Rhodes,” I whisper. “Thanks for the save at the bar tonight.”
I’m trying to fill the space between us, and I never did properly thank him for getting rid of that creep. His hand slides lower, fingertips grazing the hem of my jersey.
“You don’t have to thank me for that.” His tone is gravel, thick and rough.
“You’re a nice guy, Rhodes,” I murmur, his presence making me nervous. Not in a get-away-from-me way, though. In a I-want-you-inside-of-me way, which is terrifying.
“I very much do not want to be a nice guy right now,” he whispers, nose caressing the side of my cheek. He drops an arm and it trails down my side, landing at my waist. “What are we doing, sweetheart?” He sounds pained.
That nickname was undoing my carefully built-up resolve. I feel it everywhere—in my chest, in my stomach, lower. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first.
Because I don’t know what we’re doing.
I don’t know how to define this, or what to call it, or how to stop it from happening when every fiber of my being is screaming at me not to stop at all.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth.
He exhales, like that answer doesn’t surprise him—but then his hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
Blue and burning.
“Do you still want me to go slow? I swear I’m trying to let you set the pace, Monroe, but I’m not doing a very good job. You’re driving me crazy.”
I close my eyes and let him stroke the side of my face. Did I still want him to go slow?
Not right now, I didn’t.
“I’m not drunk,” he says, continuing his slow exploration of the side of my body, leaving gooseflesh in the wake of his hands. I know he’s not. I knew it when I invited him into my house.
“I know,” I whisper. I breathe in his scent. Woodsy with a hint of something citrus. It’s intoxicating. Much more than anything I would have had to drink in the bar.
“But can I stay anyway?”
I hesitate just a beat before deciding to give in. “Yes.”
Rhodes barely waits for my whisper to leave my mouth before crashing his against mine. There’s nothing soft or hesitant about it—he devours me, kisses me like he’s been starving for weeks and I’m finally within reach.
I’ve been holding us at arm’s distance, and I’m not sure that’s what I want anymore. Not after tonight. I’ve been doing it all on my own for the last year, and before that… Did I even have any real relationships? I am seriously questioning every one I’ve had up until this point.
If Rhodes is faking it, he’s really damn good. Consider me duped.
His hands skim down my sides, gripping my hips, pressing me back against the wall like he’s worried I’ll change my mind. I won’t. I can’t. Not when he’s kissing me like this, not when his tongue slides against mine, when I can feel his erection between too many layers of clothing.
Well, you can’t fake that.
I dig my fingers into his sweatshirt, pulling him closer, and he groans—a deep, guttural sound that shoots straight through my body.
His hands tighten their grip, thumbs slipping under my shirt, brushing over bare skin, and I arch into him like I have no control over my own body anymore.
He inches up, expertly releasing the clasp on my bra.
My nipples peak, and he rolls them under his fingers.
“Damn, Monroe,” he whispers, desperate. “I can’t get enough of you.”
Rhodes tugs at the hem of the jersey I’m still wearing.
“I’m tempted to fuck you with this on,” he murmurs into my mouth, but continues peeling it up over my head.
The jersey and my bra are discarded, and suddenly his palms are dragging over my stomach, up my ribs, tracing every inch of bare skin like he’s memorizing me.
He pulls back briefly to admire the view, and I preen under his gaze.
I let myself be dragged back to him so he can continue his worship down my body.
“You’re gonna kill me, Abrams,” he murmurs, lips trailing along my jaw, down the column of my throat. He nips at my collarbone, then soothes the spot with his tongue, and I swear my entire body lights on fire.
I curl my fingers into his hair, tugging just to hear the low growl he makes in response. When he kneels before me to peel my leggings off, I nearly combust on the spot.
Rhodes McKnight is on his knees for me. He watches me—hungry, possessive, completely wrecked already.
“Do you think about me?” I murmur down at him.
“You have no idea.” He grins. “My hand has accumulated a lot of miles since you walked back into the rink, baby.”
“Baby?” I look down at him, failing to stop a feral grin from growing on my face. Dammit.
He laughs and pulls his shirt off with one hand, making quick work of removing his pants. Now we’re both in the dark, in only our underwear.
I buck my hips toward him, clad in my royal-blue thong—the same color as his jersey—in a blatant attempt to get what I want.
“You’re so needy, sweetheart. What do you want? Use your words.” He licks a line up through my slit, over my panties, and now words are very difficult for me. My incoherent babble makes him chuckle.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, voice rough. “I need you to be very clear with me right now, sweetheart.” His need for consent is sexy as hell.
“I want this. I want you. Make me come, Rhodes,” I demand, in an attempt to take back some power, because I am wildly spiraling under his hands.
“You trying to take control, Monroe?” His voice is thick with amusement, but his pupils are blown, and his fingers flex against my hips like he’s barely keeping himself in check.
I smirk, dragging him down the hall to my bedroom. “You gonna let me?” I tease, looking back at his beautiful face.
Rhodes grins, slow and lazy, but there’s something predatory underneath it. “For now.” I push him into my room. “But I fully plan on making good on every filthy thought I haven’t been able to stop having about you.” Heat pools in my core at the admission.
I bump him up against my bed, stepping between his legs, hands roaming down the hard, muscled planes of his chest. He’s breathtakingly beautiful in the low light.
I feel how hard he is, pressed against my stomach. Time for the rest of our clothes to be gone now.
“I need to get a condom,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up so I can look at him. His midnight-blue eyes lock on mine, waiting for me to make the next move.
“Don’t bother,” I whisper, leaning up to kiss him again. “I’m on birth control. I’m clean. I was just checked a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been with anyone in a while.” Just don’t ask me why I decided to get checked, or if it coincided with our kiss.
“You want me raw, Monroe?” His gaze turns molten and his fingers tighten their grip on my waist.
“Yes.”
He sucks in a breath.
“Fuck, okay. I’m clean, too. I haven’t been with anyone since—” He pauses. Probably wisely deciding not to bring up an ex while his hands are all over me. “I’m good.”
I exhale a shaky breath, because I don’t know how to not want him anymore. I don’t think I was ever very good at it anyway.
His lips find mine again, softer now, slower—like he’s savoring every second, every gasp, every shiver. Then he lifts me up, laying me down on the bed. Rhodes hooks his thumbs under my thong and slides it to the side so he can slip his fingers inside of me.
“Rhodes,” I gasp. I can feel how slick I am already, and we’ve barely started. I’m breathing hard, heart racing, while he rhythmically pulses three fingers in and out of me.
“You’re so wet, Monroe. This all for me?” His voice is a whisper.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, all for you.” My eyes are locked on his.
Then we both stop thinking altogether. I pull him up to kiss him again—hard, needy, relentless.
He pulls his fingers out of me and taps on my mouth, forcing me to open up. I let him slip them in, so I can taste just how wet I really am for him. He groans at the sight.
“Enough of these,” he says roughly, pulling the thong all the way off. He aligns his cock with my soaked entrance and pushes slowly inside, inch by inch, letting me adjust to his size.
Both of us audibly groan when he’s fully seated.
“I don’t think anything has ever felt this good, Monroe.”
I hum in agreement. Nothing has ever felt as good as Rhodes.
Right now, in general, just basically all of the time.
He’s so fully infiltrated my life and dismantled every brick I so carefully put up.
I look down at his face, pleasure sweeping over his features, eyes hungry and locked on mine.
How the hell will anyone else ever live up to this?
He watches himself moving in and out of me, hands caressing my hips and my breasts. Salivating like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen, and it’s addicting. His eyes on me, drinking me in…it’s addicting.
When he circles my clit with his thumb, I know I’m not going to last long. He applies more pressure, faster circles, and I feel my muscles start to tense. My eyes flutter while he keeps up his pace.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Come for me.”
At his words, I let go and shatter all over him, arching back as my orgasm rocks through my body. Rhodes pulls out, fisting his cock over me while I ride the wave of pleasure. I watch him hungrily, then he’s coming, too. He closes his eyes, grinning.
“Perfect,” he says, leaning forward with another kiss. I wrap my hand around his neck to hold him there, reveling in his rapidly beating heart.
He grabs a T-shirt from my floor to clean us off and when he’s done, we lay there quietly, tangled in each other, breathing in the aftermath.
“Shower with me?” I murmur, drowsy but aware that we probably need to wash off anyway. Might as well do it together.
Rhodes smirks, running a lazy hand down my spine. “Fair warning—I can’t promise to behave in there.”
I huff out a laugh, already moving toward the bathroom.
“I’d expect nothing less.” I’m not even remotely surprised when he backs me up against the shower wall, water cascading down our bodies as he makes me fall apart all over again.
We spend more time exploring than actually washing, but neither of us seems to mind.
We stumble back into bed, warm and spent, and Rhodes tucks me against his side, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of my head.
“Oh, no,” I say, turning my head to face him, suddenly serious. His eyes light with alarm. “You’re a cuddler, aren’t you?” I smirk mischievously.
He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Yes, Monroe. I’m a cuddler.” He brings me closer to him and grabs the blanket from the end of the bed, laying it over the top of us. “Deal with it.”
I sigh, sinking into him, into this. His arm is draped over my waist, holding me close like he has no intention of letting go.
As I’m on the precipice of sleep, Rhodes murmurs something unintelligible into my shoulder.
“What?” I whisper to him.
“Are you busy on the fourteenth?” The fourteenth? My brain is trying to catch up with this seemingly random conversation development.
“Like, on Valentine’s Day?”
“Yeah, Monroe. Like on Valentine’s Day.”
My brain short-circuits for a moment.
“I don’t know, Rhodes. Are you busy?”
I feel him smile next to me, face still pressed against my skin.
“Let me take you out on a real date,” he whispers. My stomach drops to my knees and I suck in an audible breath.
“I’ll have to check my calendar,” I murmur into my pillow, knowing full well my calendar is clear.
Rhodes knows it, too. He chuckles next to me and tugs me closer, tangling his legs with mine.
I’m still awake when his breathing turns slow and even, the weight of him draped over me, heavy with sleep.
“All right, McKnight,” I say to a sleeping Rhodes. “I’ll go out with you on Valentine’s Day.”
It takes me a long time to fall asleep after that. I think I could stay here forever, and that thought is finally starting to feel more comforting than scary.