Chapter 54
chapter
fifty-four
I’d forgotten allabout Smith being a contractor in his former life… until we had to figure out how to turn on the hot tub.
He seemed to snap into a version of himself I’d never seen before, stripping his shirt off and getting on his back to access a panel of controls tucked under the railing on the deck. Within thirty minutes, we had a perfect whirlpool and the most delicious Italian takeout I’ve ever eaten.
It’s clearly from an upscale restaurant, but Smith takes the time to unload everything onto the only two plates in the whole house, arranging my pasta on a turquoise plate with seashells around the rim.
When I smile at the dinnerware, he smirks ruefully. “You’ll need to put your skills to good use around here, angel. Aside from the table, there’s just a nightstand and a bed.”
My brows draw up. “One bed?”
He pulls the cork out of a bottle of champagne—the single item I found in the refrigerator—and meets my eyes steadily. “One bed.”
Does that mean he finally feels like I’m ready for whatever he wants to do to me? Or maybe he’s planning to take me home and tuck me into my own bed alone?
It seems unlikely we’re going anywhere when he pulls a second bottle out of the to-go bags and places it in the fridge to chill for later.
The hot tub is a luxury I’ve never experienced before. While Smith wades right in, arranging our dinner on a wide wooden ledge built around the lip of the bubbling pool, I linger at the edge, dipping my toe in.
It is hot. Whoa.
When Smith notices my hesitation, he leaves our plates behind and comes over, holding out his hand. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, eyes soft and dark in the waning sunset. “It feels really good once you’re in. Trust me?”
I do. So much more now than I did even a few hours ago. When I slip my fingers into his, something hot and bright flares in his gaze. He wraps his free arm around my waist and lifts me right in.
The water is sweltering… for a moment. But as soon as I’m in it, the heat melts my apprehension into a puddle.
Smith watches me relax, his approval clear. Even before he slides his hands over my back and murmurs, “Good girl. Always so brave for me. And so fucking beautiful.”
He bends as he roughs out the last few words, scent-marking my forehead with his. When I can’t quite strangle the whine that ekes out of me, he hums and pulls me closer, gliding backward through the water and landing on the bench seat with me in his lap.
“This okay?” he asks, reaching for my plate. “I want to feed you.”
Every coherent thought flies out of my head. “Y-yes? If you want.”
His smile is no less handsome up close. A sexy quirk of his lips that’s somehow wry and genuine. And—oh Lord—is there a tiny dimple in his left cheek when he smirks like this?
I’ve never been close enough to notice before. Now, sitting across the spread of his muscled thighs, it’s impossible to look away.
He angles us perfectly, bringing bites of tortellini right to my mouth. The creamy mushroom sauce he ordered is incredible. I hum happily, and he chuckles.
“Right? I love this place. We don’t have one in town, though. You have to drive out here to get it.”
I swallow and let myself cuddle a little bit closer to him. “Maybe we can bring the guys next time? All of us could have a family dinner there.”
Easy affection curves his mouth. “You and your family dinners.”
I try not to let tension creep into my posture, recalling all the times I made a big meal only to leave his plate untouched. But Smith is watching me now. He sees the way I freeze up and makes a low noise of apology, nuzzling my cheek again.
“I’m sorry, petal.”
No qualifiers or explanations, just honest remorse. “So sorry,” he repeats. “Let’s choose a night every week, and I swear I’ll be there. In fact, I’ll come home early and help you cook.”
My belly quivers with nerves. I know he’s trying to show me that what I want matters to him, but part of me still feels like I should explain why I’m like this.
I accept the next bite of food from his fork, chewing before I sigh and whisper, “I’ve never had a family dinner before.”
He goes still, leaving the utensil on my plate and staring at me for an eternity. The gears in his mind grind as he processes my mortifying confession. When he finally understands, his arms lock around me in a hug to rival his brother’s crushing embraces.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes. “I’m such an asshole. Remi. Angel. Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—never? Not one time?”
I go back through all the foster homes I went to. There were meals at family tables, usually served in an assembly-line fashion. Grease-stained bags of fast food. Lots of soggy french fries. But never a time when I felt like I was gathered at a table with my family.
“No,” I confirm. “Not one time.”
Smith exhales hard, ruffling my hair. His voice sounds hoarse. “I’ll never miss another one. Petal, Iswear. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
I do forgive him, as much as I can. The hurt is still there, aching like a bruise on my heart. But when he buries his face into my shoulder and scent-marks my throat, I feel the pain start to evaporate.
A rolling rumble revs in his chest. His purr is just as perfect as I remember—smooth and soothing, all the way down to my soul.
“Come here, angel,” he husks, gently turning me so I’m sprawling on his lap, my back pressed to his chest, and my head resting on the broad ledge of his shoulder. His forearm hooks around my waist, comforting in the weightlessness of the water.
He keeps feeding me bites of delicious food, brushing his lips over my temple every few moments. The periwinkle sky fades to violet before he musters his will and speaks again.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Sometimes, I wonder if you’d still want me for your alpha if you knew all of them.”
It’s another piece of him. One that hits me right in the gut. “You could tell me,” I whisper. “And then you’ll know.”
His arm cinches tighter. “It’s a long list, little petal.”
Finished with my dinner, I turn and mark his neck with a kiss. “Okay, what’s the worst thing?”
A shaking breath escapes him. He hangs his head forward, pressing our foreheads back together. “I failed Cassian. That has to be the worst thing.”
I reel back, my face crumpling. “What? How? You’ve done incredibly well!”
His answering smile is hollow. “That’s now. At first? Fuck, everything was a mess. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so he had to go into the foster care system. When I turned eighteen, I tried to get him back.
“He was so—I know you didn’t meet him until later, but at the time, he was only nine. And he was scared. I wanted to raise him myself, but I had no job. No degree. Shit grades because I spent all of my time fucking around, not knowing our parents wouldn’t be around.”
He shakes his head. “It took me way longer to get myself together than it should have. By then, he was practically a grown man.”
I touch his cheek, feeling the prickle of his five o’clock shadow. “Why did it take you so long?”
“I was just”—He makes a half-groan sound—“Fuck, I don’t know. I wanted us to have money and a nice place to live. So I just kept working more and more, trying to achieve enough to feel ready. But it never happened.”
I remember the charming sign on the front porch and how ironic it seemed. “You made perfect the enemy of the good.”
His expression flickers, pain creasing his brow. “I do that.”
Just like he did with their house. And my suite.
Because he cares. So much. Too much. Like I do. And it paralyzes him, the same way it sends me into a tizzy.
“Me, too,” I tell him, leaning closer. “Maybe… we could help each other stop?” I almost laugh. “Or maybe Cass could help us. He’s good that way.”
“Damon is too,” Smith grumbles. “Except when it comes to his hair products.”
Indignance surges through me. I slap the water, sending a splash at his chest. “Hey! That’s my alpha! And he’s actually a lot wiser about a lot of things than either of you give him credit for. He was the first one to actually try to get to know me and do the things I enjoy. And he’s smart, Smith. Think about all the scrapes he’s gotten himself out of. Think about where he started and where he is, now. He did that. All on his own.”
Instead of blinking at me, Smith listens, brow furrowed in concentration. When I finish, he nods. “I agree, actually. I keep asking him if he wants to help me out with Pierson, but every time I mention it, he acts like I’ve asked him to feed his balls to a den of lions.”
I didn’t know about Pierson. That mollifies me, somewhat. Though, I wonder if it has something to do with the way he struggles to read basic household things like our calendar or the notes I leave for them.
“Sometimes,” Smith mutters, reaching over to take the last bite of his steak. “I wonder if Damon is on to something, avoiding the business like he does.”
I always assumed Smith loved what he did. Otherwise, what was the point of him being there so much? He has clearly made more money than we will ever need.
“If you don’t like it, why do you do it?”
Smith spreads his arms out, snatching a glass of champagne for me in one hand and picking up his own in the other. After a couple of swallows, he sighs.
“I used to like it. Lately, though… I don’t know. I’m always taking things apart. Leveling people’s memories into dust and paving over them. And, yes, we build things… but do we really make anything good? I’m just not sure anymore.”
I think about Proper Coffee. How it technically looks and does better now. But it lost all of its character and softness along the way.
“Have you ever thought about doing something else?” I wonder out loud.
He cocks his head to the side, regarding the dark horizon pensively. “I don’t think I’ve let myself think about that in a long time. Maybe I should.”
I’m about to agree, shifting to pick up the bottle of sparkling wine and refill his glass—but my body has other ideas.
As soon as I rise up onto my knees, one of the hot tub’s jets strokes across my bare stomach, the pulse of the heated water making me gasp. Smith’s lips quirk up; his eyes darkening for completely different reasons than they were a moment before.
“Stretch up a bit more.”
He doesn’t ask, but it isn’t a command either. More a sensual suggestion. The knowing gleam in eyes makes me want to listen to him. This is clearly a man who knows what he’s talking about. Much more than I do.
I bring my knees closer and lengthen my lower back. The pounding sensation goes from hitting just below my navel to vibrating at the apex of my thighs.
I gasp again, rearing back. Smith’s hand is there, though, keeping me from falling into the water. His body presses into my side while his warm palm strokes a soothing line over my spine. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder. “Give yourself a moment to adjust.”
A small beat of alpha power accompanies his words. Not enough to be forceful; just enough to make me feel like he’s in control. It’s reassuring—I don’t want to be the one making these decisions. I love that he likes to take over and let me relax.
My muscles unwind as he steps up behind me. His hands find my hips, stroking soothing circles as he tilts them the way he wants them.
His voice sends shivers down my back. “Spread your legs.”
Goosebumps skitter over my skin, leaving my nipples painfully hard under the triangles of wet, clingy fabric covering them. As if he can read my mind, one of Smith’s hands presses flat to my stomach before sliding up. He pauses at the lower edge of my bikini top, his thumb stroking the straining tip.
A charge zips straight to my clit. For a second, his touch is all I can feel, all the more powerful for being the only stimulation. When he bends his knee and uses his thigh to push mine apart, the pulsing jet suddenly hits right where my body throbs the hardest. Hot sensation shoots through all of my limbs, the pleasure almost overwhelming.
“There you go,” he murmurs, gentling me as I squirm and whine. His fingers pinch my nipple until my head falls back onto his shoulder.
He nuzzles my temple, his voice growing rougher while his words grow sweeter. “Beautiful angel. Seeing you like this is such a gift. Do you know that? How precious you are?”
The hand at my hip sketches lower, his blunt nails digging into my upper thigh while the jet pulses against my pussy. I buck backward. His hard length presses into my back. Smith hums, ghosting his lips over curve of my neck.
“So beautiful,” he praises. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about biting this pretty neck, petal. Too many fucking times.”
The sensation of the water hitting me is so intense. More than anything else I’ve ever felt before. Smith’s fingers slip closer, flexing as he grips the flesh of my thigh, his knuckles brushing the edge of my bikini bottoms.
“Do you want them off?” he asks. “I’ll fill this sweet cunt with my fingers right now.”
I gasp again, my backside grinding into his solid length. “That’s a rude word,” I pant. “I don’t—” A whimper breaks into my scolding. “—like it.”
Smith’s chuckle is as warm as the hot water beating at my clit. “All right, angel. Noted. I think you’ll like this, though.”
The hand at my breast moves to tease my neglected nipple while he dips his fingers into the bottoms, slipping two right into me. It’s clear, even with all this hot water swirling around, I am soaked with slick.
Smith groans roughly, the sound vibrating against the bare skin of my throat. “So tight and slick for me. Good girl, Remi. So good for me.”
I was right before: This alpha knows exactly what he’s doing. His long, thick fingers press forward and stroke deeper, finding the place made for his knot and massaging the clenching ring of muscle until my vision begins to blur.
“My knot’s going to feel so good in this tight pussy, petal. I’ll stretch you just right. Let you come all over me until you can’t take anymore.” His teeth graze the thin skin below my ear, his voice a gravelly rasp. “And then you’ll give me one more anyway.”
While his middle and forefinger work inside me, his thumb flicks the flimsy fabric covering me aside, he and spreads my lower lips, sending the jet of overheated water right onto my clit. The hot pulse instantly sets off my climax.
Keening, I bear down on his hand and let my body clamp around his touch, feeling so many different types of pleasure at once. His fingers rubbing the place that pounds for his knot. The stream of liquid heat caressing my clit. His hand roughly clasping my breast, still thumbing my nipple as his teeth close around my throat.
Bubbles erupt in my veins—as hot as the ones swirling through the tub, more sparkly than the effervescence in our champagne. Smith growls his approval, telling me how perfect I look and feel while I come for him.
And maybe—just maybe—I believe him.