27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rachel
M y life has settled back into my usual routine of work. A week and a few days have passed since I came home—days I’ve spent buried in emails, meetings, and the never-ending pile of paperwork that multiplies by the hour. I sit at my desk, and I can’t help but feel empty, aching for Vaughn, for the way he used to occupy my thoughts, for the space he filled in the room around me.
But I trudge down its path as much as I can, trying to drown out the silence between us. My phone seems to be getting more looks than I’d like to admit, as I hope for a message that will never come. I replay how we spent our last moments on the island, laughing and being intimate, but now those memories feel so tawdry, so marred by the doubt that followed.
Today is a particularly heavy day as I sort through the everyday stuff that makes up my life. I try to concentrate, to drown out Vaughn and the connection we had, but it’s like trying to hold back a tide. There is always this nagging worry—what if he’s moved on? Maybe he’s forgotten all about me.
My phone buzzes on the desk just as I’m about to lose myself in another spreadsheet. My heart races as I see his name on the screen. I pick it up.
Hey, Rachel. Can you have a car sent to pick me up? I’m back in town.
The message is simple and practical, yet a flood of emotions rushes through me. I feel a mix of relief and disappointment—relief because he’s finally reached out, but disappointment because it’s so clinical, so cold.
My fingers hover above the Reply button as I stare at the screen. I want to say something witty or clever, but instead, I feel another wave of frustration building.
You don’t have to see me.
What does that even mean?
I take a deep breath and tell myself not to overreact. I won’t let his indifference bother me. I am not going to let him dictate how I feel. I put my phone down and pace the room, trying to release the emotions swirling inside me.
I relent after a moment and begin organizing a car. I can’t pretend I don’t want to see him, even if he keeps insisting he’s acting professionally. I grab my phone again and type out a quick response:
Okay, I’ll get a car arranged. When should it be there?
The wait feels excruciating, and I hit Send. I can’t help but imagine what he’s been up to in Australia, if he has thought of us at all. The longer I sit with those thoughts, the more my resolve slips. How can I let myself hope for something more when he’s so determined to keep his distance?
The minutes tick by, and then my phone buzzes again.
In about an hour. Thanks.
I let out a frustrated sigh. That’s it? No explanation, no small talk? The disappointment sinks into my chest, and I try not to dwell on it. So, instead of that, I force myself to get ready. I straighten my desk, and I clean up my appearance. I grab a blazer, brush my hair, and fight the whirlwind of emotions threatening to make me lose my composure.
I pace the living room as I wait for the car to arrive.
I check the clock, seconds ticking down. What am I even hoping for? A heartfelt reunion? An apology for everything that changed between us?
The doorbell rings, and I jump because I’m lost in thought. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm as I open the door to let the driver in. “Thank you,” I say automatically, trying to sound professional, but my heart is racing in anticipation.
I give the driver the directions from Vaughn and a pass that will grant him access to the VIP section at the airport.
Vaughn, Collins, and another teammate cram into the backseat of the car I sent to the airport to pick them up.
Sports channels are covering Vaughn’s return, and I find myself glued to the TV set. They drive out of the airport, and I can see the fans on the streets waving signs and yelling his name. I can’t help but envy the adoration he receives. That feeling fades quickly into concern when the car finally grinds to a halt, trapped in the chaos of the crowd.
I can almost picture the tension in his jaw, his eyes darting about like he’s searching for a way out.
There’s something that feels urgent to me. I have to help them, and quickly.
I suddenly have an idea. The spot where they’re stuck is not far from my apartment, so I text Vaughn to come in with me.
I can get you out of the traffic. Meet me at my place.
I hear the door creak open, and in moments, Vaughn, Collins, and their teammate step in. Vaughn’s look of relief is almost comical; I can’t help but smirk.
“Thanks for the rescue,” he says, his voice tinged with gratitude, but there’s an edge of something else—tension, maybe?
“Just doing my part,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light. I glance at Collins, who is already settling in my living room, knowing Vaughn’s eyes are boring into me, assessing, judging.
When the door closes, the atmosphere changes. The other teammate leans against the wall, chatting about the upcoming game, while Collins lounges on my couch, casually flipping through the channels. Vaughn stands a little at a distance, though his posture is stiff, and he tries to project an air of indifference that he probably can’t maintain.
“Nice place you got here,” Collins says, glancing around, and I can sense the flirtation in his tone. “You should have us over more often.”
I try to smile, but it comes out forced.
Vaughn slightly shifts and tightens his jaw as he watches the interaction. His face flickers with a touch of jealousy, but it disappears just quickly, and before I can fully process it, the mask he wears comes back.
“It’s cozy,” I say, trying to keep the mood light. Inside, I’m seething. Why is Vaughn doing that? He’s pretending nothing happened on the island, that there’s no way we could have connected in that way.
I feel invisible in my own apartment as the conversation continues. Vaughn’s interaction with Collins and then with that other guy while he avoids eye contact with me is maddening to watch. I want to scream at him—make him see what it was we shared—but I boil down to simmering resentment.
Eventually, the laughter dries up, and the room goes dead quiet. I look at Vaughn; our eyes meet for a moment. He quickly looks away, but there’s a flicker of something there—something of the tension that hangs between us.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Vaughn finally says, his tone slightly clipped. “Where is it?”
I point to the back of the apartment where the bathroom is located, and as I turn to enter my bedroom, he follows me in.
I am flooded with frustration and longing. I can’t let this go on. I can’t allow him to treat me like just another colleague, just another obligation.
“You can’t just pretend nothing happened, Vaughn. I mean it,” I tell him. “You can’t act like I’m just another colleague.”
“What do you want me to say?” he asks, his voice low, almost frustrated. “It was a moment, Rachel. We’re back in the real world now.”
“Is that all it was to you?” I challenge, closing the gap, my heart beating faster. “A moment? It was more to me.”
The space between us is now charged with electricity, and he takes a step toward me. “You know it was more than a moment. But that’s changed.”
He closes the distance between us, and his eyes search mine before I can respond. It’s just the two of us, and the world outside fades away. It’s just us caught in the storm of our emotions.
“Stop pretending,” he demands, his voice barely above a whisper.
It’s gone, and the tension snaps. We are in each other’s arms. The kiss ignites a flame that had been smoldering beneath the surface. It’s desperate and passionate, everything we’ve been holding back, a collision.
Vaughn runs his eyes over my body lasciviously and licks his lips. His antics are silly, and I burst out laughing.
He places his hand on the back of my sweater, anchoring himself before jumping out of his skin. The taste of my mouth, hot and ripe, overwhelms him, even as my tight, sexy body presses and pumps against him.
He yanks the sweater over my head and throws it to the side. His hands are on my breasts before the shirt even hit the floor.
Gasping, I work my hands between our fevered bodies, fighting to keep my mouth on his as I hurry to loosen his shirt. God, I want to feel him against my skin. To feel his body inside mine. My skin feels alive again, the blood running hot under it, my heart pounding in a primal rhythm, so hard and thrilling.
Desperate for more, I push his hand down and hold it firmly between my legs. Overcome with pleasure, I tilt my head back, exposing the line of my throat to his lips, his teeth, my hips moving as I press his hand to my crotch and the heat beneath it.
It is like holding raw nerves. Nerves with edges of jagged glass. They scrape at his own, all but tearing him open.
He pulls the button on my trousers and drags the pants down. Even as I struggle to step clear, he plunges his fingers into the heat of my thighs. He watches the shocked pleasure rush over my face as I pour into his hand.
I’m as wet as a waterfall when Vaughn finally slips his finger out of me, spins me around, and straddles me from behind while I lean against the bedroom wall. He is rough and sweet at the same time, and I love it.
“Don’t stop.” My mouth is frantic and fevered under his, and my nails scrape wickedly down his back before digging into his hips.
Vaughn grips my hips tighter, bending me some more and lining his cock against my slit. He groans as he slips inside me. I feel my mind going blank when Vaughn is fully inside me. His cock throbs as he stays in place, catching his breath.
I moan, arching some more and waiting for him to fuck me. Vaughn slaps his cock against my pussy before rubbing it against my ass. The feeling of need coursing through our bodies as he humps my ass is nothing compared to what I need. I move my body backward, rubbing myself against him as well.
Suddenly, he speeds up, his groin slapping against my ass. I gasp, my hands grasping at thin air as he fucks me harder. His cock reaches deeper inside me, brushing against my most sensitive parts and driving me crazy. I turned around to look at him and see his face contorted in pure ecstasy.
He pulls me closer, slipping his cock even deeper than I expected. I bite my bottom lip to keep my moans from spilling out. His hands hold my hips, keeping me slightly bent. Vaughn leans in to kiss my sensitive earlobes before whispering dirty things into them.
I ride that wild whip of sensation that snaps through my mind and body, shuddering and craving more. It burns through me, fueling me until I think I’d go mad from the sheer force of my own greed.
I grind my hips against him, pushing back in urgent demand, and cry out when he drives hard and deep inside me. And still, it isn’t enough. My hips move in a brutal bid for speed as I groan my desire over the sharp sound of flesh striking flesh, striking the wall.
Equally as aroused as I am, Vaughn rides with me in that fast, sweaty race toward release until his vision blurs and his blood screams. Then he drives us both, quivering, to the finish.
I quiver through multiple orgasms and beg him to stop, but he keeps driving me wild until my legs buckle.
My heart is still thundering when I drop my head to his shoulder. I gulp air, feel it catch, then tear into my parched lungs and out again.
I am naked, sweaty, and pinned to the wall inside my small bedroom, just a few meters away from Collins and their other teammates. A mix of conflicting emotions races through me. I feel horrified, yet for some reason, I am not really embarrassed. In fact, I am delighted.
“You okay?” His voice is muffled, and I feel his lips move against my hair.
“I think I’m a lot better than okay. I think I’m still on a cloud somewhere.”
“You were. You are.” He’d just taken me against the wall. Or I’d taken him. “Can’t think yet,” he admits, bracing a hand against the wall to remain upright and ease back just enough to watch me laugh.
“Am I still standing?” he asks.
“I thought you wanted to remain professional,” I tell him in a teasing tone.
“Well, I lost control of myself.” Vaughn looks at me, his eyes filled with longing and frustration. “Rachel, we can’t keep doing this.”
My heart is racing, and I say, “But I don’t want to stop. Not now, not ever. It’s time to talk about what happened on that island.”
“I know,” he says, running a hand through his hair, the tension palpable. “But it’s complicated.”
I step closer again, feeling the energy between us grow. “ Complicated doesn’t have to mean over .”
The world outside forgotten, we are once again caught in the whirlwind of our feelings, and then we are flung back together.