19. Such a Good Listener
Chapter 19
Such a Good Listener
Rafe
“You’re quiet,” Bonnie says.
“I’m always quiet,” I answer.
“Since when are you this quiet?”
I give her a side-eye. “Since we’re in a library.”
“But nobody is here,” she observes.
It’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Never Harbor’s library is a ghost town, especially in the back corner on the third floor. High school kids are no longer studying, instead causing mischief or tanning on the shore, and the only sounds have been distant children’s laughter from story time on the first floor. Though there hasn’t been a peep for thirty minutes now.
I tip my chin toward her book. “Focus.”
My art book collection isn’t as complete as I’d like, so I decided to take an extended lunch with Bonnie, perusing books on color theory.
She’s sifted through a book or two already, asking questions and adding it to the small stack forming at the corner of our wooden table. It’s interesting why she chooses certain books. It’s never for reasons that I would—she says some books have a good vibe—but when she breaks down the exact page number and information she can glean, it always makes sense.
Watching her process is fascinating. No, watching her is fascinating. I like the way beams of light filter through the upper-floor windows and shine over her freckles and ginger hair. The way she tucks a finger with black nail polish into the page to turn, causing dust motes to spark into the air. It’s borderline angelic.
I want to stroke my thumb over hers. I want to feel her joints adjusting and her slender fingers tracing. I want to take her jaw and press my lips to it, run my teeth down her neck and to her collarbone.
I want to kiss her.
Instead, I hand her another book.
“Not this one,” she says, pushing it back.
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Let me guess … bad vibe ?”
“Horrific,” she says with a grin.
I like her smiles. They don’t belong to me though; Bonnie’s not mine to any degree. But I’m still thinking about how she let me claim two of her orgasms last week. Those—yes, those definitely belonged to me.
Since then, we’ve been tiptoeing around each other. Her hand will knock into mine behind the counter, or I’ll brush past her on my way to the office. There’s always a customer though, and after work, people keep showing up to spend time with her. Lulu, or Cass, or even Milo, who gives me a sideways glance.
I’m practically dying to touch her again, but I don’t want to push her too far. This whole deal is her decision, not mine. It’s for her education, but I want more. Not only that, but I want more of her . Her thoughts. Her ideas. That is the part that worries me most.
“What are you working on right now?” I ask.
“Personally? Art-wise?”
“No, with Legos,” I tease.
Her lips straighten into a line, and she scrunches her nose.
I chuckle. “Yes. Art-wise.”
“I’m trying to perfect my skeleton.”
“What skeleton?”
She shrugs, shifting a book to the side absentmindedly. She always gets like this when I pry.
“It’s just some guy I’ve drawn for a while,” she says shyly. “I want to get his anatomy perfect.”
“Perfectionism doesn’t exist.”
“Says you.”
I furrow my brow. “Yes. Says me. What’s that mean?”
She opens her mouth and shuts it, as if I caught her doing something. “I was joking.”
She looks away. I don’t understand.
Before I can ask, she says, “Since when do you like talking?”
I shrug. “I like talking to you lately.”
I love the way her cheeks flush as she rolls her eyes.
“Whatever.”
The table vibrates, and she looks down. It’s my phone with the word LEO shining back. He’s been texting more lately, asking what time I’ll be at the Howling Ravens show in a couple of days. He wants me to hang out backstage beforehand. I’ve been a bit too preoccupied to care. But when Leo gets his mind set on something, there’s no stopping that runaway train.
I flip the screen face down.
“You should answer it,” she says.
“I’ll text him back later.”
The phone buzzes again, and I groan.
“Is everything okay with him?” Bonnie asks.
I tilt my head to the side with a smile. “Stop being nosy.”
“What, I can’t know about your friend?”
“He’s not important.”
She lets out a hmph , then goes back to her book.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing her chin and redirecting her eyes back to mine. “What was that?”
I’m only seeking an excuse to touch her. It’s selfish. I shouldn’t be casually touching her like this. I immediately jerk my hand back. Her eyes catch on the motion, as if she’s longing for it to come back.
“Does Leo text you a lot?” Bonnie asks me.
“Sometimes.”
Her knee nudges mine under the table. “Tell me about him.”
I hum in thought before squinting. “Kinda feels like I’d be a bad friend if I shared details about his life with a fangirl,” I tease.
She scoffs. “I am not a fangirl.”
“No?”
“Why would I be when I have you?”
My heart stammers. “Okay, let’s not?—”
Bonnie laughs. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Don’t get weird.”
I lift an eyebrow. She looks at me with a pointed stare. An I know this means nothing stare. But whether it’s forced or not … I can’t tell.
“So, what’s he want?” she asks.
“He wants to know if I’m seeing him in a few days.”
“He’s in town?”
“Yeah, concert in Boston. I was supposed to bring Izzy, but she likes working too much.”
“Oh. Sounds fun.”
Bonnie nods to herself, and I wonder if she’s hoping I’ll invite her. She’d love to go. Hell, I’d love for her to go. If I like how much she smiles when I show her art stuff, I know it’d intoxicate me to see her starry-eyed around her favorite band—even if it is Leo. But it’s selfish. I’d be addicted to gifting that to her.
“Anyway”—my jaw tenses—“he’s driving me up with the wall with plans.”
“Is that normal? Does he always do that?”
I tilt my chin down. “Sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?”
“Let’s focus on art.”
“C’mon,” she teases, shimmying closer. “Let me steal your soul a little more.”
I tongue my cheek as my chest clenches tight. “Not today, Grim Reaper.”
She grins, eyes roaming over my arms and to my palms. My fingers twitch under her gaze.
“Are you still nervous around me?” she asks, blinking up.
“No,” I lie.
“Yes, you are. You’ve been nervous since day one.”
“You can tell yourself that, if you like,” I say with a forced smile. It gives me away, but I’d rather not say the unspoken.
Bonnie does make me nervous. And knowing that I can act on those nerves—soothe them by touching her—is too much. I need to control myself.
This will only end badly if we go further than our established rules.
No feelings. That’s the deal.
Suddenly, Bonnie slides her hand under the table, across my stomach, and to my zipper.
My heart ratchets into my throat. I snatch her wrist.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Shh,” she hisses. “We’re in a library , Rafe. Jeez.”
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so tense. She twists her wrist in my hold, reaching with her fingertips to touch the edge of my rising cock, quickly hardening in my jeans.
I look behind us out to the empty aisles of books. You could hear a pin drop on the third floor. No shoes creak over hardwood. No books slide onto shelves. No silent breaths of strangers.
Just us.
Bonnie twirls her wrist again, and I slowly release my grip. Her palm spreads over my thigh, then stretches in the space between. My cock jumps against her touch.
Christ, it already feels good.
I grit my teeth. “We can’t?—”
She leans closer, placing her lips next to my ear as she breathes, “Why not?”
Her minty breath tickles my skin, sending the hair on my neck standing. There are a lot of reasons we can’t. For one, this wasn’t exactly part of the deal. I’m teaching her to stand up for herself in the bedroom. We didn’t say a damn thing about me. That feels too … something. Intimate maybe.
“Because we’re in a library , Shiv,” I growl. “And you’re you.”
“I’m me?”
“If I get caught with you?—”
“This isn’t Bridgerton ,” she scoffs. “I’m not gonna be ruined if we’re caught.”
I could disagree, but it’s hard to when her palm flattens against my zipper, applying pressure to my erection. The blood in me boils volcanic hot. There have been a lot of women over the years, but never as bold as her. Maybe it’s the red hair. Or maybe it’s just Bonnie being who she truly is without the constraints of her family or society telling her otherwise.
Or maybe I really am a terrible influence.
“Bon—” I start a sentence I can’t finish because Bonnie slips my jeans button through its hold. My zipper hisses as she rolls it down.
I strain my ears to listen to our surroundings, but there still isn’t a single squeak of a shoe or a cough or even pages turning on the third floor.
“This isn’t part of the lessons,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because … because …” I can’t come up with anything while her thumb strokes over the top of my cock beneath my underwear. “Shit, Shiv.”
“Shouldn’t I learn how to do this?”
“Our lessons are about you advocating for?—”
“How can I advocate if I don’t understand what’s normal?”
“I think you know how a cock works.”
“Do I, Rafe?” She tilts her head to the side, and it’s so bratty and cute that I can’t say a damn word.
I close my eyes and bite my tongue as Bonnie slips her hand past the band of my boxer briefs. Her palm is warm against my skin.
“I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” she whispers. “It goes both ways.”
Like I can fuckin’ say no now.
“Keep going,” It comes out rough.
With a satisfied grin, she slowly rolls her fingers around the length of me. She hesitates as she fails to fully grip me.
She swallows. “You’re too thick. I?—”
“It’s all right,” I say, pausing to listen harder, but I only hear the chirp of summer birds. “Take what you can.”
Bonnie tentatively moves her palm up and down along my cock. It’s robotic and rough. No finesse.
I whisper as low as I can, “Slow down a bit. Easy.”
She’s such a good student, immediately switching to a steadier stroke.
“Like that?” she whispers back.
I nod. “Yeah, that’s right. Now rotate a little as you come up.”
She winds her wrist as she strokes up. Beautiful, sensitive nerves spark up to my stomach.
I bring my fist to my mouth. “Christ, Bon.”
“Good?”
“Very.”
She strokes for a couple of beats, eventually journeying down, where her fingers explore my swollen head, slick with pre-cum. She sucks in a gasp when it coats her palm.
“Use that,” I say.
Tentatively, she strokes back down to my base. I can’t stop the low groan at how easily she slides her palm down. Bonnie huffs out an infinitesimal laugh. I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She’s biting her bottom lip, trying to keep in a smile.
“Having fun?” I tease.
Her eyes meet mine, the light from the window illuminating her pupils. She grins, answering with an assured pump of her hand.
“Go down to the base a bit,” I continue.
She does as I said, and it sends another low groan through me.
“That’s right,” I grunt. “Such a good listener.”
She grips me harder. A zip of pleasure barrels through me.
“Good. Bit tighter.”
Eventually, her pumps turn intentional. Faster. She’s getting excited with it. Her forearm bumps against my stomach. The shifting of our bodies is a rustle in the silence.
“Shh, shh, shh,” I say. “Doesn’t always have to be fast. It can be slow. Sometimes, slow builds are better.”
I cover her hand with mine, slowly guiding her up and down my cock. Every consecutive pump is even, pushed and pulled by my hand, until I finally remove it and let her take over again. I huff out a strained breath when she goes back up to the head, then strokes around the base, trailing down a vein with her index finger.
“Fuck yes. Just like that.”
She moves with newfound confidence, letting my wetness coat her palm, sliding down until we’re both slick. Her movements are steady, teasing, and perfect—God, so perfect—until, suddenly, they’re too perfect. My thighs tense up, and my stomach tightens.
I try to listen for sounds around us. I really do. But I’m too lost, having every sense of decorum fall away as I grit my teeth.
“You like touching me like this?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, almost on a plea.
“Go faster now, Shiv,” I demand.
Each stroke pulls my nerves tighter and tighter. Tenser and tenser. Hotter and hotter. Until, finally, I snap like a rubber band.
“Shit!” It’s louder than it should be.
The nerves shoot up my stomach to my chest and out, sparking out to my fingertips. When I come, my fist slams against the table, rattling the pens, causing them to roll down to the floor. I’m bucking, releasing into her palm and sending stars over my vision. The relief pounds like a wave until the tide rushes in, then steadily falls back out. I’m left a shivering man.
There are a couple of tense, silent moments, where we wait for someone—anyone—to pop up out of nowhere, to tell us we’re caught. To prepare for the mob of pitchforks barreling toward me.
But nothing happens.
It’s silent again on the third floor, and the only sounds are my heavy, strained breaths.
I swallow, reaching for a napkin we kept from lunch and crushing it into my hand. I dip it below the table and wipe the remains of my orgasm off her palm.
“I can do that,” she says.
“No, please, let me.”
Bonnie grins ear to ear.
So damn proud of herself.
“How was it?” she asks.
“I think you know how it was.”
“Tell me though.”
My lips tip into a smile.
“You were an absolute angel,” I say, blowing out a breath and shaking out the ringing in my ears. “Now, let’s get out of here before we get arrested,” I exhale, zipping up my pants.
“Think they’d let us get a cell together?” Bonnie asks.
I choke out a laugh.
“Psychopath,” I tease.
“You like it.”
Once we make our way out of the library, I think she might be right.