Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
OLIVIA
F ear lances through me as Rhett’s tongue splits me apart. I cry out from the sensation, writhing on the seat of his bike from the white-hot pleasure of it, but two callused hands rise to pin my hips down, locking me in place. Something’s wrong—very wrong. And I think it’s more than just Melody . . . but I have absolutely no idea what.
Another torturous lick along my center almost rockets me to the moon, but I force myself to stay grounded, to take in any piece of evidence that might point to Rhett’s undoing. Something’s happened, something that’s cracking him down the middle, and I think it’s more than just Melody. He’s reckless when his family’s in trouble, and if I don’t figure it out and show him another way through, I have a terrible feeling I might lose him forever.
As glorious as his mouth on me feels right now, I’m acutely aware of the fact that this isn’t about me at all. This isn’t one of Rhett’s coy and careful lessons. This feels more like a punishment, like he’s punishing himself, and it’s just more proof he’s done something to hurt himself . . .
He moves one hand across my belly so his forearm presses against the bones of my hips, keeping me in place as his mouth lifts from me. With his newly freed hand, he drags the pads of his fingers down the inside of my thigh, eyes locked on where they glide along my skin. He looks back to where his mouth just was, where I’m needy and cold without him. His mouth twists as he seems to suck in through his teeth behind closed lips, and then opens them to spit on me.
The warmth of his saliva lands where his mouth was just deliciously edging me higher, and I watch in fascination as he lifts those devious fingers to swirl himself around me before abruptly plunging two deep inside.
I cry out from the shock of it, my back arching off the leather seat, pushing against the heavy arm that still holds me down. He wastes no time, pistoning his fingers in a brutal assault that forces my eyes closed, overstimulated in the best way, unable to focus on anything but taking what he’s giving me. His mouth finds its rightful place where I need him most, and it takes less than a handful of heartbeats before he’s hurling me over the edge, nosediving into ecstasy as I scream his name into the pines around us, mind spinning from the plunge.
Still, he doesn’t stop. Pleasure wrecks through me until I’m boneless and hollow and made of only him and this, of the intense need to be what he craves when he’s falling apart. When it’s clear he’s siphoned every ounce of my undoing, I feel the loss of his mouth and fingers as he rises to his feet, eyes roaming over me with a predatorial hunger like I’ve never seen before.
His hands bracket around my waist, sliding me off the side of the bike and holding my weight until my feet reach the ground. His eyes fasten to mine for a long second that stretches around us, flaring with the war waging in his heart. I know he won’t tell me what’s going on, that this is his only way of communicating his pain. Still, the resolve to show him that he’s not alone is closing in.
He moves to spin me around until my back is to his chest, and shivers scatter down my neck as his lips trace along the shell of my ear. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, a clear sign the Rhett I know and have come to deeply care for is still in there, even as he grips me hard enough to leave bruises.
“I know,” I say back. Because I do. No matter what, I know without a single doubt that he’s not going to hurt me. He won’t let me fall.
One of his hands lifts to apply pressure between my shoulder blades, bending me down over the bike. I hear the rustle of his clothes before his legs press against mine, where I’m still bared to him and the night, and feel him nudge against me. Anticipation rushes through me like a blast of light just as he pushes in.
It’s fast and hard and not exactly careful, but I can tell he’s holding back.
The groan he lets out is deep and wide open. There’s an edge to it, a relief. An exhale. And then he’s moving, hands squeezing against my hips as his work against me.
“I can take it, Rhett,” I say over my shoulder. His eyes meet mine, steely and focused and still full of so much pain. He looks so tired. “Let me take it.”
He grunts in response, eyes flaring. And then he moves faster. Harder. The slap of our skin echoes the beat of my heart, ratcheting higher and higher as he chases the darkness away. It’s not long until he’s losing his rhythm, becoming more and more frantic. He feels like sin, unmoored and alive with need. It’s carnal, wild, and yet I know from the way his thumb rocks back and forth against my back that he’s still tethered to me, still holding me through this just like he’s always done.
That alone is almost enough to make me come again, but I’m too anchored to his well-being to allow myself to tumble back over the edge. Still, a band of desire pulls taut within me, and despite Rhett’s roughness and my worry, I’m climbing higher and higher with him until his thrusts stutter.
“ Christ ,” he grunts, pulling out of me, and I feel his release paint my skin as he heaves in heavy breaths. “Fuck,” he says, lower this time, his forehead pressing lightly against the back of my dress where it’s still wrapped around my chest.
I don’t say a word as he moves to pull his pants up around his waist, buckling himself in. “Don’t move,” he says quietly. He takes off his jacket, then pulls his T-shirt over his head and uses it to wipe away the evidence of what he’s just done. What we’ve just done. He gently tugs my skirt back down, smoothing the fabric over my hips as I turn to face him.
His skin is pale in the moonlight, a stark contrast to his dark hair and clothes. I watch as he stuffs one end of the balled-up shirt into his back pocket before tugging his jacket back over his shoulders, his muscles flexing and gliding as he moves. The confidence he wears so easily is nowhere to be found, and his eyes look haunted.
“What did you do?” I rasp, nerves spiking.
The question surprises him. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re punishing yourself. You’re . . . you’re spiraling , Rhett. This isn’t just about Melody dying. You’ve done something.” I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing the rise of his chest and clench of his jaw. “You’ve done something to try to save everyone, just tell me what it is.”
His eyes harden, and it’s all the confirmation I need. “There’s a threat to the ranch,” he replies coolly, and his words from our phone conversation force their way back in.
Someone might be trying to take the ranch from us.
“Can it happen?” I ask. “Can someone really take it from you?”
He shakes his head as he shrugs, and I’ve never seen him look so defeated. “It’s complicated. The land technically needs to be inherited, and there are stipulations we can no longer meet. My uncle somehow knows that, and he wants it all for himself.”
“Wh-what would that mean?”
Rhett’s pale eyes grow distant, and I wrap my arms around myself. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not gonna happen.”
“How?” I brave the question.
“We need . . . money. For a good lawyer, for a goddamn funeral . . .” The look he gives me is full of so many emotions I almost can’t pick them apart. But it’s the apology that scares me most. “There are ways I can get it.”
“Rhett,” I whisper.
“I will always protect my family, Olivia. No matter the cost.”
“But who’s protecting you ?” My eyes burn with tears. “Why don’t you ask for help?”
“Who’s going to fucking help us?”
“ Me !” I say louder, chest heaving as my own emotion tears through me. “ I will help you!”
He frowns. “I would never ask you to do that.”
“Why not? You can trust me.”
“It’s not about trusting you, peaches,” he bites out. “It’s about protecting you.”
“I don’t need protection!” I shout.
“Yes you do!” he shouts back, and I almost stumble backward from the force of it. “You have no business being in the middle of shit that can hurt you, Olivia. I will hurt you, it’s only a matter of time.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me, Rhett.”
He scoffs, head tipping to the sky, and it slices into me like a knife. “Of course I would!” When his eyes settle back on me, they’re near-pleading. “Haven’t I already, Olivia? You were madder than hell when I picked you up tonight.”
“Because you just disappeared !” I cried out. “One second you were there and everything was . . . good between us. And then you were gone, and I couldn’t reach you, and?—”
“And you thought everyone was right,” he says through clenched teeth. “Isn’t that what you said? I ghosted you, and you thought everyone was right.”
There’s real hurt in his eyes, and I hate myself for it. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I should have known?—”
But he shakes his head. “No. The thing is, you were right. I ghosted you because we can’t keep doing this. Not when I can’t be who you need me to be.” He shifts on his feet, like he hates the words as much as I do, and I want to scream for him to stop saying them. “It was supposed to just be practice for you anyway. I’m not ready for something like this. I’m . . . I’m not the guy for this.”
“Practice,” I repeat. The word tastes like ash on my tongue. “Practice for what? Other people? Is that what you want, Rhett? You want me to date other people?”
His jaw tightens. “I want you to be happy,” he says simply. “I want you to be brave. And I want you far away from me.”
A tear spills over and glides down my cheek, and I watch him track it, his frown deepening. “I don’t believe you. You make me happy,” I tell him, because it’s the truth. “ You make me brave, Rhett. Why don’t you try it? Be brave with me. Let me in so I can help you.”
He lets out a frustrated breath. “No. I will not pull you into my shit, peaches. I’m sorry, but I won’t do it.” And I know by the tone of his voice that he means it. He isn’t going to budge on this.
My shoulders slump as the reality of his words sink in. The damn irony of it—for all he’s done to help me build confidence and belief in myself, Rhett was the one who needed it more. It’s . . . maddening to think I might have missed an opportunity to prove him wrong about himself.
I want to remind him of all the ways he’s shown me the kind of care and attention that’s done anything but harm me, want to shove it all in his stupid self-deprecating face. I hate to think of how alone he must feel, the pressure he’s put on himself to throw himself in danger for the greater good of others. That he thinks he might deserve it. I want him to see what I do when I look at him: his strength and intelligence and how tender he can be, how raw and wide open. His ability to protect is powerful, but not if he loses himself in the process. What kind of a life is that?
But I know I can’t win this argument—not now. Rhett Bennett will keep fighting fire with fire, as he’s been made to do. To prove he’s capable of anything else means playing a long game. He’s not going to trust it until I force his hand.
“Take me home,” I demand, ripping my gaze from him. I refuse to let myself find his eyes again, to let him see me break.
“Olivia,” he breathes. His voice cracks with emotion and I have to dig half-moons into my palms to keep from breaking with him.
But I find the strength to shake my head and move toward the bike. “No, Rhett. Stop .”
And I don’t have to look at him to know exactly the way it lands, that safe word he’s always made sure I know I can grasp hold of.
I pull the helmet over my head and wait for him to do the same. He moves painfully slow, like he knows this is all wrong, but he doesn’t say a word as he gets on the bike. It roars to life beneath him before I get on and he slowly points us home.
The engine rumbles through the soles of my sneakers as he opens the throttle down the long empty road, sending shockwaves of heady awareness up the length of my legs and thighs as I keep a careful but distant arm around him. I’m thankful for the helmet as it hides the tears that freely stream down my face, and I wonder if this might be the last ride he gives me.