Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
I had every mind to come over here and rip Riley Rivers a new one.
Every damn mind.
Doesn’t matter that I sucked a splinter from her hand, that she makes me fantasize about all the things I’ve never let myself consider, that I’ve thought about her more than any other woman since my wife, or that my daughter fucking adores her. I had every damn mind to tear into her for taking Jo Jo to get her damn belly button pierced.
But my heart.
When I rolled up on her place and saw some dude all up in her space, my heart did a freefall. At first, I thought she had a boyfriend or a date or something. And the jealousy that overtook me was incredible. I got out of my truck, still set on tearing her up, whether she was playing ‘ no, you hang up first ’ with some fuckhead or not.
Then she reared back and smacked the shit out of him with the bouquet, and started hollering at him to go.
My heart did something else.
It squeezed. It leapt. It felt suspended in time until I got onto the porch and put myself between her and that dickwad as a barrier. And I couldn’t fully breathe until I got her inside and had that door shut and locked.
And now, with tears streaking her ruddy cheeks, her hands shaking at her sides, I don’t want to do anything but find out who that was and why she’s upset. Then I want to make her feel good, and in turn make myself feel better.
But I know I can’t.
Her eyes drop to the floor as she toes her way out of her running shoes. She pushes past me, like she’s just gonna carry on with her day but I stop her, placing my hand on her shoulder, the tips of my fingers splayed gently over her collarbone.
“Who was that?”
She sighs, her shoulder sloping. “My ex.”
I step back and let her move through her house, but I follow her until we’re in her kitchen. She gets to work filling a carafe of water, making coffee, and I stand there, watching. She’s in tiny black leggings and a white tank, tied in a knot at her side. Her flaxen hair sways in a ponytail, and traces of her run still glitter along her back and chest. My eyes can’t rake over her fast enough; there isn’t a single place on her I couldn’t look at for hours.
She dumps grounds into the filter, using the back of her wrist to swipe at her eye. At the sink, she wets a paper towel and blots it to the blood on her chest, cleaning herself up.
“What happened there?” I ask, stepping closer but holding off on getting too close, coming into her personal space too fast.
“Thorn cut, it’s nothing.” She tosses the paper towel and washes her hands.
She said it’s her ex and I can see this conversation is going to be me pulling answers from her but luckily, I have a teenager so I’m well versed. “I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never seen that prick before.”
Using a light blue tea towel tied around the handle, Riley tugs it, opening the fridge. I try my hardest not to watch the way her tits weigh down her tank top as she leans over and rustles through the contents of her fridge, and I especially try to not look at the black thong, defined even through her pants.
She uses her socked foot to close the door. “He’s not from here. He’s from Willowdale, where I was raised. Where I moved from.”
Having set a carton of eggs on the counter, she finally stops moving, and plants her hands on her hips. Her blue eyes are wide, but there’s hesitancy lining them, like she’s trying to come off unaffected by whatever it is I drove up on—no small feat.
“What were the roses for?” I ask, knowing I ought to drop it since she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, it is none of my goddamn business and I’m actually here to yell at her. I’m not here to figure out what’s going on. And yet, I wait with bated breath for her response .
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before she laughs, melodic and light, but not genuine. I arch a brow, waiting to hear why her ex brought her roses. Roses are for romance or apologies, ain’t no two ways about it.
“He’s trying to win me back.” She laughs, speaking maybe to herself more than me, “which is like, never, ever, not in a million years going to happen. But, yeah,” she says, finally meeting my eyes again after she’s looked at everything in her kitchen but me. “He was trying to win me back.”
“Why?” I ask. Then, because it kind of sounded like I was asking why she’d ever want him back, I clarify. “I mean, why is it never gonna happen?” I don’t know a lick of specifics but I already know Riley Rivers is too good for that fuckhead. After all, they broke up at some point if he’s trying to win her back, and anyone that lets a woman like her get away is clearly an absolute moron fuckboy.
“I don’t want to talk about it, and you said you came over here to yell at me so…” she shrugs, her features drooping with defeat. “Yell.”
“Miss Rivers,” I start, because I’m not exactly sure what to call her. The girls call their coach Miss Riley, and the students call her Miss Rivers, but she isn’t my teacher or my coach. She isn’t really anything to me, so I settle on Miss Rivers.
She pressed her palms to her face, dipping her fingers into her eyes, rubbing. With a big exhale, she drops her hands. “Just… yell, Mr. Turner. Do what you came here to do. Please, sir.”
Please, sir. There it is again. Sir . It just rolls off her tongue, as smooth as any first name. Our eyes lock, a spark ignites between us, invisible but undeniable as she takes two steps nearer, leaving mere inches between us. “Please, sir. Just… give it to me.”
My cock thickens, but even with arousal rampant between us, I realize she went through something a minute ago. I don’t know what’s going on, I only know that I am clearly quite interested in Miss Riley Rivers.
She reaches out, tugging at the hem of my shirt, her eyes vacillating on me.
I don’t know why she’s tugging on me. It’s a personal thing, and we aren’t personal, but I also can’t figure out why it feels normal, natural and even… right.
I clear my throat. “I had a nice little chat with Ivy Ellington-Calhoun today.”
She rolls her hand, wrapping it in the end of my t-shirt, her cheeks flooding with crimson. “I know it was probably an overstep. But Jo Jo was having a hard day—the girls at cheer–” she shakes her head, letting the rest of that sentence free. “I just wanted to make her feel good, feel special, and to take her mind off of everything.”
The blunt end of her thumb drags along my belly ever so slightly as her hand wobbles in my t-shirt. Our eyes lock, her minty breath dusts my lips and nose as she peers up at me, pupils wide, chest heaving. “It’s not a tattoo,” she argues softly. “She can take it out and it will heal and she can still be president.”
“That’s marijuana, not piercings,” I correct, but the curve of her lips into a naughty smile tells me she knows that.
Sweep. Sweep. Sweep.
Her thumb moves over my belly so many times I lose count. If I don’t get out of here in the next minute, I’ll make a fool of myself in these jeans.
My brain, struggling to make sense of all the things I’m feeling, freezes. “You still call her Jo Jo?” I question. Something about hearing her nickname on Miss Riley’s lips makes the back of my head tingly and warm.
She nods, still boldly stroking my bare stomach with one finger, both of us still not acknowledging it. “She’s Jo Jo to me.”
The crotch of my jeans grows tight, and my cock aches as it presses into my fly, getting fat and happy as I stare down at Riley Rivers.
“I heard you got yours pierced, too.” My veins thud in time with my heavily beating heart, echoing in my ears as I reach out, taking the hem of her shirt in my hand, too. Slowly, I lift her top, exposing her belly. Exposing the silver hoop.
With the back of my hand, I run my knuckles down her belly, over the ring, making her eyes snap closed and her body tremble.
She nods, drunken and hazy, her nipples pressing into the fabric of her tank top.
“Hmm,” I groan, still stroking my hand up her tight, bare belly. That little ring knocking against my knuckles is making me damn weak. “What happened at school that left Jo Jo needing cheering up?”
“I–” she attempts an answer, but her words fail her as she claws at my bicep, gripping it, rocking to her toes. “That’s for her to tell you, not me.”
I smooth my hand around her belly and grip her waist, tugging her against me. She gasps at the feel of my cock pressing into her belly, and her head falls back, giving me a runway of velvety neck to admire.
I look down at her nipples, plucky from our contact, the sight of them against the light fabric a torturous tease. She sees me, and licks her lips, whispering, “You’re lookin’ so you may as well touch.”
It’s an invitation, and I never go anywhere without one. As much as I’d love to explore the ripest, most welcoming parts of Riley right now, I don’t budge.
She doesn’t accept it. Collecting my hand, she presses her hand against mine, nudging my palm into her breast. Her breathing shallows as she initiates a squeeze. My desires constrict me when I touch her body, like I can’t breathe or, I can’t feel my arms, or, I don’t know. Everything I want surfaces when our flesh connects. Her pillowy, tender breast in my palm brings a deep groan out of me. A hungry little moan lifts from her lips as she snaps her eyes closed.
Her body radiates a dark, hot signal that mine picks up. She sways against me, undoubtedly and unabashedly searching for more of my cock as I tighten my hand on her breast.
It’s been years.
I haven’t had sex in years. It’s been years since I’ve done any of this. I haven’t forgotten sex, but I have lost my grip on restraint. Or, I don’t know, maybe with Riley, I know I don’t need it. She wants unbridled and wild Jake, the Jake that exists only in slivers of time at his garage desk, a small lamp illuminating his darkest desires. That’s the Jake she wants, and that’s the Jake I’ve been dying to become.
She is unbridled and wild. Fucking gorgeous little sex-article-writing vixen who I’d love to see outfitted in some of my work. A belt and nothing else. Maybe just sitting on a saddle.
Get control of your damn thoughts, Jake.
Between my legs, my cock aches and leaks, reminding me that I should go somewhere else immediately. All those years of no sex are liable to resurface if we keep at this.
I hate to do it, but the spell evaporates as I step back. Her ruddy cheeks and needy nipples coax me, call to my whips, beg for the leather tails to punish and demand. She exhales and I inhale, wishing I could taste her from just that. I force distance between us, because I have to.
I do it for Jo Jo, because a relationship of any kind with Miss Riley would be deep cutting betrayal to her, and I just can’t do that.
“I’m sorry about the piercing,” she says, standing in one spot, wrapping her arms around herself. “I just… I really care about Jo Jo and I just wanted to make her feel better.”
“Next time you wanna take my girl somewhere and do something that requires a parent’s signature, call me, Miss Rivers. That’s all I ask.”
She nods, nibbling seductively albeit absentmindedly on her bottom lip. “Yes, sir.”
I leave, harder than a ton of bricks, and for the second time today, my mind is stuck on a little silver hoop.
Only this time, it’s Miss Riley’s.