28. Sloane
28
SLOANE
T hese last few days are building me to my breaking point. Someone stole my notes from my desk, tampered with my computer, and the scariest of all, someone tried to nab me in the parking lot on the way to my car when I forgot my ID. Luckily, Jack had just returned and scared the dude off.
I still have the bruise from the assailant’s arm across my middle when he took me off my feet. My knees are sore from falling out of his grasp and hitting the hard pavement of the parking lot.
I tried to keep it together until Jack closed me in his arms. The shock and adrenaline sent a wave of sobs through me until I got my panic back under control.
It hunkered the guys down around me. I thought they were watching me before, but now, I can’t make a move that they don’t see.
I wish it weren’t, but this is giving me flashbacks to how Alistair would send his TAs or colleagues to be sure I was really where I said I was going or to escort me around campus. It’s smothering me slowly.
It doesn’t help that Edmund has been acting weird, too. And now, with my notes gone, I’m even more suspicious of him.
He’s always lurking nearby when I’m checking inventory or giving me the side-eye when the guys are right there.
But his usual cool and happy demeanor has flattened to the barest politeness. I can’t blame him. I’ve been a lot colder to him lately, too. Like we’re strangers who happen to work together.
Maybe we are. Alistair always told me that my co-workers were not my friends, that I shouldn’t confuse them, and maybe in this instance, he’s right.
Worse, I can’t even trust him to do his job, so I’m working myself overtime to cover his work, too, double-checking it to be sure he’s not smuggling anything through to whoever those people are.
This morning, I found a few more boxes marked for destruction have disappeared, and I know it’s him.
But the guns? That can’t be Edmund, right? Not the guy who took such good care of his mother as she fought cancer, or now in the aftermath, helping her recover, driving her to appointments, being sure she eats enough.
Not someone I firmly believed was a good person.
Are my instincts really that far gone? Can I trust my own judgment?
God, I can’t let this keep spiraling. Too many years of being told I know virtually nothing about the real world, and here I am, questioning everything I believe again.
Rhett sets down a steaming mug of coffee in front of me and rubs a palm between my shoulder blades. “You alright?”
I suck in a big breath and blow it out noisily. “I guess. Just… trying to make sense of everything in my head. Feels like I’m missing some major puzzle pieces, though.”
“Hopefully, they’ll find something while they’re out.”
Sterling and Jack left to follow a lead this morning before work. Not the kind that they could take me on because of the likelihood of danger.
It only makes me more antsy. Like, what if they need Rhett, but he’s here protecting me instead? And I get that it’s not been exactly safe for me here, either. I don’t know. It’s so hard to focus, worrying about them, worrying about Edmund, worrying about Alistair, worrying about everything.
I stand to go to the bathroom, and Rhett spins on his heel, following inside. I don’t even blink at it this time. He locks the door behind us, and I go pee in a stall. Washing my hands, I swear I see the bags under my reflection’s eyes.
Rhett leans against the door, watching me as I wash my face, scrubbing it with hot water and my palms until I feel his hands at my back. I pat my face dry and lean back into him. He’s more affectionate than I imagined at first, tucking me easily in his arms.
His soft mouth presses against my cheek, and Rhett just holds me.
After a minute, I turn in his grasp and sink into him a bit more. The warm scent of him makes some of the worry melt away, and I wish I could burrow into him. Letting go of some of my usual stiffness, I drag my nails down his back through his shirt.
I’m so sick of being uptight all the time, of being on defense, and as much as that’s been melting away at Sterling’s house, my walls go back up when I’m at work. When Reese is around to witness. But when it’s just the four of us, everything crashes down.
It’s like I’ve become two different people—a needy, hedonistic sex fiend and an uptight professional. Better than the person I was before because I didn’t have the space to be two versions of myself.
Tipping my face from the crook of his neck, I plant a kiss under his jaw. A soft grunt has him squeezing me gently. The way my hands want to wander, how my teeth want to scrape against his throat, the itch in my fingers to grab him by his hair…
I should not be thinking about these things right now.
Should not be so tempted to not care about what’s expected of me.
My hands wander. My teeth scrape. My fingers grab.
Rhett’s mouth seeks mine in a kiss that kicks up the gravity. He lifts me to the edge of the counter, reading me too well. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking because he presses his hard-on into me.
All I need to show is a little intent, and I swear they can sense it—when I want them not to ask and just take. To give myself over to them.
I’ll happily give myself over to Rhett right now.
His hands tug open my fly and inch my pants off my hips.
I moan across his tongue before he pulls back to grin at me, yanking my pants down my legs. It’s telling that I’ve thought of getting clothes that offer easier access for moments like this.
I’m grabbing at him when he’s back within reach, wanting skin. Rhett’s. Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, I spread my fingers over his collarbones, shoulders, and neck.
He’s unleashed himself and is swiping the head of his cock through my folds, spreading the wetness gathered there. God, I swear I wasn’t this wet and achy a few minutes ago. But the burn from his pressing inside me drags a low, needy noise out of me.
After a few strokes, he thrusts easily, but the friction is perfect.
Those strong hands of his hoist my knees up, leaning me back on my hands to stay near him. Tipping in to grab my mouth in a hot kiss, he moves in small taps. A few adjustments to his grip on me help him find a spot that makes my eyes roll back.
Fuck, the spike of unadulterated pleasure has me shaking. It’s spreading and amplifying. I reach up and grab his collar, and he slowly leans me back, dropping my ass off the end of the counter for the perfect angle for his hips to swing harder, pumping longer strokes.
My head falls back. I can’t keep myself up any longer.
Body relaxing into it, I ride that steep takeoff toward my first orgasm. I don’t fight it. I’ve learned not to. It gets so much better when I don’t.
I barely stifle my cry as I climax. Writhing and wriggling under him has his teeth clenching until he slowly pulls out of me, teasing my pussy until he dips his cock lower, nudging himself into my ass.
We’ve made a lot of discoveries about my likes and dislikes over the past week. Like when I’m properly warmed up, they can eventually make me come like this alone.
It surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. Not with how focused they are on giving me pleasure instead of pumping out their own and moving on.
But, God, I mean he is pumping now, pounding, really. The hard, rough moves only prove to drench me. I am so alive right now.
Rhett hooks my knees in his elbows and curls his hands under my shoulders. And those beautiful brown eyes make different parts of me ache. The ones most closely guarded.
I want to believe what I see when he looks into me like this.
So I do what I do best. I hold on, let it fester, wait until later to unpack it all.
And of course, I come a few more times, too.