CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Summer
I take in the spotless kitchen, feeling rather proud of what we have achieved.
Not even an hour ago, every surface had been covered in takeout boxes, tubs, packets, or bottles.
Ordering a takeout didn’t save us from washing-up either, and since none of us wanted to wake-up to dirty dishes, the dishwasher has been filled, and I am hand-washing the remaining glasses and plates that didn’t fit.
Malia yawns from beside me, taking the clean plate from the drainer to dry it. “I didn’t even know I owned this many plates.”
I chuckle as it reminds me of the complaints my dad always made when I was growing up. “Dad always accused Mum of stealing plates whenever she ate out somewhere else. She didn’t even dispute the accusation since she never knew how she ended up with so many either.”
“Spares,” Reid announces, and at our confused looks, he continues.
“Each time one of us accidently broke one or more of a plate set, Mum would go out and buy new sets. She hated having mismatched plates at a table. She would never throw the old ones away. She’d always say, ‘we’ll keep these as spares in case we run out’.
I’m pretty sure Paisley had a clear out of them before she moved into the bed and breakfast. And then there’s the sympathy plates.
When our dad died, apparently everyone would bring plates of food over.
And you can’t forget parties. I don’t know about you, but our mum never showed up empty handed, and guaranteed she would forget the plate there.
Same if we were the ones throwing the party.
Everyone would leave their plate and never come back for it. ”
Malia lowers the plate onto the pile to be put away, seeming to think it over.
“That’s probably right. Our parents always moved into neighbourhoods where the neighbours would bring plates of food over.
We weren’t poor growing up, but we did move around a lot, and buying new each time did cost, so we never returned them.
We packed everything, from salt and pepper packets to sauce sachets. ”
I twist until I’m facing the two. “This conversation reminds me of what Rachel from work said once. She offered to give one of the guys a shovel and when they asked if she wanted anything for it, she said no, because she had loads, and admitted she’s never actually bought one before so she didn’t feel right taking money for it. She just accumulated them over time.”
“Kind of like lighters,” Reid muses. “I have a drawer full, but I’ve never actually been into a shop to buy one.”
“You smoke?” I ask, surprised.
“I did. Or do on occasion,” he admits.
When Malia yawns again, and the plate she’s drying nearly slips from her hands, I speak up. “Go to bed, Malia. It’s been a long day and you got up earlier than the rest of us.”
“You nearly got blown up, so pretty sure your day has been longer,” she softly remarks.
I nudge her out of the way. “Look, your breath stinks. I wasn’t going to say anything but you keep breathing all over me, so please do me a favour and go to bed.”
She snorts, slapping the tea towel down on the counter. “You are such a heifer. My breath doesn’t stink.”
“It really does,” Reid tells her. “It smells like something died in there.”
She glares at him. “Really?”
I splutter out a laugh. “I’m joking. Just go to bed. You arguing about it is just taking longer.”
“I’m going,” she snaps, then pushes past Reid. “And my breath doesn’t stink.”
“Trust me, I’ve been debating whether to throw a mint in your mouth whilst you were yawning,” Reid tells her.
She walks out of the kitchen, holding her middle finger up in the air. “Sleep well, Reid. Sleep well.”
I laugh as I reach for another plate. “She’s going to kill you in your sleep.”
“As long as she doesn’t come up close and personal, she’s welcome to try,” he states, picking up the tea towel.
“Is it me, or do people with bad breath purposely get in your space? Ant, a bloke who worked for us a few years ago, always leaned in to talk to me, like he was sharing a secret. His breath stunk like a rotting carcass. Just fucking text whatever you need to say or stand three meters away from me.”
“Or you could just tell them they have bad breath?”
“And hurt someone’s feelings? Never. Paisley had garlic breath for days once, and I finally blew and said your breath stinks. She wouldn’t stop crying.”
I shrug. “You could have said it better.”
“How do you tell someone that nicely?”
“I’m bored, let’s go brush our teeth?”
He laughs, and my eyes are drawn to the vein in his neck. “I guess it’s better than throwing a mint in someone’s mouth.”
I finish the last plate and decide to make a start on putting them away. I’m reaching up to put a glass on the top shelf, when Reid steps up behind me, his body brushing against mine.
“Here, let me,” he offers, taking the glass from my hand.
And just like earlier, before I changed my clothes, my entire body heats. I clear my throat and quickly slide out from in front of him. I bite my lip when I feel his flesh against mine, and quickly busy myself by grabbing the next lot of plates to be put away.
Reid chuckles. “Careful, Sunshine, anyone would think you were worried about being alone with me.”
I watch him from the corner of my eye as I bend over to set the plates down in their place. He cocks his hip against the counter, watching me—or more accurately, my arse.
I roll my eyes as I get to my feet. I turn to the man who turns me inside out, only to find him standing a little closer.
I put on a front, not wanting him to know how much his close proximity gets to me.
I run my hands along the marble top as I lean back into the counter.
“Tell me, Reid Hayes; what makes you believe I’m worried about being alone with you? ”
His smirk cuts through me, making me tingle in places I shouldn’t be.
It’s dangerous to feel those things around him.
Because Reid Hayes has a way of making you forget what is right or wrong, or what is good or bad.
If anything, he makes me feel that being wrong is right, and being bad is good.
I’ve only had a taste of what he can do.
I’m scared of the power he will have over me if I let him take control.
My back hits the counter as he traps me in, placing his hands on the counter either side of me.
“Because you avoid letting me get too close. Your cheeks flush when I watch you for a second longer than you are comfortable with,” he states as he lifts his hand to my cheek, brushing his thumb along the curve of it.
“It’s hot as fuck in this kitchen, yet you’re so turned on by me, your nipples are erect. ”
I slap his hand away when he brushes the back of his hand over my nipple. “Stop, Reid. I’m not interested.”
He grips my face, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to get my attention. His smoky green eyes pierce mine. “Don’t lie to me. You want me.”
“I want world peace and to eat as many donuts as I want. Doesn’t mean I’ll get those things or they’ll be good for me.”
It unnerves me how easily he can read me.
He chuckles as he lifts me onto the counter, and before I have a chance to protest, his hands are running up my bare thighs, spreading my legs to make room for him.
I’m pretty sure my eyes roll into the back of my head when I feel his erection press against my core.
This.
Him.
It makes me forget all of my morals, ideals, and integrity. He makes me want to scream fuck it to the universe and to my heart.
“Oh, it will be very good for you.”
“So was the keyhole surgery I had when I was seventeen, yet it hurt like a bitch afterwards.”
“Why are you fighting this?” he whispers against the sensitive spot below my ear.
His hands run up my thighs, pushing my skirt along with it.
The lace thong I’m wearing is the only thing in the way.
His fingers skim along the crease, whilst his tongue flicks over the pulse in my neck, setting me on fire.
I want him. I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone else.
Being in a public toilet doesn’t matter.
That I just broke up with my ex doesn’t matter.
All I can think about is having him inside of me.
I moan, throwing my head back as the images of our past get thrown into the present, heightening all that I’m feeling. His lips are running along my jaw, and it’s only a matter of time before those lips are on mine.
I know the damage his kisses can do.
My eyelids fall closed as he roughly drags me to the edge of the counter, my core smacking against his stomach.
I meet his green eyes, staring at the flecks of gold in them, and forget why this is a bad idea.
My fingers fist the hair on the nape of his neck, needing some semblance of control as I slam my lips down on his. There is no hesitance, no composure, no voice in the back of my mind screaming at me that this is a bad idea. It’s just me. Him. Us.
Nothing about his touch is gentle either. The bobble pinning my hair back is pulled out so his fingers can run through my hair, gripping the strands until there’s a bite of pain.
Hunger is lit up between us like a flame, both of us scorching, fighting for a bit of relief.
There is no relief. Not when it comes to him. To us. It’s like our bodies are in sync with each other.
My hips move against his, needing more friction, more of him.
He slides my thong to the side, expertly swirling his thumb over my clit, whilst he slides in two fingers.
Fuck!
A mini orgasm tears through me, like my body has been starved of a sexual touch that only he can now feed.
I reach for him, needing him, but unlike past lovers, he seems to be turned on by finger-fucking me. My pleasure isn’t a chore or a step he needs to quickly rush through to get to the next step. It’s like he gets pleasure from my own.
“Take these off,” he rasps, tugging at the edge of my beige shorts.