Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CIDNEY
I’m not drunk enough for this, mainly because I’m not drunk at all.
George pulls up to the house. It’s a nice house, a really nice house.
It’s newer, and he pulls through the circular drive to make it up to the garage.
The single-story, full-brick home is probably the nicest place I’ve actually seen in person.
After he turns the engine off and closes the garage door, he doesn’t make a move to open the driver’s door. Instead, he turns toward me, his eyes finding mine. I know mine must show just how surprised and impressed I am, though I probably shouldn’t, considering George is a doctor.
“You good?” he asks.
He watches me, his expression laced with concern. I should tell him that I am indeed not good and to please take me home. I don’t, though. I don’t say anything. I’m so hurt, so incredibly hurt, that I throw myself at this man.
Reaching out across the center console, I cup his cheeks with my palms, then shift forward and touch my mouth to his. “This is only for tonight,” I murmur against his lips.
“Only tonight,” he agrees, repeating my words. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll drive you home. Monday morning, I’ll see you at work.”
“And that’s that,” I exhale.
“And that’s that.”
I will, without a doubt, regret this tomorrow. George probably will, too. Neither of us seems to care. Releasing my grasp on his face, I reach for the handle of the door and push it open while he does the same on the other side of the car.
He walks around the front of the car, heading straight for the door, and twists the knob, then pulls it open.
I don’t comment on the fact that he lives in a nice enough neighborhood that he doesn’t have to worry about locking his door.
I also don’t comment when I follow him inside that his house looks like a showroom.
Because it does look like a showroom floor. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. And he just moves through the house, not stopping until we reach the opposite side, walk down a hallway, and stop at two double doors.
He turns, looking over his shoulder at me when we reach the doors, his hands on both of the knobs. He doesn’t have to ask me anything. I see the question in his gaze. He wants to make sure I still want this.
I dip my chin in a single nod.
He pushes the doors open and walks into the massive space. Absolutely stunning. I can only imagine what the closets look like. They’re probably the size of my entire apartment. I couldn’t even imagine owning a house like this.
George spins around to face me, his eyes find mine, and instantly, all thought of the house, of the opulence, disappears. I feel like we’re back in the bar dancing. My breathing comes out in short pants as he takes one step toward me, then another, closing the short distance between us.
“You can tell me to stop.”
His words are a whisper, his eyes never breaking contact with mine. He means that. I could tell him to stop, and he would probably take me home and drop me off, all while wearing a smile.
“I want to forget,” I confess the truth.
He lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Me too.”
George shifts his head until his lips find mine, and then I forget. When his tongue slides inside my mouth, tangling with my own, I don’t think about Goose. I don’t think about his fingers gripping my hips or how he tasted.
I’m a liar, though, especially to myself, because all I can do is think about Goose with every second that passes. With every brush of his fingers, with every taste of his tongue, I know, and my body knows, that this is not Goose. This is not Trent Fairfax.
Fingertips grip my ass. I can feel them through my jeans as he picks me up and walks me backward.
He doesn’t take me to bed, and I’m glad.
I don’t know if I could actually get between the sheets with him right now.
He must sense that, or maybe he feels the same way, I’m not sure.
I don’t ask him what he’s trying to forget, and if he knows what, or rather, whom, I’m trying to forget, he’s kind enough not to ask me, either.
He presses my back against the wall, lowering me to my feet and releasing my ass. His fingers make their way to the waist of my jeans. I feel them pop my button open, then slide the zipper down, all the while his mouth never loses contact with mine.
Heat pools between my legs, an automatic physical reaction that is the perfect distraction right now.
He shoves my jeans down my legs, and I kick my heels off before stepping out of them.
When his fingers slip between my thighs, I rip my mouth from his, my head bouncing against the wall with a single thud.
“Yes,” I exhale. It’s needy and wanton, but I don’t care. I am both wanton and needy right now.
Two fingers dip inside me, curling there as his thumb presses against my clit, and I can’t stop my body from moving. My hips shift forward, searching, silently begging for more from him.
George rests his forehead against mine, his fingers working between my legs. Lifting my hands, I grab a hold of his biceps, gripping him tightly there as my hips move and buck, searching for more.
“Please, George,” I whimper.
I’m close, but I am not going to come like this. I don’t know why. It’s just not enough. Maybe it’s the man, maybe it’s myself, maybe it’s my broken heart, but it’s not happening with his fingers.
Reaching between us, I undo the button of his jeans, then slide the zipper down before my hand dives inside his boxer briefs, and my fingers wrap around his length. He’s hard and ready, his hips flexing.
He takes a step backward, his hand slipping from between my legs, my hand falling away from his length, and for a moment, I think maybe he’s going to send me away. Not that I’ve done anything wrong, but maybe this isn’t what he wants. But he doesn’t.
George’s gaze finds mine, and he holds my focus with his. Then he sheds his jeans, tugs off his shirt. I take mine off as well, slipping my bra from my body, and I drop it to the floor before he moves toward me.
He reaches down, gripping the backs of my thighs roughly before he picks me up, pressing my back against the wall. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I close my eyes as he aligns himself with my center. I am so ready, wet and waiting for him. When he pushes inside me, it’s with one single thrust.
I gasp as he fills me.
His mouth touches mine, and thankfully, I don’t have to look into his eyes. I don’t think I could, not right now at least. When he moves, I let out an exhale, and I just breathe and feel.
Right now, that’s all I need.
George fucks me. It’s not with anything other than pure physical need.
We’re both searching for relief and distraction from whatever is happening inside our heads.
My fingers grip his shoulders as he moves, our heavy breathing filling the otherwise quiet air around us.
He grinds his pelvis against my clit with each stroke.
I climb higher and higher, and when he rips his mouth from mine and buries his face in my neck, I know he’s close. His movements become erratic, fucking me hard and fast against the door.
I come.
Then he comes.
And the moment it’s all over, I’m filled with instant regret and sadness.
GOOSE
Staring at Piggy, I allow his words to sink in fully. It takes a couple of minutes longer for me to really comprehend what he’s saying because I’m still drunk, but then it hits me. It slams into me.
My woman.
My woman, who had little to almost no experience before a few weeks ago. My woman went home from a bar with someone. A stranger. Well, she might know him because Thunder Rock is the size of a goddamn pebble.
But I still can’t quite comprehend what he’s saying to me. I’m trying, but I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I stare at him, unsure that what he’s telling me is the absolute truth, but then again, why would he lie?
There is absolutely nothing to gain from his lying. Not about this. And Piggy is the last guy in this club who would anyway. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever met. I trust him just as much as I trust my own twin.
Wrapping my fingers around my beer bottle, I lift it to my lips and take a pull. My brain is trying to catch up and grasp what Piggy is saying to me. I don’t, though. It seems too jumbled. Nothing that he’s said makes sense.
Cidney wouldn’t do that.
“Maybe I need to talk to Lainey myself,” I state.
He snorts. “I’m telling you exactly what she said to me. I know shit went down between you and Ivy, so I don’t know if it even matters at this point. But I wanted to pass along the information in case it got back to you in a different way.”
“Shit didn’t just go down between us,” I say, curling my lip in disgust.
My body still aches from the beating Ivy delivered, the one I let him give me, thinking he would give me permission to be with Cidney. He fucked me up and then fucked me over. I don’t even have a real explanation for why he said I couldn’t be with her. Just that he would never allow it.
“Ivy made it perfectly fucking clear that there could be no us. End of goddamn discussion.”
Piggy shakes his head. He wraps his fingers around the back of his neck, hissing out a breath as he looks down at his feet. He lifts his head a moment later, his eyes finding mine, and I can see the pity in them.
I hate that shit, but I would probably look at myself the same way if the roles were reversed. I’ve been beat to shit, I’m hungover as fuck, and I’m brokenhearted.
I’m a goddamn sight for sore eyes.
“Thanks, brother,” I murmur.
He tilts his head to the side, his gaze searching mine. “You need to talk, Goose.”
I let out a laugh, though it doesn’t sound like I find any of this comical.
I don’t. I don’t know if anything could fucking be comical in my life at this point.
I probably won’t ever laugh again, which is honestly fine with me, too.
I should have left the moment Maverick and Zadie got together.
I should have realized that was my sign to move on.
“I will, just not yet.”
I wrap my fingers around his shoulder and give him a gentle shake as I move past him and make my way toward Bullet’s office. I don’t even know if he’s in there right now, but if he’s not, I can wait.
The door to the office is open, and the light is also on, pouring into the hallway. I knock on the doorjamb, waiting for him to call me in. He does almost immediately.
Inhaling a deep breath, I sway slightly, wondering what the fuck I’m doing, and if I should be making life-altering decisions in this state, but I do anyway, consequences be damned.
Stepping into the office, I close the door behind me.
Bullet lifts his head, his eyes find mine, and he does a shit job of hiding his wince.
I know it’s because of the way I look. I don’t give a fuck.
I let Ivy beat the fuck out of me. I let him, and I still lost big time.
I want everyone to see just how goddamn unreasonable he’s being.
“I’m asking your permission to go nomad.”