34. Tabitha
CHAPTER 34
TABITHA
I didn’t want to get out of bed, but I also didn’t want to lie there in wet underwear. The discomfort had me kicking back the covers and leaving the bed behind.
And the view down the hallway kept me from returning to it.
Because when I walked to the hamper near my open bedroom door, I got an eyeful of Rhys.
Naked Rhys.
Firm ass, trim waist, hair on his legs, tattoo-covered Rhys.
Walking down my hallway—away from me. The urge to follow him hits me the way he throws a bowling ball. Hard as hell.
But instead of following him, I just watch from the doorway, heart racing, feeling flayed open. Like each of Erika’s journal entries peeled back a strip of skin until I was left raw and messy, the air stinging me all over. Like scraped knees, but so much worse.
Then Rhys came. And when he held me, it eased the pain. He wrapped himself around me like a bandage and made all the worst parts of my night feel better.
I knew I missed him.
I just didn’t realize until now that I needed him.
My eyes clamp shut, and I turn away when I hear his footfalls hit the bottom of the stairs. My reasoning for any major decision is severely compromised tonight.
He kept the truth from me.
He came back for me.
He’s sacrificed for me repeatedly, and I can’t for the life of me see what I’ve done to deserve that loyalty from him.
He tells me almost nothing with his words, but everything with his actions.
I slip off my underwear and toss them into the basket before I crawl back into bed naked. I’m feeling both ashamed of myself and desperate to seek him out. I’m a little angry with him, but in a strange turn of events, I also understand his choice.
I understand it because it’s what I would have done. It’s what I’ve been doing for my family for years.
I’ve just never had anyone twist a situation to spare my feelings. It’s a strange sensation to be on the receiving end of that kind of selflessness. That kind of loyalty. It’s especially a mindfuck to wonder if I deserve it.
The turmoil in my mind wipes out my exhaustion. I’m well past tired—I’m delirious.
Naked in bed, I think in circles. Erika’s manipulation of me—and him—should be at the forefront, but in the shower, the realization hit me: what’s done is done. No matter how much I want to go back in time and smooth this over, it’s impossible.
I felt my hold on my idealized version of Erika slip through my fingers as I cried in Rhys’s arms. I’d been so keen to grip it hard, to make her story into something more palatable than it was. Did she hurt people? Or was she wonderful? I’d realized she could be both things at once and that my memories of her didn’t have to be all sunshine and rainbows for me to still love her.
The rush of profound relief as I accepted the situation for what it was—beyond my control—soothed me.
And I let it go.
Then all I was left with was Rhys. Undressing me. Drying me. Every touch brimming with respect and dedication that I’m not so sure I deserve from him, but crave all the same.
It’s that craving that pulls me out of bed and leads me down the darkened stairs. It stirs in my core and pebbles my nipples. But it’s more than that. I crave his heat, his bulk, just… his company.
Tonight, I would settle for just drifting off beside him.
The basement door creaks, and I stare down, remembering how I’d just finished redoing this room for him. I didn’t expect him to see it so soon.
I can hear the washing machine humming as it spins, and I can see the outline of his hulking form in the bed when I peek through the banisters below the railing. The same spot where I spied on him as he attempted to film that promo.
Light filters from behind me, just enough that I can tell he’s facing away. But he holds his shoulders just a little too rigidly to be asleep.
I don’t bother asking if I can come in, because I don’t think my heart can handle him turning me away. And in my bones, I know that he won’t.
I pad down the stairs, strumming my bottom lip between my teeth. When my feet hit the Persian rug beneath the bed, his head shifts. But I don’t stop. I follow that draw to him that I’ve felt since the first time I laid eyes on him. The one that had me glancing back over my shoulder at him as I left his house in Emerald Lake.
I couldn’t help myself then, and I can’t help myself now.
So I go straight for the bed, softly slip in behind him, wrap an arm around his bare ribs, and press my forehead to his back.
He says nothing, but he covers my arm with his own as he links his fingers with mine.
“Hi, Tabby,” he whispers in the darkened room. And I find myself wishing he’d call me baby or honey again instead. The familiarity of those names in such a vulnerable moment soothed me.
“Hi, Rhys.” I trail a fingertip over his shoulder, tracing the swirls and patterns of the tattoos that wrap around his entire arm.
He shivers but doesn’t turn toward me.
“I love my room. Thank you.”
I nod, cheek brushing against his bare skin. His body carries the faint scent of cinnamon, and that makes me feel warm inside, like apple pie and cozy Christmas baking.
“I should have done it sooner. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
Maybe not, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’ve been too damn hard on him for no good reason. Like we’ve been holding ourselves back. And right now, I can’t think of a single reason to hold back anymore. Sure, he could hurt me. But after everything, something tells me Rhys would do anything in his power to keep me from feeling any pain.
It’s a heady realization. To trust someone like that.
With one palm flat on his shoulder, I press a kiss to his back. He stills.
“What are you doing, Tabitha?” His voice is rough, the words strangled.
I breathe him in and exhale. Once. Twice. And on the third time—“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I first laid eyes on you.”
My chest aches with needing him, with wanting him to say something, wanting him to turn and face me. “Rhys, please. I missed you .”
That confession has him turning toward me, his heavy features coming to the same level as mine. I feel his breath against my lips and his heat seeping into my body, ridding me of the chill I couldn’t shake. His hand lies possessively on my bare hip, and need stirs inside me as I slide my palm up his bare chest. My feet tangle with his calves beneath the blankets.
“You told me you missed me, and I missed you too. I was… I don’t know. I don’t know anything, except that I missed you.”
He nods firmly, eyes searching my face as though he can’t believe what I’m telling him.
“And I need you to forgive me.”
Sadness sweeps across his features, and his fingers tighten on my hip. “There is nothing to forgive, Tabby. I got it all tangled up. I promised to comfort you, and I didn’t do it quite right, but I was trying the best I knew how.”
My eyes sting, and if I wasn’t out of tears to shed, maybe one would fall. Instead, I’m stuck staring into the earnest eyes of the world’s most beautiful, tender, complicated man, and… I want him.
I lick my lips and drop my gaze to his sinful mouth. “Show me.”
“What?”
“Comfort me. I need you to touch me right now, Rhys.”
His hand slips around my waist, splaying at my lower back as his tongue darts out and questions dance in his eyes.
I hook a leg over his, pulling us flush. “Please.”
“Jesus, Tabby. Are you begging?”
“Please,” I repeat with a desperate little moan, dusting my lips over his stubbled cheek.
“Because you don’t need to,” he says. Then he seals his mouth over mine and crushes me against him, giving me everything I wanted in one harsh exhale.
His tongue seeks mine, and his hands grip me like I’m integral to him in some way.
We’ve kissed in anger. We’ve kissed to taunt. We’ve kissed for show.
But we’ve never kissed like this . Like we need each other to breathe and don’t care if the other one knows it.
His hands roam my body, and stopping him doesn’t cross my mind a single time. We pull closer, tighter, like we could swallow each other whole.
He groans when my leg tightens around him, my wet core sliding against his firm quad. And, god, it feels good.
“Tabby, fuck.” His fingers grip my damp hair, forcing my head back as he drags his mouth over the length of my throat.
I swivel my hips again, rubbing myself on him, getting off on the feel, and the desperate snarl he lets out against my neck.
“You’re fucking soaked.” His free hand cups the curve of my ass, grinding me into him again as his leg stays firm. “Just like I said you would be.”
I pant out a breath, remembering when he’d told me he bet I was soaked. I couldn’t even look him in the eye and lie about it, so I’d said nothing.
Today, I come clean, tired of lying about this thing between us. “I told you,” I whisper. “I need you.”
He kisses me again, pouring himself into me, and I give it back. My hand slides down over a heavily roped torso to a blissfully naked abdomen. This time, when I wrap my palm around his cock, there’s no denim in my way and no taunt on my lips.
Just smooth, hot skin. His steely length and a breathless sigh. I revel in the feel, the weight, the rough gasp he lets out when I twist my hand over the head.
“Tabby.”
Fuck, I love the sound of my name on his lips. Full of hunger and desperation, like he’s been waiting for me to catch up and stop pushing him away. He’s wanted me and let me loathe him anyway.
How fucking selfless. How fucking stupid .
A flash of frustration burns bright as I think about it. All the time and energy I wasted being mad at him when everything was beyond my control from the start.
I grip him harder, pumping as I pull away to glare at him in the shadowy light. “Rhys, never hide shit from me again. No secrets. I hate it.”
I don’t know what I even mean by that. It sounds permanent, and I have no idea where we stand. All I know is that I want him. God, I want him so badly. And now there’s nothing stopping me from having him.
He stares back at me, giving one sure dip of his chin as his thumb moves in his signature slow, gentle circles. His voice is thick when he responds with, “I’m sorry.”
I release his dick and plant my palms on his shoulders as I crawl over his body and straddle him. “I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to fuck me.”
“Jesus, baby,” he mutters, right as his broad palms slip over my ass and up around my waist. He presses me down and glides me back, my clit rasping over the length of his cock, which lies flat on his stomach.
Baby .
My head tips back as I revel in all the sensations of him. The term of endearment. So much has hurt lately, but everything with Rhys feels warm and safe and delicious.
Everything with Rhys feels so right .
“Again.” The word is a breathless plea, and he doesn’t hesitate. His hands maneuver me, and my hips move of their own accord, following his lead as my pussy spreads and slips down his length. That final little twist hits my clit and sends electric shocks through my entire body.
“Fuck,” I whisper when one of his hands roams up my stomach to cup my breast. He groans, and a look of satisfaction transforms his face as he plucks at the nipple before moving to the other.
My skin sizzles as he explores. Every movement feels desperate, but there’s nothing rushed or fumbled about the way Rhys handles me. He savors me. Every inch, every second. His eyes trace the curves of my body as though he’s memorizing each angle.
I fucking love the way he looks at me.
My hand wraps around his forearm, and I follow his every motion, wanting to be part of whatever is running through his head. He moves from my breasts up over my collarbones to my neck.
His thumb brushes against my lips, and our eyes lock as he presses it into my mouth. I moan and hold his gaze as I slide myself up the length of his cock once more, making a mess all over him. At the top of the motion, his thick, blunt head catches at my entrance, and I suck harder on his thumb.
God, he’s big. Just the anticipation of taking him inside of me is a thrill.
“What are you gonna do, Tabby?” He slides his thumb between my lips and pushes back in. “You think you can take it?”
That smug fucking twist to his lips that I know all too well pushes me over the edge. I match his expression, eyes igniting as I reach down between us to fist his dick.
And then I drop my hips and take him in one swift motion, gasping for air as his thumb pulls away and my body works to adjust to his width. My thighs shake, and my back bows.
“Tabby. Tabby. Fuck .” His hands slip to my waist and grip me in place.
My gaze trails over his face. Lips parted, dark lashes dropped low.
He’s fucking beautiful . And infuriating. And mine.
My core pulses around his hardness, and I smirk as I bend over his body, fingers trailing over his. I press a kiss to his sternum, his heady scent swirling around me.
“Was that a challenge?” I murmur against his golden skin as I slowly drag my hips up and glide them back down again. Pleasure radiates through every limb, a delicious ache unfurling behind each joint. I’m smiling when I move again, licking my way up his neck.
“Because I love a challenge.” My teeth snap at his ear, hips riding him as his fingers grip me harder. Hard enough to leave marks. God, I hope he leaves marks.
Suddenly, I’m feral for him.
I slam down on him harder and hiss at the slight sting.
“Jesus,” he grits out as he sits up, one hand pushing us into a new position where I’m still straddling him, but upright. Somehow, even more intimate, because now I’m not on top and in control. We’re face-to-face with nothing between us.
His hot, minty breath fans against my lips, and when I move again, he grips me in place. “Baby, hold up. I need a second.”
I clench at the term of endearment, hands draped over his shoulders as I watch him. Adam’s apple bobbing, tongue darting out over that full bottom lip.
No wonder it was so hard to hate him. Especially now, looking so undone, so vulnerable—all for me. It’s like my body knew all along and was just waiting for my mind to catch up.
My fingers rake over the back of his neck, and I search his eyes. Irises so dark, yet sparkling so brightly.
He shakes his head softly, disbelief flashing over his features, and then he drops his mouth to mine. His palm is flat and firm, moving up the column of my spine before his fingers tangle in my hair.
And then he’s kissing me. Holding me. Pumping into me. That sting from earlier transforms into the most delicious ache as we join.
We take our time, all those protective walls we put up crumbling down between us as my hips roll and his hands roam. My chest aches from the tenderness of it, the reverent exploration freeing in so many ways.
His stubble against my neck tips my head back as I give him space to keep going. “Goddamn, you feel so good. So tight. So wet.”
My hips drop harder as I ride him.
“So fucking eager.”
The frenzy inside me builds. His praise feels too good to keep going slow. It makes me hungrier. “More, Rhys. Give me more.”
He chuckles, low and sensual, in my ear. “So fucking demanding too. Downright desperate?—”
“I’m not?—”
He cuts me off when he turns us so that he’s seated on the edge of the bed. Then he flips me like I’m a doll, manhandling me into position so that I’m still straddling him but facing away.
Facing the mirror that I so lovingly propped against the wall for him.
And I can’t look away. The dim light from the stairs lights the space enough to give me a clear view of what he’s doing to me. With both hands on my waist, he lifts me, lines us up, and slowly impales me on his cock.
He watches from over my shoulder, both of us panting and unable to look away as he fills me. The way his hands look on my body, the way his tattoos look even darker in the shadows—it all makes me wetter. My chest blazes with heat, and my nipples tingle so intensely that I reach for them, twisting gently between my thumb and fingers.
“See? Look at you. You gonna tell me you’re not desperate for it?”
“Maybe you’re the one who’s desperate for it.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. Dark on dark.
He lifts me and drops me down again. I whimper, refusing to admit it out loud to him. That one last shred of power is just too fucking hard to relinquish.
He hums a low chuckle at my silence and bites my shoulder before smoothing away the sharpness with a delicious swipe of his tongue. “Desperate to fill my wife’s tight little cunt once and for all?”
I suck in a breath as he moves again. Pulling out. Pushing in.
“Why would I ever bother denying that? Especially since I promised you no more secrets?” The pace between us ratchets up a notch. His thrusts come more quickly. The pads of my fingers pinch harder. His soft lips and bristly stubble at the crook of my neck make me squirm in his lap to the point where I’m practically bouncing on him.
“Been dreaming about bending you over since that first day you waltzed into my house, Tabby. So yeah, I’d say I’m desperate for it.”
“ Fuck .” From a man who went from telling me nothing at all, that confession hits like a wrecking ball. Warmth spreads throughout my body, and my hamstrings tighten.
His palm slips around my front, fingers finding my clit with mind-numbing accuracy. He circles there as we rock together.
“But I think what I’m most desperate for is seeing you come. Right here, riding my cock, where I can watch you.”
One glance up at the mirror, and his intense glare pierces me. I look downright wanton. Wild in his arms. His fingers work my clit. His cock fills me. And his words undo me.
I come hard and fast and on a breathless shout that pitches me forward. Heat suffuses every limb, and my entire body pulses. A sheen of sweat breaks out across my skin as my heart beats in time with his.
Too far gone to keep my eyes open, I don’t watch in the mirror. But he does.
I hear his raspy, “Fucking beautiful,” right before his grip goes rougher. He fucks me with reckless abandon as my pussy continues to spasm around him.
Within seconds, he joins me. His release rushes into me as I take it all and revel in every throb of his cock.
He lifts me without pulling out, hugging my back to his front as his forehead rests on the top of my shoulder while we both attempt to catch our breath.
And all I can think is that I am desperate for it. Because I definitely want to do that again.