29. Chapter 29
twenty-nine
Boston
Am I a homewrecker? Sure as fuck seems like it. Maybe I should officially change my middle name from Steel to Homewrecker. Boston Homewrecker Rawlings. Has a ring to it, I guess.
Mrs. Davis is one thing. That’s transactional—something I compartmentalize.
But this? This is Skye.
It feels like stepping off a cliff on purpose and not even trying to brace for impact.
I lean back against the couch, my heart still jackhammering in my chest because, fuck, that was close. Too close. So close that my body’s still very much reacting to her nearness, her scent, the electric current charging the molecules between our lips.
Parts of me stir that I wish I had more control over.
God, I’m such an asshole. All she asked for tonight was safety. Comfort. Company. And what did I do? I almost turned this whole thing into something that could ruin… everything.
Any second now she’s going to get up from the couch—tell me to leave, or, actually, she’s too kind for that. She’ll let me stay, but she’ll retreat to her room and leave me to my festering thoughts. The ones I’ve been warring with since I came back to Stillwater.
Ugh, who am I kidding? I’ve been thinking about her since long before I even left.
I feel her shift, hyperaware of how close she still is, of the blanket still partially covering both of us. Of the fact that if I turned my head even slightly, I’d be looking right back into those aqua eyes.
She clears her throat softly.
Here it comes.
I’m going upstairs.
Instead—
“I’ve never had an orgasm,” she says quietly.
What in the ever-loving—
My head whips toward her. “What?”
She takes a deep breath, then turns to look at me, her expression serious.
“I’ve never had an orgasm.”
Everything in me stills. “But… I’m sorry, but…” I trail off waiting for the punchline. It doesn’t come. “You’ve never… with Archer?”
She presses her lips together, shaking her head.
Jesus, talk about a confession.
I frown. “But you’ve been together, like, two years.”
“Yeah,” she says, her hand curling into a fist by her side.
I lean onto my elbows to better see her face in the dark. “You… you’ve had sex, right?” For all I know, they’re saving themselves for marriage. Doubtful, based on what I know about Archer, but who the hell knows.
“Oh, yeah,” she says quickly.
I take a breath. Then another while I try to organize my thoughts. I don’t know how far I get to push, what I’m allowed to ask, what the line is. “Not even during foreplay? Like, when he goes down on you or—”
“He’s never gone down on me.”
She can’t be serious.
“Why not?”
Skye shrugs. “He says he doesn’t like it.”
Okay. Fine. Maybe oral just isn’t his thing. “Do you… does he expect you to do it for him though?”
She nods.
“That’s bullshit.” I mutter.
Her eyes search mine carefully. “You don’t like Archer, huh?”
Nope. I sure as fuck don’t.
“I don’t like the way he treats you.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “That’s the same thing.”
“Not to me.”
“He’s not a bad guy.”
I bet she’s said this exact line a hundred times.
“He left you, Stormy. He knew how scared you were. And he left you.”
It’s far from the only reason, but it’s the only one I trust myself to say out loud.
She doesn’t look upset or even defensive. She just looks… resigned.
“I should… I should go to bed,” she says, more to herself than me.
I knew this would happen, but still my heart plummets into my stomach.
“You don’t have to,” I say gently. “I’ll behave. I promise.”
She studies me for a long moment, probably deciding whether she can trust me, trust that I won’t talk shit about her boyfriend or try to take advantage of her vulnerability again. Man, I really did screw up.
Then she shifts, pulling her legs up and curling up at the opposite end of the couch. But at least she isn’t leaving. I lie back, too, staring at the damn ceiling like it holds answers to questions I don’t know how to ask.
My body wants to close the distance, wants her head back on my shoulder, but my brain knows better. So I stay still.
Minutes pass. Her breathing is uneven at first, a little restless. Then it slows, turning deeper, more rhythmic, signaling sleep.
I turn my head, just enough to see her profile in the dark. Moonlight catches in her hair, soft against the pillow, brushing silver across her skin. Her lips are parted just a little, her face peaceful in a way it never is when she’s awake.
I’m in so much trouble.