Chapter Four
FOUR
Phoebe
“How does it feel?” Rocky asks me late at night.
We’re in the tiny kitchen of my cute and quaint loft that resides above Baubles & Bookends. Sharing a cheap bottle of Pinot Noir, which I bought last week for a girls’ night with Hailey. It’s probably sacrilege drinking it with her older brother while she’s asleep. Especially knowing that she’s clueless about me and Rocky hooking up.
She doesn’t even know that I love him—let alone like him.
I’ll be a better friend tomorrow.
Tonight is a wine night. Or a date night? I don’t know what this is with Rocky—other than the aftermath of total chaos. It’s one a.m. It’d be normal to be tired from the endless curveballs thrown at us in just forty-eight hours. But I’m seated on a high.
The roller coaster of our lives never stops plunging. I’ve never experienced a true calm, and weirdly, I don’t think it’s what I’ve been searching for in Victoria.
“How does what feel?” I ask…my boyfriend? Is that even what he is? I take a hearty sip from the bottle. Not tensed or uncomfortable. I’m just taking it all in. Me. Him. The newness of us together for real.
How I’m sitting cross-legged on the counter.
How he’s standing and angling his weight against the cupboards, just to face me. Just to be inches away. Just to be near.
“Telling your mom no for once,” he clarifies. “How does it feel?”
I texted my mom a short voice memo. I told her she’s not matchmaking me and Rocky. Straight to the point. Nothing incriminating. If she wants to delete it, she can.
“It feels like she’s blowing up my phone,” I say as the screen lights up on the counter beside my kneecap.
My stomach plummets seeing her panic in real time.
“You care for her still?” Rocky asks.
“Not like I did,” I say sourly, and pass him the Pinot. “It hurts. She hurt me, and I guess it feels like the woman I knew died. I don’t even know who this person is anymore.” It’s why I’m not reaching for the phone to respond.
She can wait.
Rocky seems understanding. We’re all slowly coming to terms with our parents’ betrayal, and I don’t expect either of my older brothers to have the same exact reaction as me. Not when we all had different relationships with our mom.
“What about you?” I ask Rocky. “How does it feel taking several hundred steps away from them?”
He lifts the bottle to his mouth. “Like we could take several hundred more.” He swigs.
I wonder what will satisfy him. If anything really can. “We could be on different continents from them and I bet it wouldn’t be far enough for you.”
He licks wine off his lips. “Distance doesn’t make my heart grow fonder.”
“What does?” I ask. “Death?”
He widens his eyes. “Now there’s an idea.” He forces a dry smile.
“Plan to kill me, too?” I force a tight smile back.
He sets the Pinot on the counter. “My heart, or whatever’s left of it, is already too fucking fond of you.”
Breath sputters in my lungs, and my smile goes unsteady when his smoldering gaze traces over my features. We’ve only had sex once. But it was also with the pretense that we would be together for real and that the one time would turn into two times, then three, then a hundred thousand.
If this is actually a date, which I’m starting to believe yes, it is, Phoebe , then I imagine sex will follow…or start?
Honestly, I never really conceptualized what a real date with Rocky would be like. But regardless of what happens next, sharing time alone in a kitchen sounds about right.
I’m not dressed to the nines. I’m just wearing white sweatpants with an embroidered strawberry on the butt pocket. Wet strands of my hair stick against my chest and soak my cropped blue T-shirt from a recent shower.
My face is bare of makeup. My lips are only coated with Aquaphor to combat cracking.
Whereas Rocky is still in expensive navy-blue slacks and a black Calvin Klein tee. The cotton molds to his biceps, and I ache for those strong arms to wrap around me. To hold me so tightly and throttle feelings that I only ever feel with him.
Without thinking, I rest my palms flat behind me and uncross my legs. Spread my knees apart. “You want to fuck me, Ex-Husband?” I ask him quietly.
“ Fake Ex-Husband,” he corrects, his eyes glued to mine. Somehow, it’s more intimate—Rocky staying fixed on my face rather than my pussy. His control heats my core.
“Fake Ex-Husband,” I echo. “And Real…?”
“Boyfriend,” he declares. “That okay with you, Fake Ex-Wife?” Yes, yes, yes!
I smooth my lips together, a way too big smile trying to form. “It kind of sucks.” I shrug.
“Liar,” he calls me out casually, lovingly.
It softens my smile, and I peer past the cozy living room where two bookshelves flank a brick fireplace. A tiny hallway leads to two bedrooms, and right now, those doors are shut. I told Hailey to take my bed since Trevor has been crashing in hers.
The sofa has my name on it tonight.
There’s such a slim chance either of them will wake up, and the risk that they might sounds oddly exhilarating.
Looks like I still love Danger with a capital D.
So I tempt Rocky a little more by lifting the hem of my shirt to my collarbone. No bra. I let him see my breasts and hardened nipples. The left one has a barbell piercing.
Again, he doesn’t look.
What the hell.
My pulse suddenly races at the unknown trajectory of us, and my cheeks warm. “Afraid someone might walk in?”
“Of all the things to be afraid of?” He arches his brows. “That’s not on my fucking list.”
“Your fear of geese ranks higher?”
“I don’t like geese. I’m not afraid of them.”
I point a finger. “If you see one on a sidewalk, you will go out of your way to cross the street to avoid it. That is fear, not aversion.”
He’s struggling not to look at my boobs now, and a guttural, sexy noise rumbles in his throat.
I smile, more satisfied.
“Pull your shirt down.”
“Take your shirt off,” I counter.
Rocky grips the back collar of his tee, then pulls it over his head. Bare chested. Ridges of his abs and sculpted muscles capture my attention for a sweltering second, and the V line leading toward his cock almost seduces me forward.
Forcing my gaze to his, I remain cool, composed, not at all suffocating inside the toxins of arousal. Nope.
My lungs are on fire. “Nice abs.”
“Nice tits.” He’s removing his belt.
My pulse pitches. Where is this going? The thrill is pure headiness, and I cling to the exhilaration for dear life.
Still, I bristle at the idea of being too easy. I want to be what I feel I truly am—rough around the edges, antagonistic, a sword to his sword. Fire to his fire.
Lounging back on my hands, I touch my foot to his chest. Keeping him at a distance. My heartbeat pounds so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it. “Maybe I don’t want you,” I say with slight rasp.
He devours me with one all-consuming look. “Maybe you know this won’t stop me.” He pushes my foot off like I’m putty and not steel.
As a counterstrike, I hop off the butcher-board counter. “Maybe this was all just for show.” I tug my shirt down, hiding my tits.
He blocks me from passing, and the air strains when we go head-to-head. We’re the apex predators, the ones in a molten standoff, the ones who clearly want to copulate.
He’s fisting his belt.
I hear my shallow breath as he bows his head closer to my cheek, and in a deep, husky whisper, he says, “Maybe you’re doing what you were born to do.”
I stare him down. “Be a tease?”
“Lie through your fucking teeth.” He stalks forward.
I step back.
Holy shit.
Our chests bump, and my knees threaten to buckle with unconscionable longings and more brutal desires. I crave for him to chase me. I crave for him to manhandle every vibrating inch of me. Until I don’t know what’s up or down. Until I black out.
He corners me against the cupboards. His left hand clutches my face. Possessive, forceful aggression. It’s detonating. I almost slacken against his muscled build and succumb right here. I swallow a moan. “Rocky,” I warn, glaring.
He eats it up. “Shall we count the fucking lies?” He threads his leg between mine, and I feel his weight against my body. Bearing on me so I can’t move away. His lips touch my ear as his hot whisper ignites me. “One: you don’t want me.”
“Two,” I say with heat. “You can’t have me.” I wrestle against him.
“Three.” He pins me harder with his body. “You. Hate. This ,” he growls from his core, and I pulsate because I. Love. This . “Four: you hate how I’m never letting you go, no matter how much you protest.”
My lips part to object, but an aching sound threatens to escape instead.
His fingers slide into my hair. Gripping the blue, wet strands. “Five: you hate how I’m going to destroy your little cunt tonight.” Oh fuck. “Six: you hate how I won’t stop. I’ll never fucking stop. Railing you. In and out. Loving you. In…and out.”
I’m trembling against him, and a noise squeaks out of me I’ve never heard before. I’m dizzy and miss the opportunity to shove him when he hoists me up on the counter.
“Rocky.” It’s more wanting than combative this time. His lips graze my lips, and the almost-there glimpse of a kiss is obliterating me in…and out.
“Phoebe.” Veins protrude in his neck as he keeps from exploding forward. He’s edging us, and I have a very good feeling this is as big of a turn-on for him as it is for me.
Then suddenly, he captures my wrists.
Using the belt, he starts fastening them to the rattan handles of the seafoam-green cabinets above my head. “Safe word. Remember it?” he asks in a whisper.
I nod, trying to capture my runaway breath.
“Say it,” he demands.
Then what? It’s over before it starts. “You know, actually…” I cock my head, feigning confusion while I tug at the restraint. “It’s not ringing a bell.”
He narrows his eyes. “You really want me to leave you tied up all night, don’t you?”
I glare. “You wouldn’t.”
“Safe word.”
“Asshole.” I scowl.
He flashes a dry smile. “Wrong one.” He presses forward and grips the wooden counter beside my thighs, forcing my legs to spread open around him. He’s assessing me, how I’m barely fighting against the leather belt, how I’m stalling—but not because I dislike being restrained by him. Then he asks, “You’re afraid this is going to end soon? Is that it?”
Yeah. I inhale deeper.
It’s attractive—how much Rocky can read into my actions like I’m an open book, when I feel like I’ve always lived untouched and lost on a dusty shelf. How long has he held the pages of who I am? How long has he loved each messy line?
How long have I loved the pages of who he is?
“Are you afraid it’ll end soon?” I whisper.
He’s gripping the back of my skull with an affection I could melt into. “No. Because I’m going to take my excruciating…long…hard time with you.”
“Miami,” I breathe out the safe word. Finally giving in to him.
There is only hunger and need in his eyes, and I return the sentiments in mine before our lips collide to a vicious beat inside me. Holy…fuck. His clawing, forceful kisses shove me harder into the cabinet. Yes, God. I instinctively jerk against the belt—to touch him.
I can’t…
But his hands—they’re on me. He’s tearing my sweatpants to my ankles. “Be fucking quiet.”
“You be fucking quiet,” I hiss in a shortened, hot breath.
Sweatpants off. Pink lacy panties on. I think he’s going to strip me completely naked, but Rocky fishes for the button of his slacks. He steps out of his navy-blue pants, then tugs off his boxer briefs with the confidence of a fucking god.
He is well endowed, extremely hard, and very naked in my shared kitchen. I like this—no, I’m obsessed with this. He’s the one who’s bare first, and maybe from our first time together he knew I really enjoyed seeing him strip.
He’s not lifting my shirt to peer at my tits. I’m curious to see what turns him on, too. We’re in an exploration phase, and sexual intimacy with Rocky is so enthrallingly new.
He slips my panties roughly off my legs, then grips my kneecaps and splits them back open. He’s looking at my bare pussy with a primal expression. My heart rate accelerates at the vulnerability with him. Being naked from the waist down, I could probably do this anywhere and feel fine. If fine is hollow.
Now, I don’t feel fine.
I feel combustible. On the verge of a volcanic eruption.
“Like what you see?” I rasp.
“Yeah,” he says while staring deeply into my eyes. “I’m going to eat you alive, little nightmare.” Fuck me. I can’t even think before he has my ass in his hands. He hoists me upward while I instinctively hook my legs over his shoulders. My wrists pull at the cabinets, but Rocky keeps me steady.
He’s face-to-face with my cunt, and I’m a withering, wet mess for him. All the while, his gaze is fixed on mine.
He never breaks.
Not when his mouth closes over my sensitive bud. Not when my thighs tremble against his shoulders. Not when he licks and sucks.
Ohh God… I imprison each moan in my throat, smothering the high-pitched, pleasured sounds. I’m breathy and losing sense of time as sweat builds, as Rocky’s possessive hand rises against the curve of my hip.
His touch, his tongue, his presence electrifies every single inch of me.
But it’s his eyes causing critical damage. I’m caught inside those gray swirls of tempestuous storms. It’s a vortex he’s dragged me into, and I’m wrenching him into mine. We’re locked in, as if hurled into our twisted past—the years upon years of longing and grief of needing .
The intensity is unlike…anything.
I’m lost inside the transcendent moment, ripped into shreds by the way he works my arousal and emotions into a tight coil. I’m on an ascent for I don’t know how long.
My breath heavies, and I’m struggling to stay silent. “Rocky.” My warning turns into a quiet, quiet whimper. “Please.” I need to come. I take it back—I don’t want this to last forever. I’m going to be really fucking loud if he keeps stretching out this insane pleasure.
“I’m not done with you.” His graveled voice sounds hoarser with need, and I try to glare, but I’m being eaten out by Rocky . The guy who’s protected me my entire life. Who’s always been there for me. Who will be there for me in new, exciting, unbelievable ways. We’re really together.
He’s all mine.
“ Please ,” I whine. God, I can’t believe I’m whining for him to make me come.
“Impatient much?” His graveled, asshole voice shouldn’t be such a turn-on.
I groan, and despite my wrists being bound to the cabinet, I flip him off. He sees, and I swear he smiles before his tongue enters me.
This is torture.
The greatest kind.
The next time he sucks my clit, he drives a toe-curling orgasm out of me. My gasp turns into the start of a cry—he quickly plants a hand over my mouth and drops my legs and ass to the counter.
I’m shaking from a full-body climax. Spurred on from oral .
I’m a goner. Done. Deceased.
This can’t be real life. My breath sputters from the aftermath of the shock waves, and Rocky is eye level with me once more. He brushes back pieces of my damp hair that have fallen in my face.
In the wake of his demolition, the softer gesture causes weird butterflies to flap inside my body.
“Can you keep going?” he asks seriously.
I intake sharp breaths. “Does it look like I can’t?”
His brows spike. “You seriously want me to answer that?”
I scowl and make a point to inhale mega lungfuls of oxygen. “I’m not done with you ,” I retort and tug on the belt again. Frustrated that I can’t put my hands on him.
He’s near laughter.
I grow hotter. “It’s not funny.”
His smirk only widens. “It’s really fucking funny, actually.” He stands between my legs, and his masculine palms slide up my thighs to my hips. Oh, wow. My pulse skids, and I’m fastened to his assured movements and how he’s drinking me in. “You don’t want to fuck me, Phebs. You want me to fuck you.”
“You can’t know that,” I whisper, cheeks heating. I’m both loving that he sees me so well and also hating how unraveling it feels. “We’ve only been together for a week, Rocky.”
“Then let’s go to the couch. You can fuck me while I just lie there with my hands behind my head.”
I stubbornly ignore the roil of my stomach. “Fine. Let’s go.” I wait for him to untie me.