41. Rae
41
RAE
The bed’s empty when I wake.
I splay my palms on the base sheet; arms stretched out on either side of me. It's warmer on Digger's side than Tyke's, but barely. Both are nearly cold to the touch. I blink at the ceiling a few times, waiting for the groggy remnants of a deep sleep to leave before I decide what to do next.
Before anything else, I need the bathroom, at least.
Tyke’s cut is gone from where I left it, a vacant space on the dummy when I roll to my side and prepare to slide from under the covers. Interestingly, though, Digger’s still sits draped over the back of the armchair where Tyke set it last night before we all crawled into bed. Bare feet to the chilly floor, I rise and stretch both arms over my head to evaluate how my body feels.
My hips ache, a dull throb taking root in my lower back that's echoed in my pelvis. My legs feel as though I'd climbed a hundred flights of stairs while I slept, fatigue heavy in my limbs. Nothing unusual, then. By the lick of sunshine creeping from the edges of the curtains, it must be well after breakfast, but my phone’s upstairs in my room, so I have no way of telling.
Surely, if whatever happens today involves me, Digger or Tyke would have woken me. I pause with that feeling, the realization that this is how it’ll be from here on out—I’ll know what I need to, and for the rest of the time, I’ll keep myself occupied while they take care of club business.
I feel like an underground version of the Real Wives of Beverly Hills , being spoken for and taken care of.
Bored.
Is that all I have to look forward to? Petty gossip and game of who has the best what?
"Whatever." I turn for the bathroom, sliding the door open.
I'm not prepared for what I find on the other side.
Digger. Knelt on the cold tile floor, arms stretched above his head in child’s pose.
“Mornin’.” His rumbled greeting comes muffled by the bathmat rumpled between his chin and knees.
“Morning.” I edge around him and reach for the mouthwash to temper my carpet tongue. “Sleep well?”
He chuckles, slowly pulling back until he's knelt with fists resting on his knees, facing me. "I did. Thanks.”
“So…” I gesture to him with the uncapped bottle. “What’s this for?”
“Habit.” He shrugs, glorious traps on beautiful display.
I draw a mouthful of alcohol and eyeball the fall of his hair across his brow, the carefree muss of those gorgeous fucking locks, and groan a little at the urge to fist it in my hands while I ride him as he is. Shit. The relief has arrived. Day one of my period and a respite from the madness. Awesome.
“You lookin’ at me like that for a reason?” He lifts an eyebrow, aware I can’t answer him with a mouthful of this stuff. “Because I can give you one if you ain’t.”
Damn. I gargle and spit the mouthwash out, wiping my lips afterward with the hand towel to the right. "I have reasons."
“They the same as mine?” He’s on his feet and closer to me than I realize when I straighten out.
“On my period, remember.”
“Don’t care.” He whispers the next word against my ear. “Remember?”
All I manage is a heavy exhale before Digger has me spun in his arms, hands to my waist as he hoists me onto the counter. I’m faced with a beautifully menacing man, eyes wild, and all for me.
My goddamn nipples hurt they’re so hard.
“Only boys get scared by a little blood.” He smirks, then his lips are on mine, devouring, hot, a definite promise.
I give in to my urges and thread my fingers through his hair, holding him to me as I tangle my tongue against his, relishing the same minty taste he finds on mine. Fists to the counter, he leans into me, forcing me backward until my shoulders hit the mirror, bottles toppling beneath me. One adjustment of his hands and my hips are jerked forward, my center slamming against his very obvious, very hard length. Holy fuck.
I need this. I need it so damn bad that even I don’t care anymore.
Digger breaks from our kiss, moving his mouth along my jaw and down my throat before uttering, “Tampon?”
I nod.
He growls, low in his throat. “It’s in my way.”
Hands to his shoulders, I urge him back far enough to read his face. The man is dead serious.
I slide off the counter and gesture for him to turn around. He does so with a sigh, erection tenting his boxer shorts, and folds his arms.
I dispose of the fucker, wipe twice to be sure, and freeze when Digger bends double to pull his boxers free of his legs.
Damn. I’ve seen him naked. I’ve seen him clothed. And I’ve seen him a mixture of both. And yet, I can’t decide which is my favorite. Digger's art, any way you look at it.
And he’s mine.
My heart skips a beat, tight in my chest, as I wipe again and flush.
Surely, this killed the mood.
The goddamn rod I’m presented with when he turns to face me says no. “Back how you were.” He jerks his head to the side, gesturing to the counter.
I hop my ass up there, somewhat awkwardly, and gasp when he jerks me right to the fucking edge. His thumb presses against my clit, circling, and he leans in to taste my jaw before uttering, “Better.”
All I can think about is the mess I’ll have to clean up after.
As though reading my mind, he slaps the back of his hand against my swollen mound and quips, “It’s all marble and tile, Rae. Relax.”
How he expects me to do that when he then feasts on my nipples, I have no idea. I suck in a sharp breath, gripping the back of his head, and close my eyes to the sensations. My core throbs, my goddamn pussy a needy bitch when she’s been so traumatized. I ache to feel him there, despite what day of the month it is.
I fucking need this. We fucking need this.
Digger lifts his head, finding my gaze as he pauses, and then lines himself with my entrance. Eyes locked on his, I steady my breaths as he slowly pushes against my tight muscles, gauging my reaction to the discomfort. It's a little more awkward than usual, but the pleasure outweighs any pain, and before long, it's my hands on his lower back as I pull myself onto him.
"Fuck, Rae." He tips his head, frowning as he pulls back and relishes the re-entry—every agonizingly slow second. "You feel that?"
“Yes,” I breathe. God, do I feel that.
"Feel how much tighter you are like this?" His words strain as he looks down at where he pumps in and out of me. "Why a little mess don't matter?"
It fucking doesn’t. Really.
“You ready?” He lifts an eyebrow and pins me with the sexiest fucking stare from beneath his brow.
I nod like the mute rag doll I am and hold on as Digger thrusts harder. Sharper. Deeper.
I’m a veritable pile of jellied bones by the time my climax nears, an orgasm nipping at the heels of his release as he strains the most perfect question ever. “You gonna come for me, Rae?”
My inner walls choking the hell out of his dick is the answer.
One hand wrapped around the back of my neck, the other to my hip, Digger follows me into bliss.
And for that moment, life is exactly as it should be.
Me, one of my men, and the paradise that can be found when the rest of the world falls away.