by Shandi Boyes
Is it possible to come without knowing it? If so, the undeniable wobble of my thighs has me wondering if the thrill from his laughter was just a figment of my imagination. The joy strumming through my veins matches the sensations I experience after I’ve O’d.
Once Alex's laughter settles down, he lowers his glistening baby blues to my face. They are darkened with undiluted heat.
When he attempts to speak, I beat him to it, "Why are you sleeping in my bed?"
“Ah.” He stops talking, seemingly conflicted about whether to tell me the truth or not. He goes for the former when he stammers out, “Your mom thinks we’re an item.”
I cock a brow. “That’s not surprising. She’s an old romantic at heart. She believes she can spot a couple from a mile out. My dad, on the other hand. . .” I leave my question open for Alex to answer how he sees fit.
He doesn’t keep me waiting long. "Warned me about the shotgun under his bed."
A smile creeps across my face. “You know he’s joking, right?”
"About the shotgun, no. I’m certain he has one. About shooting me with it. . .I’m hoping for some leniency," Alex answers without delay, his grin as intoxicating as his confidence makes me. "But even if I’m off the mark with your dad’s protectiveness, I know I don't snore."
I roll my eyes. “I might have elaborated on that part of my statement, but I’m sticking with my original complaint. Even if my mom thought we were hot for one another, what gives you the right to share my bed without asking? You could have slept on the floor.”
A bucket of water is thrown over my fire-hot attitude when Alex removes a strand of hair from my face. It isn't his caring nature causing my heart to stutter; it's what he says while doing it. "I know. But just like I'm aware I don't snore, I wasn't joking when I said you talk in your sleep." My throat dries when his eyes dance between mine. The lust holding them hostage earlier has dissipated, leaving nothing but respect and understanding. "You called out for Luca a few times last night. That settled once I hopped into bed with you."
I try to deny his assumption. I try to fire off a witty remark that will have him chewing his words like Clancy chomped on his hand yesterday. But with nothing except integrity beaming from his eyes, I’m void of a comeback. I dream of Luca often, so Alex’s revelation isn’t surprising. There's just one piece of the puzzle he failed to notice. Last night’s dream also included him.
After settling my heart rate, I murmur, "So you used a dead boyfriend as an invitation into my bed? Not very diplomatic of you, Mister Fancy Pants." I use his loathed nickname in the hope of easing the tension between us.
It works—somewhat.
“I don’t need to use Luca to get to you, Rae.” Alex says his comment without the jealousy usually present when I mention Luca. “Apparently, I only need to sidestep these.”
The seriousness fueling our conversation is doused when he yanks open my bedside table. “You weren’t joking when you said you had a lot of free time when you were younger. I don’t even know what half these gadgets are. Like this one. . .” He grunts as if he's lifting a car with his pinkie. “It looks like an unopened tulip, although I’m fairly certain it isn’t.”
He holds a six-inch clitoral vibrator with fluttering tips an inch from my eyes. I want to pretend my flaming red cheeks are because I'm mad his snooping ways unearthed my extensive collection of sex toys, but it has nothing to do with that. I'm hot from having his body pressed so intimately close to mine.
He seems more concerned with evading our second deep and meaningful in less than twelve hours than maintaining a respectable distance between us, to the extent that we've practically become one. He just needs to insert his extremely large column throbbing against my thigh into my aching column holder, and we'd be perfectly aligned.
Happy to use his skirting skills to my advantage, I say, “That’s a multicombination vibrator. It’s perfect for vulvar, clitoral, and nipple play. Do you want me to show you how it works?”
The vital organ in Alex’s body, which I’m striving to ignore, flexes halfway through my question. He stares down at me with a range of emotions in his eyes. Excitement. Envy. Lust. . .and remorse? I don’t know why the last one bothers me as much as it does. I’m accustomed to the pity stares, and the “oh, look, it’s that poor Myers girl Luca left all alone.” I just hate seeing it in Alex’s eyes.
"I meant a store clerk demonstration—not an in-depth rundown on how it works. Look. . .” I snatch the plum purple vibrator out of his hand and switch it on. Shockingly, the batteries are still fresh. “See. The tips flutter to boost arousal and sensitivity.”
If I ever have kids, can I please be excused from giving the birds and bees talk? I’m a grown woman who has used sex toys as long as I’ve been sexually active, yet I’m stammering like a sixth grader who took his mom’s butt plug to school for show and tell.
I’m not the only one riding the uncomfortable train. Alex’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down as his eyes continuously dart between the vibrator and me.
I realize I still have a lot to learn about the man pinning me to a bed for the second time in under twenty-four hours when he asks, "Does this device get you off?"
"Most of the time," I answer with a concealed smirk.
The plump curves of Alex’s mouth are showcased in a brilliant light when he licks his dry lips. “Most of the time? Why only most of the time?”
“Well, nearly all the time. It has only failed once.”
Something in my tone must give me away. Either that or Alex is a mind reader. “By any chance, was that one-time failure on a Friday night? Say earlier this week?”
His smug tone makes me want to punch him in the stomach. Regrettably—and thankfully—it's plastered too close to mine for me to act on my desires.
With a wink exposing he's a mind reader, Alex places my vibrator back in its rightful spot.
Incapable of letting him think he has won, I say, “Hold on a minute. Don’t put it away. I need it.”
“You need it?” When I nod, Alex chokes out, “Right now?”
I breathe through the fire roaring through my midsection from his cock dangerously thickening against my thigh. My struggle for air is evident when I breathlessly quote, “They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but all I need is an orgasm.”
With a wink as daring as the one he awarded me mere seconds ago, I shove him off me, throw my legs off the bed, then dart for my attached bathroom. When I slam the door shut with me and my fully charged vibrator on the other side, Alex’s groan vibrates through both the door and my core, making the need for any gyrating equipment unnecessary.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My steps out of Regan’s bathroom are slow and sluggish. It's barely 5 AM—I kid you not! With all the blood in my body rushing to my lower extremities, I had no clue my interaction with Regan this morning was happening before the sun had even risen. Who bothers looking at a clock when you’re awakened by a woman as beautiful and captivating as Regan? Not anyone sane.
I've barely crossed the threshold between the bathroom and Regan's bedroom when a sing-song voice halts my steps. "Whatcha doing?"
Although Regan’s voice is missing the angst it held last night when she was gripped by a nightmare, its mischievous edge raises my skepticism. “Showering. You?” I pretend I can’t see her sitting on her bed, eating cheese puffs for breakfast.
“Eating cheese puffs,” she answers, stating the obvious. “It’s what I always do while waiting for the show to begin.”
“Show?” My brows lift as I scan the bed she's sitting on, seeking the clothes I laid out before entering the bathroom.
My eyes return to Regan when she drags out, "Yeah. Show." Her face doesn't give anything away, but her eyes’ appreciative rake over my body reveal every sordid detail of the "show" she's waiting for.
“Rae. . .”
My words fall short when she stands to her feet to mosey my way. She has her killer I'm going to destroy you with noth
ing but my eyes look down pat. Her hair is sitting on the top of her head in a messy bun only someone as gorgeous as she could pull off, and her face is void of makeup. She's a fucking knockout, and I'm utterly defenseless to her allure.
“It’s only fair we even the playing field, right? You’ve seen mine; now I get to see yours.” She slants her head to the side as if to say, don’t worry, I won’t kill you just yet before her eyes stray to the towel sitting dangerously low on my hips. “If it makes you feel any better, we can pretend you’re unwell, and I’m the nurse checking your vitals.”
After returning her eyes to mine, she pops a cheese puff between her lips and seductively pushes it into her mouth. You'd think comparing my cock to a cheese puff would kill any chance of me getting a boner. It doesn't. I'm so fucking hard, I have no doubt Regan can see the outline of my cock through my towel. Or even worse, I'm pitching a four-person tent.
I could glance down to check, but that’s the equivalent of tapping out to a woman as fierce as Regan. I've been called many things, but there's one I'll never be accused of: being a quitter. I'll walk from Texas to Florida butt-naked before I announce defeat in our latest game of tit for tat. Don't get me wrong; I'll happily fall to my knees in front of Regan. But once I'm done with her, I won't be the only one legless.
“Do you always eat cheese puffs for breakfast?” I whip off my towel and dump it at her feet as if I am oblivious to the challenge in her eyes. “I thought you country folks were all about the protein. How are you supposed to have strong bones if you start your day with chips created on the floor of an animal feed factory?”
“Protein doesn’t make your bones strong. Milk does,” Regan replies, trying her hardest to keep her eyes above my waistline but miserably failing. “Amongst other things.” Her eyes drop to my crotch when she stutters over the word “other.”
Ignoring the way her prolonged stare increases the thickness of my cock, I scan her room once more, seeking my bag. “Have you seen my clothes? I swear I left them right where you were sitting."
“Nope,” Regan replies with a shake of her head. “Haven’t seen them.”
She’s a terrible liar. Not only did she blink three times before she tried to pull the wool over my eyes, her lust-filled gaze unintentionally darted to a set of drawers on my left. She’s as bad as a drug addict hoping to hide her stash from her parole officer. She just gave away her loot without a single word seeping from her lips.
If it wasn’t 5 AM—and I wasn’t hard enough to drill through the equator—I’d head straight for the drawer she glanced at. But since I’m working off minimal sleep and a sudden lack of blood supply to my brain, I play along.
"What am I going to do if I can't find my clothes? Your dad threatened to milk my gizzards with a bucket last night, so I don't think he’d appreciate me wandering around his property with my junk hanging out."
Regan’s smile makes my idiocy even more perceptible. “I can think of a few things you can do without clothes.”
I wait for her teeth to finish raking her lower lip before asking, “Oh, yeah. Like what?”
I wish I had listened to the dirty side of my brain when it demanded I stroke one out in the shower earlier when Regan proceeds to fill the last ounce of air between us. I can't think with this many pheromones pumping through my veins. I can't even talk.
Touch, on the other hand. I have no issues with touch. My fingers weave through Regan’s hair to unknot her bun before she’s even come to a stop, and my mouth inclines toward hers just as quickly, stealing any chance of a protest.
Well, that was my plan.
“Nuh-uh.” Regan’s lips are so close to mine, her devastating rejection vibrates my mouth before nicking a vital artery in my chest. “We’ve been there, done that.” Her wide-with-need eyes lift to mine. “You left me hanging—twice.”
"Twice? When?" Her eyes answer my question on her behalf. "Hell no. I'm not accepting blame for the incident this morning. You weren't the only one left hanging. My cock hasn't stopped pulsating since you left me high and dry. It's fucking distraught after your effort."
I expect Regan’s showy personality to illuminate from the devastation in my tone, but for some unknown reason, it has the opposite effect. “Ha! Thanks to you, I haven’t climaxed in over two months!” she shouts, clearly peeved.
I wait for her comment to finish stroking my ego before assuring, “I’ll make it up to you.”
That didn’t come out as I had intended, but I’m glad when the anger in Regan’s eyes fades to lust. “I’m sure you will. . . but until then, how about we even the playing field?”
I glance down at my cock. As anticipated, it's thick, veiny, and pulsating as much as the little blood vessel in Regan’s neck. “I think we’re even.”
Her cheesy breath fans my lips when she releases a deep exhalation of air. “I think we can do better.” Not giving me a chance to seek clarification, she shouts, “Daddy! Can you come up here? I need your help with something.”
I take a step back, mortified as fuck when she bobs down to snag my towel off the ground to toss it down the stairwell outside her room.
"Are you insane?! He will kill me!”
She laughs even louder at my panicked tone when I dash for the drawer she glanced at earlier. I throw it open with so much force, it sails into the air. I’m not superman; the drawer is just as bare as my backside.
As feet stomping up a set of stairs boom into my ears, I toss open the remaining three drawers in Regan's room. There isn't a single article of clothing to be found—not even a dress I’d happily wear for the remainder of the weekend.
I can only hope Regan dug my grave as efficiently as she cleared her room of apparel because things are about to get messy. I swear to God, my heart is thrashing against my ribs, and just because my stomach is empty hasn’t prevented it from trying to empty itself repeatedly. Men like Hayden don’t joke when they say they have a shotgun. They usually have many, in very convenient places—such as outside their daughters’ bedrooms.
I realize Regan has everyone fooled with her nice girl act when her bedroom door swings open a few seconds later. Mercifully, it isn’t her father coming to disembowel me. It's her mother reminding her that her father left to milk the cows over two hours ago.
"Is there anything I can help you with . . .?" Sally’s words stop halfway out of her mouth when she spots me standing just left of Regan. I tried to shelter myself behind Regan. Although she's tall, her petite frame has no chance in hell of hiding a man with shoulders as broad as mine.
“Sally,” I greet, dipping my chin as my hands lower to cover my deflating crotch. “Pleasant morning.”
“So it seems,” Sally replies, her voice picking up right alongside her smile. “Did you sleep well?”
With words eluding me, I nod.
“Good. I’m glad.” With a wink, Sally pivots around to face Regan. “You were right. Decades change nothing.”
I wait for Sally to leave before shifting my eyes to Regan. I want to yell at her for embarrassing me—not as much as I want to kiss the impish grin off her face—but before I can do either of those things, she snags my duffle bag from the hallway, tosses it into my chest, then exits her room.
"Meet me downstairs in five minutes. I've got some stuff I want to show you today."
Gobsmacked, I shout, “Really, Rae? That’s it?! Who’s leaving who hanging now?”
When she fails to reply to my taunt with her usual quick wit, I sneak a glance out her bedroom door. Her gallop down the stairwell stops halfway, but her eyes remain front and center.
Her unusual quietness causes precum to pool at the crest of my cock. She’s not speechless because she’s void of a retort. She’s struggling to ignore the sexual tension teeming between us. It’s nice knowing I’m not the only one straining to maintain a rational head.
“If I did any of the wicked things streaming through my head right now, my dad would kill you,” Regan warns after a short stint of silence.
I can’t see her, but I know she's smiling. I can feel it deep in my bones.
My intuition is proven spot on when she cranks her neck back to peer at me. Her smile is one I haven’t seen before. It's carefree and untroubled, as relaxed and beautiful as the person she embodies when she’s on home turf.
"Meet me downstairs," she requests with a jerk of her chin. "There's a whole day waiting for us."
With a wink to finalize the words she can’t express, she finishes galloping down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I stop picking at the grapes on the kitchen counter when my mom chokes on her words. Her emotional response has nothing to do with the tale she’s sharing, and everything to do with Alex’s unexpected presence.
Taking a page out of my book, he has dressed more casually than I've seen him. He still has on the beloved JC Penney jeans he's worn the past two days, but the light blue coloring has been swapped for a dark-washed pair, and his dress shirt and blazer have been replaced with a plain white T and a devastating smile. He even trimmed his scraggly beard, bringing it an inch closer to his ravishing jawline.
His Viking look shouldn’t pair well with a cheap suit and polished dress shoes, and his casual look matches his sleek appearance just as fittingly. The contrast between his attire and his handsome face should seem odd, but the only word I can conjure to describe him is “yum!”
Unsure of the cause of our silence, Alex gestures his head to the stairwell. “Too casual?”
Not waiting for me to answer, he takes the first two steps at the speed of a bullet.
"No!" my mom and I shout in sync.
“You look perfect. Come eat.” Mom guides him to the vacant stool next to me, her cheeks inflaming when she catches a whiff of his seductive scent. “From what Regan’s told me, you’re set for an adventurous day, so we better fill your belly.”