The Six Month Lease (Southern Hearts Club Book 2)

by Melanie Munton

  Of course, he would follow me.

  Because he’s become an expert at doing the exact opposite of what I want—like leaving me the hell alone. And the way his hulking shadow looms over mine is reflective of how little control I have over the situation.

  West is like my own shadow.

  Permanent. Trails in my wake. Undetachable.

  I don’t want to look at him, yet I have to stand my ground. When I twist around, I take a deliberate step back, needing that distance. He’s not going to take me off-guard or intimidate me with his size.

  “Looks like I’ve caught myself a little social butterfly,” he grates in a low voice, his eyes narrowed. “Let’s talk, Harper.”

  It’s the Harper that unnerves me. Not princess. Which tells me he’s not feeling the least bit humorous.

  I push my hands into the pockets of my shorts, striving for confidence. “So talk.”

  He snorts. “While I’ve loved your flare for exhibitionism in the past, let’s keep it private this time, shall we?”

  He snags my arm and starts pulling me away from the patio before I can release the mile-long tirade poised on my tongue.

  I am not an exhibitionist. We made out in an alley once. And he took some naked pictures of me on his phone once. Pictures he better have fucking deleted, or there’s going to be a nasty castration in his future.

  Before we broke up, Sloane and Carter invited us over here for dinner a couple of times, so West knows his way around the property. Which is why he knows exactly where the lush gardens are and how to navigate their maze of foliage. Maintaining his hold on my arm, he drags us down the gravel path until the patio and party are no longer visible through the mass of palm fronds, hedges, and azalea bushes.

  The only reason I’ve let him manhandle me up to this point is because I don’t want to make a scene at my friend’s party. I don’t want to be that couple. Not that we are a couple. Not even a little.

  But no one can see us now.

  And enough is enough.

  I rip my arm out of his grip, my feet planting roots in the ground. “Knock it off, West. Isn’t this pissing contest routine of yours getting a little old?”

  With his back facing me, he sucks in a deep breath and blows it out. The sight of his broad shoulders rising and falling with the movement mesmerizes me. I remember how sturdy those shoulders were whenever I used them as leverage to grind over his lap. It doesn’t help that the mint green button-down he’s wearing happens to be my favorite shirt of his.

  A fact I know he remembers.

  I told him that only two days before we broke up. He even noted that it’s the exact same shade of green as my eyes.

  When his body whirls around to face me, his eyes are fierce and a little…manic. “When have I ever given you the impression that I need to whip out a measuring stick just to get my dick wet? That pounding my chest and backing down every other man in the room somehow gets me off? Huh? When?”

  My brows slam together. Did he really just ask that?

  “Are you serious? Uh, the night at the house in front of Emerson, for one. Tonight, for two.”

  “The night with Emerson was about me not wanting to witness, in my own home, how badly other men want to fuck you. My own friends.”

  I swallow.

  The edges in his voice are sharp. Sharp enough to cut me if I don’t maintain my distance. Which proves difficult when he starts advancing on me, forcing me to retreat.

  “And tonight is about me losing control because I’m being forced to finally accept that other men do want to fuck you.” My back hits a tree. “And will fuck you. At some point in the future, it’s going to happen.” He slaps his hands against the bark, his arms caging me in. “Because I’m no longer the one who is fucking you.” He shoves his face into mine. “Tonight is about me wanting to stay in denial about that a little longer.”

  “So, you’re admitting to being selfish?”

  His mouth is so close to mine that he’s practically stealing my breath. Sucking in all the oxygen before it can reach my mouth, making my voice come out choppy.

  “I am. But are you willing to do the same?”

  I frown, bristling. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  My mind becomes mottled with confusion when he looks almost hurt. “Don’t play games, princess. That’s one thing we’ve never done. It doesn’t have to change just because we aren’t together anymore.”

  My chin ticks up a notch. “I have nothing to apologize for. We aren’t at home. Neither of us have broken any rules. And like you just said, we’re not together, West. You’re just as free to see other people as I am.”

  Though the thought of him laying a finger on another woman makes me want to wretch.

  His gaze flicks down to my mouth so briefly I almost miss it. “You know you wouldn’t have talked to any of those men if I hadn’t shown up tonight.”

  “Then why did you come?” I demand, hoping he doesn’t notice how I neglect to deny his accusation. “You knew I’d be here. Why even bother if you knew you might have to face this?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Because Carter has become a good friend. Are you really expecting me to give up my friends for you?”

  His words punch me in the gut.

  They’re the exact ones I spoke to him the night we broke up. The night he gave me shit about my friendship with Shae. The night he made me defend my choices, my reasons for defending her all these years.

  Are you really expecting me to give up my friends for you, West? My oldest friend in the world? Sorry, but that’s not how this works. It will never work that way.

  I’m not about to apologize for my continued support of Shae. I still believe West was out of line that night. But guilt pummels me at my choice of words that followed those comments. Years’ worth of frustration had come tumbling out of my mouth, only some of which had truly been targeted at West. His judgment had pushed a button inside me, and my emergency stop lever had been out of order. I could have handled some of those emotions better.

  Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

  “It was still your choice to come here tonight,” I add vehemently. “Don’t blame me for your decisions.”

  His eyes search mine heatedly for several seconds. Then his face inches back slightly, a wry grin overtaking his mouth. “Right. So, should I assume that I’m the one to blame for your decision to talk to all those duds out there tonight?”

  Oh, this asshole.

  “Excuse me?”

  He shakes his head in satisfaction. “Don’t even try that act, princess. There’s not a single part of you that wanted any of those guys, especially Blondie at the end.”

  I knew he’d been watching me the whole time. I bet he could recall every detail about each man I spoke to.

  “Really? You actually think you’re the only one who does it for me?”

  His grin fades, his nostrils flaring. “Right here, right now, hell yes, I do. Because I’ve got one advantage over all those motherfuckers out there.”

  My chest is heaving with my ragged breaths. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  I could spit fire right now, and it’s not because of Gretchen’s cursed tabasco sauce.

  “You still remember how it feels to have me inside you.”

  He surges forward and crushes my mouth with his.

  Oh, fuck it.

  Why not just give myself over to insanity for one fleeting moment? Tucked away back here in these gardens, with only the fireflies and moonlight to bear witness to our weakness? I’m so irrationally turned on right now, it probably won’t take more than a single thrust of his erection against my button to get the job done anyway.

  Then we can forget it ever happened.

  Un-fucking-likely.

  I invite his tongue into my mouth by thrusting mine past his lips and practically dragging it back. His loud groan echoes deliciously in my ears, ramping up my arousal until the sound of my rushing blood is all I hear. I need him to make this filthy
. I need it to be as lustful and emotionally vacant as possible. Otherwise, I’ll have to come to my senses and stop it.

  It can’t mean anything.

  It’s just physical.

  He responds much like he did that night in my bedroom. There’s no sweet and gentle, like when we were first learning each other. We know each other now. We’ve explored. We’ve conquered. We’ve claimed.

  Fuck gentle.

  He can pillage and plunder as rough and hard as he wants because all we have is now. There is no tomorrow or next week. We can only have this moment right here, and I need him to make it memorable.

  No, no. You don’t want to remember this.

  He grinds his hips against me. Mine answer with the same circling motion. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t still do it for you,” he breathes after easing back from the kiss. “Because fuck knows I would never have washed your cream off my dick if I didn’t have to.”

  Oh, God. The words.

  Why now? Why does he have to pull out the big guns now?

  His mouth finds my neck and devours. “None of this is mine anymore,” he whispers against my feverish skin. “I know that. Goddammit, I know that. But why does it still feel like it is? Is it all in my head? Or is it just because you sleep twenty feet away from me every night, and I know the exact positions you sleep in? How little you sleep in.”

  I pull his mouth back to mine because I don’t want to answer that. Wrapping my leg around his waist, I slam my center against his granite-like erection. I need him to shut up, but I also need him to never stop talking. It’s so damn confusing and simple at the same time.

  His hands cover my breasts and knead. When that doesn’t seem to be enough to slake his desire, he rips my top down and shoves my bra out of the way until his mouth finds bare, puckered flesh, ripe for his suckling. The pleasure of his tongue licking across those sensitive nerve endings zings through my entire system.

  My body sends the message that my brain tries to shut down.

  More. I need more.

  Always more with this man.

  I don’t even realize I’m whimpering until his head lifts knowingly. But when he tries to look into my eyes, I deny him the opportunity. I want to feel right now, but not with my heart. I lower my hand, mold my fingers around his girth, and squeeze. He hisses between his teeth, his eyes sliding shut.

  “Don’t read anything into this.”

  His eyes fly back open, lids shuttering in what looks like disappointment. Bitterness.

  Why does that hurt so much?

  “If you want to use me, princess, then use me,” he growls, his expression hooded. “I can fucking handle it.”

  I arch my hips into his, rocking them against his hardness at a frenetic pace. Horny. Shameless. With every roll and thrust, my body seeks to achieve its singular goal. Rutting against a tree like this, two beasts in the night, reminds me so much of Gretchen’s earlier analogy. Acknowledging how sweaty and primal and basest it is, I lose all control. And West is so intimately in tune with my body, he knows exactly how to get me across the finish line. He knows what my body requires to get me there, the path it needs to take.

  He reaches inside the leg of my shorts that are just loose enough for his fingers to fit through. He caresses my panties for a moment, as if re-familiarizing himself with my shape, before dragging the lace to the side and driving two fingers deep.

  My scream is muffled against that mint green button-down.

  “Still as slick and sweet as ever,” he rasps against my hair. “Still my hot-blooded girl who needs her pretty pussy rubbed hard and licked good. Aren’t you?”

  I clutch his shirt, my face buried against his chest.

  I don’t bother denying his use of the word my because it’s making me hotter. He knows what works for me, just like I know what works for him. Which is why I drag my teeth over his nipple, just the slightest little nip. When he shudders, I increase the pressure until I can feel him practically busting out of his shorts.

  I give him my sounds of ecstasy.

  He enforces his dominance.

  I unleash my passion.

  He offers me his surrender.

  His fingers work me until I have nothing left to give. My body spasms in his supporting arms, holding me up until I’ve regained my strength.

  But he’s still running on full steam.

  And that steam is so hot, it’s scalding my skin.

  He lowers me to my feet, but he doesn’t let go. His hands snake down to grasp my ass, using the position to grind his rigid bulge against me at a better angle. It’s clear he’s using my body just as acutely as I used his.

  And holy shit, it’s hot.

  I meet him thrust for thrust, impressed he’s even able to keep himself confined in his shorts like that. Though that doesn’t last long.

  His fingers fumble to release his belt buckle and lower his zipper. Pulling his length from the waistband of his briefs, I get a glimpse of the glistening head, precum leaking from the slit at the top. He fists it, stroking it roughly, mercilessly. Much harder than I would ever grip him.

  But he… He acts like he’s punishing it. Like he’s teaching it a lesson or something.

  Jesus, what are we doing?

  I can tell his balls are tightening up when his bellows of release start rumbling from the back of his throat. Those sounds begin like a low growl, then get louder and louder until he’s roaring like a savage animal.

  And at the last second, just before he comes, he yanks my shirt up and spills all over my bare stomach.

  There’s a fucking lot of it, too. He could have signed his damn name with it.

  I stand there stunned as he leaves evidence of our impulsive, idiotic coupling on my exposed skin.

  When he’s spent himself, he stays in that bent position, head lowered as if he’s staring at his new masterpiece on the canvas of my body. “None of them know how to work your body over like that, princess. Don’t kid yourself by thinking that any of those men out there could possibly give you what you clearly still need from me.”

  My muscles lock up. Every single one.

  He…actually just said that. Just did that.

  He finally straightens and tucks himself back inside his shorts. There’s no remorse, no regret, no apology to be seen in his expression.

  Well, you asked for no emotions. You got it.

  That doesn’t make the way he just went from volcanic hot to Arctic cold in the blink of an eye acceptable, though. Does it?

  But okay, fine. Whatever. I’ll follow him headlong into that blizzard.

  Holding our eye contact, I reach out and grab the bottom of his untucked shirt. Lifting it to my stomach, I use the mint-green material to wipe every droplet of his seed from my body.

  He can have it back.

  It doesn’t belong on me.

  His gaze hardens, darkening until there’s not even a morsel of light left in his eyes.

  What the hell did he expect? For me to wear his body art for the rest of the party like a brand? So that all the other beasts in the jungle would smell him on me and stay away?

  That. Son. Of a. Bitch.

  That’s exactly what he was doing.

  I’ve been played.

  I mean, sure, I might have been using him. I can admit that. But it’s not like he wasn’t aware of it. Hell, I basically said it out loud. I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal since he’d been using me right back.

  Not staking his goddamn claim. Again.

  “You may not carry a measuring stick around with you, flyboy. But I think you just made your point clear enough without one.”

  Shoving as hard as I can, I move him out of my way and push past him.

  But not before incinerating him with one last blazing hot glare over my shoulder. “And I’ve got a new rule. Number eight: don’t ever fucking touch me again.

  I can’t face Gretchen and Sloane after my tryst with West in the gardens. They know me so well, it would take only one glance at
my disheveled hair for them to know my shame.

  Slut-sheeba is lounging back on a bed of crimson silk right now, blissfully satiated and content.

  The bitch ought to be happy. She got what she wanted.

  Instead, I send them a group text after I’m already in my car and speeding away from Rice Hope Plantation. Unfortunately, I have nowhere else to run but back to our house. But, hey, I knew that before I engaged in all that garden gyrating. I’ve got to deal with this. My actions have consequences, and I have to be a big girl and face them.

  I doubt West will be brave enough to so much as whisper in my direction. Not after the way I eviscerated him with my eyes earlier. But I keep my bedroom door locked for the rest of the night anyway.

  I hear him come home sometime after midnight. Through these thin walls, I can hear every move he makes. And considering how badly I want to ignore his entire existence, it’s beyond infuriating. He goes to the kitchen first, then walks down the hallway toward the bathroom, which is just across the way from my room.

  His footsteps pause right outside my door.

  The entire house is pitch-black. I left all the lights off when I came home. And even though I’ve been lying awake in bed for the last thirty minutes, I want him to think I’m asleep. So, I don’t make a sound. Don’t move a millimeter on my mattress, which is creaky as hell.

  After several beats tick by, the bathroom door quietly opens and clicks shut.

  That’s when I feel safe enough to release the breath I’m holding.

  He exits the bathroom minutes later, heads back down the hall, and doesn’t leave his bedroom again before sleep finally claims me.

  

  It starts with cold sweats.

  Then the shakes.

  Next the nausea.

  And finally, overwhelming, severe fatigue.

  I wake in the middle of the night, already drenched in sweat, just as the shakes start. Knowing what’s coming, I blindly reach toward my nightstand for the glucose tablets I always keep handy for these sporadic attacks—