Stone Rules (A Mitchell Sisters/Stone Brothers Novel)

by Samantha Christy

  His mouth comes crashing down on mine before my lips have time to break into a victorious smile. His hands are everywhere all at once, worshiping my thighs, my hips, my shoulders, as if he’s a man deprived.

  His large frame covers me, shielding me from prying eyes should anyone wander into the pool room.

  He supports me against the wall, giving himself leverage while his lips lick pool water from my neck. He lifts me slightly out of the water with one hand, exposing my bikini-covered breasts as his pupils dilate and his eyes grow as hungry as his hands.

  Slowly, his mouth works down my collarbone, across my shoulder, finally finding my breast as he pulls the fabric aside with his fingers to give access to his tongue.

  Pulses of feeling bolt straight to my center as he sucks, swirls, and flicks my breasts in a way I’ve never experienced before. He blows air across my chest, puckering my nipples even further.

  With one hand around his neck, supporting myself out of the water, I take my other hand and work it beneath his swim trunks, feeling him swell thicker at my touch.

  His groans bounce off the walls, the sultry noises feeding my greedy desire to have him inside of me again.

  My pants and moans match his, our arms and legs so tangled together it’s hard to tell which limbs are his and which are mine.

  When he slips a hand into my bikini bottom, grazing a finger across my clit, my back arches, scraping against the hard edge of the pool. He wraps an arm around my head, protecting it from the unforgiving concrete.

  My eyes flicker open and I see the shadow of a person behind the glass walking across the fitness center. Realization of what we’re doing and where we’re doing it heightens my arousal.

  Ethan, however, seems lost in the moment, oblivious to the world. Adrift to anything or anyone but me. I feel his focus, his passion. I feel like I’m the only person that exists to him—that has ever existed to him.

  I moan loudly as his fingers enter me. I push his swim trunks below his erection and pull him towards me. He moves my bikini bottom to one side, allowing me to guide him to my entrance.

  His eyes are ravenous—desperate with need as he enters me. Our simultaneous gasps are muffled when our mouths devour each other, our tongues mimicking the motions of other parts of our bodies.

  I start to feel that sweet ache between my legs. I let it build, wanting for the first time to let it go higher and higher instead of settling for a quick release. I’m letting him take me where no man has. A place that now belongs only to him.

  My thighs tighten. My back strains against the hard edge of the pool, most likely causing bruises up and down my spine. A painful yet pleasured burn coils in my belly and I bite down on his shoulder to silence the scream that begs to explode from me along with my powerful orgasm.

  Then I watch his face as it contorts with his impending release. Suddenly, I feel vast emptiness as he quickly pulls out of me, finishing into the water between us as he shouts out my name.

  We both sink into the water, our bodies languid as we chase recovery.

  When I regain my ability to speak, I say, “You didn’t have to do that, you know. I’m on the pill.”

  He looks around the vacant room, shaking his head in disgust as if he’s just realized where we are. “What the hell are you doing to me, woman? I’m breaking all the rules with you.”

  “All the rules?” I ask, situating my bottoms back into place. “I thought it was just rule number one.”

  He raises a brow as if I’ve missed something obvious. “Rule number seven—no public displays of affection. We pretty much obliterated that one.”

  “I don’t think anyone saw us, so technically it wasn’t breaking the rule. Try again.”

  “Okay, how about rule number eight—wrap it before you tap it.”

  I laugh. “Oh my God. Do you have a list of these rules somewhere or do you just make them up as you go?”

  He taps his temple. “They’re all up here.”

  He climbs out of the pool, the veins in his arms bulging out as he pulls his weight up. Sitting on the side, he offers me his hand and then hoists me up to sit alongside him.

  He heaves a heavy sigh. “I’ve never broken that rule, Charlie. I’ve never broken any rules before you.”

  I scissor my feet in the water, causing tiny waves to lap up onto the wall beneath us. “See, that’s where we’re different, Stone. I break rules all the time. What’s the fun in life if you don’t?”

  He looks a little green and I realize what I said and begin to backpedal. “Except for that one,” I say. “I’ve never broken rule number eight either, so you can relax.”

  His hands come up and scrub across his face, relief evident in his eyes.

  “So, can I expect you to break rule number one again?” I ask hopefully. “I mean, now that you’ve done it, no sense in going back.”

  Ethan stands up and walks over to where we left our towels. He puts his around his neck and brings mine over, offering it to me. The fact that he didn’t answer me straight away clues me in.

  “Pfft . . . forget it. No big deal,” I say, trying to sound unaffected by his impending rejection.

  “I’m not the kind of guy who does relationships, Charlie.”

  That’s the second time he’s used my first name in the last thirty seconds. My heart sinks into my stomach before I even realize I’m feeling what I’m feeling. It takes my brain a second to catch up. My heart wants this man. My mind wants this man. My body wants this man.

  Holy shit. Am I in fucking love?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m not the kind of guy who does relationships, Charlie.

  His words echo through my head for the hundredth time since he said them.

  Who does he think he is? I don’t do relationships. I mean, other than Piper, my relationships consist of a mother who pimped me out and a string of mostly married men who, let’s face it, used me as much as I used them.

  Three days. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen him.

  It bothers me that I’m counting. It bothers me that it bothers me. It bothers me that the way I feel about him is as close to a relationship as I’ve ever come.

  This man is seriously messing with my head. And admittedly, my head’s pretty screwed up already.

  The way he looks at me, tries to protect me, touches me. It’s all a contradiction to his declaration about not doing relationships. How can he act so jealous over ridiculous things like the guy at the restaurant who asked me out, or Devon at the gym? Even his brother seemed to rile him up. I’m no expert, but I’d say that is not the reaction of a man who ‘doesn’t do relationships.’

  The buzzing of my phone in my pocket startles me. But not as much as the text I see on the screen. It’s like the man has a direct line into my thoughts.

  Stone: I have some more information for you. I’ll bring it to the gym tonight.

  I’m slightly amused that he didn’t suggest meeting me at Mitchell’s. He must know it’s my day off. I can’t help the smile that cracks my face at the thought of him knowing my schedule. I realize my heart is racing simply from getting his text and I try to sound casual in my reply.

  Me: Sounds good. See you then.

  I stare at the clock on my apartment wall. It’s only ten o’clock in the morning. And it’s my day off. That means I have to wait almost twelve hours for the information he has at his fingertips this very second.

  That won’t do. I put my coat on and grab my keys. The entire way to his office, I wonder which scumbag he found this time. Will it be J.T.—the one who was always so high he couldn’t even get it up, yet he still got his kicks from seeing me naked? Or will it be Karl Salzman—the one who my mother let take my virginity at a mere fifteen years old? I feel nauseous thinking about the latter. I’m not even sure I’d want it to be him, because the truth is, I’m not sure kicking him in the balls and punching his face would satisfy me enough. More like water torture followed by castration.

  I walk
into the reception area to see Gretchen leaning over the counter, flirting with a man who’s sitting on the white leather couch. When she sees me, her whole demeanor changes. Her smile fades into a frown and she quickly looks at the appointment book on the desk in front of her before making further eye contact with me.

  “You don’t have an appointment,” she says, her cold blue eyes raking over my body, crudely assessing me from head to toe.

  I follow her gaze, looking down at my clothes, realizing in my haste to get here, I didn’t bother dressing up. In fact, I’m wearing sweatpants and an old UNC sweatshirt Baylor gave me when she quit going there. My hair is pulled up into a messy bun and I’m still wearing yesterday’s eyeliner.

  For a brief second, I contemplate walking back out the office door. But then I tell myself I don’t give a shit, and then I pretend to believe it as I participate in a stare-down with Barbie.

  “No, I don’t have an appointment,” I reply. “But I was hoping Ethan had a second to spare.”

  “Ethan?” she asks, questioning me with the raise of a thin, manicured brow as if warning me that only a select few have the right to call him by his first name.

  “Yes, you know, your boss? The one who runs this company and calls the shots. That Ethan.”

  I don’t back down. I’m pretty sure she gets the picture my eyes are painting. The picture that says she’s not the only one in the I’ve-been-beneath-Ethan-Stone club.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, trying to sound professional and not like the colossal bitch she is. “Mr. Stone only sees clients by appointment.”

  “Okay.” I try hard not to roll my eyes. “Then I’d like to make an appointment.” I look at the clock on the wall next to Gretchen’s desk. “How about ten forty-five?”

  She snidely leafs through the appointment book in front of her without breaking eye contact with me. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “It appears we don’t have any openings today. Perhaps you could come back when we do?”

  “And when might that be?” I ask in amusement.

  “I might be able to work you in next week,” she says. “But we usually reserve appointments for paying clients. My records show you haven’t quite achieved that status yet.”

  Before I can censor my own words, I serve Barbie a cup of her own cattiness on a fucking platter. “Oh, I’ve made several installments,” I say. “Just not with money.”

  Gretchen’s jaw drops. The man on the couch snickers, further fueling Gretchen’s fire. “Like I said, I can’t work you in. You might as well leave.”

  I step away from the counter, pulling my phone out. “I’ll just text him then. Mind if I wait over here?” I motion to the wall of family photos.

  “Ethan doesn’t answer personal texts during work hours. But whatever.” She looks for imperfections on her long nails. “Suit yourself.”

  I walk over to the photo wall as I type out a text.

  Me: I’m in your reception area. Can’t get past the Gestapo. I was hoping you’d have a sec to give me the info you have.

  I slip my phone back into my purse, hoping like hell he does in fact answer personal texts at work. The last thing I want to do today is give Barbie the satisfaction of watching me walk out of here with my tail between my legs.

  A few long minutes pass without a reply. What do you expect, Charlie—for him to drop everything and come running when you beckon?

  I busy myself looking at Ethan’s family photos. Now that I know more about him, they’ve become more interesting. Like I am to my mom—he’s a carbon copy of his dad. And if the photos are any indication, Ethan will be one hell of a looker as he ages.

  I focus my attention on a picture of him with his brothers. Kyle looks to be about four or five years younger than Ethan with Chad falling somewhere in the middle. Now that I think of it, I’m not even sure how old Ethan is. Younger than most of the men I’ve been with for sure, but probably not over thirty.

  Chad still looks familiar. I can’t place him, but I know I’ve seen him before. I don’t suppose he works for Ethan; I probably would have met him by now if that were the case.

  The three of them together look like the Holy Grail of hotness. The genes it must have taken to create such a trifecta of perfection. It gets me thinking about what the children of Piper and Mason would look like. They have to be the best-looking couple I’ve ever seen.

  I hear a door open behind me. I turn around to see Ethan and another man walking from the back offices into the reception area. He shakes the man’s hand and looks back and forth between me and Gretchen, who is now seething in her skin-tight push-up-bra dress. Based on her reaction, I get the feeling Ethan doesn’t often accompany clients out here, but that this is a direct result of my text. I mean, if looks could kill, I’d be flat-lining right here on the floor of this office.

  “Everything okay out here?” he asks.

  I feel my blood pressure spike when I hear his deep gravelly voice.

  “Fine, Ethan,” Gretchen says. “I was just telling um” —she looks at me snidely— “your name seems to have slipped my mind.”

  “Tate,” I say to her, but I’m looking directly at Ethan.

  He smiles that half-smile of his that could melt the panties off an Eskimo.

  Gretchen’s eyes dart between us and she puckers her full, fire-engine-red lips like she’s eaten something bitter. Yeah, I’m pretty sure she good and well knows my name. I’m also pretty sure she hates that he is looking at me like this.

  “I was just telling Tate how you were running behind,” Gretchen says, motioning to the man on the couch. “I doubted we could fit her in just now.”

  He gives her an annoyed look. “You could’ve buzzed me, Gretchen.”

  He walks over to the man on the couch and addresses him. “Brad, a bit of an urgent matter has come up. Would you mind terribly giving me five minutes? Gretchen will be happy to fetch you some coffee or whatever else you need.”

  “Of course,” Brad says, his eyes bouncing between Gretchen and me in amusement.

  Gretchen’s pout gives me more satisfaction than I’d like to admit, and I bask in silent victory as Ethan escorts me to the back.

  “What’s up with you and Gretchen?” I ask on the way to his office.

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “We had a thing once. No big deal.”

  My good mood falters. A thing? What does that mean? A relationship? Were they fuck-buddies? Did they date in high school? I want to ask, but suddenly I’m not sure I want the answer. Maybe he just doesn’t do relationships with me.

  When I enter his office, I can’t help but stare at his desk, remembering what it felt like when my naked behind was being pressed into it.

  “Don’t even think about it, Charlie. We’ve got two minutes.”

  “Yeah, well that and you don’t do relationships.”

  I regret the words the second they leave my mouth. They make me sound like a bitter, desperate woman.

  I could swear I see a hint of disappointment cross his face before he says, “You couldn’t wait until tonight, huh?”

  For a second, I forget why I’m here and his question confuses me as I think of him and the pool at the gym.

  “Uh, well it’s my day off and I had nothing better to do.”

  “Fair enough.” He rounds the desk and pulls a folder from a drawer, handing it to me. “Anthony Pellman’s information is in here. Turns out, his residence is just around the corner from where you work. He’s probably eaten at Mitchell’s before, maybe even with his wife of three years.”

  I don’t miss how he stresses that last part, even as my body wavers between feeling numb and being swarmed with crawling insects at the mention of Tony’s name.

  “Kids?” I manage to ask through my disgust.

  “Nope.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  He looks at his watch and I know that I’ve already taken up too much of his time.

  I take the folder under my arm and head for his office door.


  “Are you ever going to tell me why you are contacting these men?” he asks.

  I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob. I turn around briefly. “What rule was it?” —I touch the back of my neck in the very same spot he has his CAT tattoo— “Number five? About not playing your cards too soon?”

  “It was six actually.” He gets up and walks me out. “Five was about being nice to little old ladies.”

  I stop walking and look up at him. “Seriously? Are you telling me you actually have rules? I thought you were making that shit up as you went along.”

  “Really?” He raises a brow. “I could have sworn the same thing about you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  November 13, 2010

  Charlie better not screw this one up for me. She’s become more argumentative lately. Being 16 does not suit her. If she runs this one off as she’s done with some of the others, it could mean my career. Tony Pellman has connections. He says he’s got an in with one of my former producers—the asshole who stopped returning my calls years ago. But the asshole is big time and he could get me back to being big time as well.

  Standing in front of Tony Pellman’s townhouse, I recall how he was the only one out of the dozen who ever apologized. After he’d had his way with me, he punched a hole in my wall, cursing himself between his sorrowful chanting.

  I’ll never forget that night. Not just because of what he did to me—which by then was nothing new. And not just because it was Friday the 13th. But because I truly believe it was the night my mother completely lost any shred of humanity she had left. After Tony ran out of the house without ever saying so much as a word to her again, she yelled at me so loudly that the neighbors called the police. But I never told them about Tony. About the others. About the fact that my mother had just hit me in the back of the head with her prized Oscar and blood was still trickling down the base of my skull as they questioned us.