Stone Rules (A Mitchell Sisters/Stone Brothers Novel)

by Samantha Christy

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t give me that,” I interrupt. “What about Devon? What about the guy with the concert tickets? Hell, what about your own cousin—you even warned me away from him. And let’s not forget about your brother, Kyle. And then there’s Chad’s friend, Adam. Why did you step in when he propositioned me?”

  “Why do you fucking think, Tate?” His eyes burn into mine and they are windows into his soul.

  “And why do you call me Tate when you want to fuck me?” I yell, not caring who in his office can hear my outbursts. “If you wanted to just be my fuck buddy, you would have come up to my apartment on Friday. I thought you simply decided you wanted nothing to do with me. But now—the way you are looking at me. All doey-eyed and come-hither. It’s obvious you want me. It’s obvious to everyone in the fucking world except you, Ethan.” I stop pacing and stand in front of him. “Why? Why are you so scared of relationships?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says.

  “The hell you don’t,” I say. “Why, Ethan?”

  He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Rule number ten, that’s why.”

  “Oh my God. You and your damn rules. Just tell me!”

  He looks at me. He holds my stare with his eyes. He holds my heart in his hands. It’s teetering on a ledge, about to topple over and splat all over the pavement below, or it’s about to be pulled back, rescued from certain demise.

  His hand runs through his hair and his eyes close briefly when he says, “If you don’t have anything, you have nothing to lose.”

  His words slay me. But not in a heart-splattered-across-the-pavement kind of way. More like in a he-wants-me-so-much-he-can’t-bear-to-have-me kind of way.

  My breath catches. My chest heaves. My heart surges. And the moment he sees how his words affect me, his mouth comes crashing down on mine, claiming me so completely that not even my voice of reason has a chance in hell of stopping this freight train.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  He bites down on my lower lip and then sucks on it before his tongue dives into my mouth, exploring every inch of it as heavy breaths come from deep down inside him. My tongue darts into his mouth, wanting to taste him just as much as he’s tasting me.

  I need to be pressed against him. My body remembers what it felt like at the concert and it craves more. I jump up into his arms, smashing our chests together. He holds me steady with his hands, caressing my butt as he walks us across the room.

  He shifts my weight into one hand while he reaches the other out to his laptop.

  My lips don’t even leave his when I say, “Leave the camera on.”

  I can feel his smile against my mouth before he resumes the perusal with his tongue.

  I don’t even know how long he stands here, holding me, kissing me. His arms must go numb under my weight but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t put me down. His hands are all over my ass, rubbing, kneading, prodding.

  I want those hands on other parts of me. “Touch me,” I beg through our kisses.

  He walks us over to the couch on the far wall of his office and carefully places me down on it. I rip my hoodie off, revealing an old tank top underneath. This was the last thing I expected today. I try to remember what bra and panties I put on this morning. I pray he’s too worked up to even care.

  I grab the hem of my tank but his hand comes out to stop me. “No,” he says, removing my hand from the material. “Let me.”

  He carefully peels off my shirt like he’s unwrapping a present. Slowly. Methodically. Almost painfully. I watch his eyes dilate when they fall to my breasts, still covered by the thin cotton material of my nothing-special bra. He pulls the cups down, exposing me to him, trussing my breasts up for his eyes to feast on. He reaches out both hands, giving equal measure to them and we gasp simultaneously when his hands meet my flesh.

  One hand continues to explore my chest while the other comes up behind my neck. He tilts my head back, exposing my throat so he can press his lips to it. He works his mouth and tongue from collarbone to ear on one side, and then he does it all over again on the other. My body shudders. The sensations running through me right now are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

  Finally, his lips find mine again and I moan into him as he claims my mouth once more. He kisses me. And kisses me. And kisses me. I’ve never kissed a man this long. Never had a make-out session with anyone. Never wanted to. Kissing wasn’t necessary. It was a bothersome task that only got in the way of the quick release I wanted.

  But, Holy God, the way this man is kissing me right now. I get it. I get what all the hype is about. He’s not just kissing me; he’s making love to me with his mouth. He’s a starving man and I’m his dinner. He’s a painter and I’m his canvas.

  Is this what it’s like for everyone? Surely not. This kind of kissing could bring about world peace.

  I’m on the brink of detonation and he hasn’t even touched me below the waist. I reach down and tug his shirt from his pants. I have to feel around for the buttons because my mouth is still held captive by his. I push the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, his hands only parting from my body long enough to rid himself of it. I push his undershirt up, working my hands underneath it and up his taut stomach and strong pecs. He trembles under my touch and my heart surges. Everything about him wants this. He can’t deny it any longer.

  When he breaks our kiss to remove his undershirt, our eyes meet. We are both hungry with desire. Bursting with passion. Then we tear at each other’s pants, our hands tangled and twisted until every shred of clothing we have is in a pile on the floor next to us.

  I’m sitting on the couch and he’s on his knees in front of me. I lean back and look at him through lidded eyes.

  “My God, you’re beautiful, Charlie,” he says, as his gaze rakes over every inch of my body.

  I take him in as well. His broad shoulders. The light fuzz of chest hair that trails down into a perfect V on his abs. His strong swimmer’s thighs. His burgeoning erection that twitches under my perusal. “You are beautiful, too.”

  He leans over and kisses my stomach. And as he works his mouth down my body in slow ministrations, it dawns on me that he used my first name.

  When his mouth hits the apex of my thighs, he inhales my scent, moaning in appreciation. When his tongue glides over me, I moan in ecstasy. He laves and licks and swirls his tongue around. Then he slides a finger inside me. Then two. “God, you’re so wet, Charlie.”

  Charlie.

  His tongue. His fingers. His words. They all come together to bring me to the edge of explosion. Then he pulls back right before I’m ready to come. My head rises off the back of the couch in surprise, and I look down at him, my eyes begging and my lungs panting. He puts his mouth to my tattoo and kisses it. “Rule number eleven,” he says against my steamy skin. “All good things come to those who wait.”

  His fingers enter me once again and his tongue rubs slow, delicious circles on my clit, building me right back up. I want to touch him. I want to do to him what he’s doing to me. I’ve never wanted something so badly in my life. I reach down and push his shoulders back until he’s lying on the floor looking up at me in question.

  “Rule number sixty-nine,” I say with a sultry rise of my brow. “Give and you shall receive.”

  A low rumble of a laugh starts in his belly and erupts from his glistening lips. “I’m rubbing off on you,” he says. “I think that might just be my favorite rule.”

  I reverse my position and climb over him, giving him full access to me as my mouth closes over him.

  Sounds of pleasure echo through his office as we feast on each other. The erotic pressure between my legs builds up so much, I have to break my seal on him to gasp for air.

  I feel his balls tighten. “Uhhhng,” he murmurs before lifting me off of him. “I have to be inside you.” He reaches for his pants, quickly pulling a condom out of his wallet. His voice cracks with need. “I have to be inside you now.�
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  His hands are shaking so badly, he has trouble opening the package. I take it from him and tear it open with my teeth. I rise to my knees, appreciating every silken inch of him as I roll it on.

  My knees are getting sore on the hard floor, so I sit back up on the couch and spread my legs for him. He scoots towards me, his sturdy knees more able to withstand the pressure as he stares at what I’m offering him. He positions himself between my legs and as he enters me, our eyes meet, emotion flowing from them as if it were tears. “Jesus, Charlie,” he says, not breaking eye contact as he glides in and out of me.

  His eyes, they say so much more than the words leaving his mouth do. And in this moment, I realize why he’s not calling me Tate. It’s because we’re not fucking.

  We’re doing something I’ve never done before. We’re making love.

  He threads the fingers from both of his hands through the fingers of both of mine. He stares at our entwined hands as his thrusts become more demanding. His eyes wander up my arms when suddenly, he stills, his focus trained on the scars that line one of my forearms.

  I rip my hands out of his and put them on his hips, shielding the under part of my forearms from his view. “Ethan,” I say, pulling his attention back to my face. “Don’t stop.”

  I thrust my hips towards him, forcing him back into the moment. His eyes close briefly as he starts moving within me again. I grab his hand and shove it between us, not wanting to wait a second longer to reach the precipice of ultimate gratification. He rolls a slow finger across the place that will send me spiraling out of control.

  “Oh, God,” I murmur, pleasure coiling inside me.

  “That’s it, baby. Come with me.”

  His eyes never stray from mine as we fall down the rabbit hole together. My thighs tighten. My stomach clenches. Short spurts of air exit my lungs as an orgasm tears through my body, ripping it to shreds as no other orgasm has ever done before.

  “Aaaaah, Charlie.” He grits his teeth, his face contorting in excruciating pleasure as his cock dances inside my body.

  He collapses onto me, matching the rhythm of my heaving chest, our bodies languid as our slick skin slides against each other. My aftershocks continue to massage him before he pulls out of me completely. He remains draped over me while we slowly recover.

  When he pulls away, he looks down upon me in complete reverence, my body spent. Limp. Satiated.

  “Wow,” I breathe, once my brain connects to my mouth again.

  He laughs. “Yeah. Wow.”

  The intercom buzzes. “Ethan,” Gretchen’s insistent voice says. “You’re getting quite backed up out here.”

  Still naked, he walks over to his desk, pressing a button on his phone. “Five minutes,” he says, removing the condom as he dismisses her. He comes back across the office, leaning down to rifle through our tangled clothes. He separates mine out and hands them to me. He motions to a door by the couch. “You can clean up in there. It’s my private bathroom.”

  “Thanks,” I mouth at him, still trying to recover my power of speech. I take my clothes and walk to the bathroom. As I dress, I realize how grateful I am that Barbie didn’t interrupt us thirty seconds earlier. If she’d only known what she’d have ruined.

  I look in the mirror, unsure of the person I see staring back at me. I’m different. Can one month; one man; one overwhelming emotion—change a person so completely?

  I think of Piper and how much she’s changed since meeting Mason. And I smile at the girl in the mirror. I smile because for the first time in my life, I think about the future. A future I thought couldn’t exist for people like me.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  My body slices through the water, deliciously sore from the workout I had earlier. We didn’t have time to talk after. I’d already caused one appointment cancellation, as Gretchen so crassly told me on my way out. Ethan gave me one last kiss before I left his office. He said we’d talk tonight, after our swim but before he plays poker with the guys.

  Now they are the guys.

  I ran into Levi on the way out. He apologized. I asked for my two dollars back.

  I smile thinking about Mrs. B. She already finished her swim, but not before she lectured me on the ways of men and how not to get caught up in them. Never rely on a man for your self-esteem. Never rely on a man to put food on the table. Never rely on a man for an orgasm. That last one had me turning as red as her waterproof lipstick.

  My mind wanders as I churn away the laps. I fantasize about what happened earlier. I wonder what it will be like to actually be someone’s girlfriend. What a novel idea.

  Before long, my arms tire and I realize I’ve been alone in the pool for some time. Too long. I glance at the clock. He’s late. My heart beats faster thinking of all the possible scenarios. Accident? Disgruntled spouse of a client? Second thoughts?

  Oddly, it’s the last one that scares me the most.

  It’s also the last one that seems the most likely.

  I get my answer when I see Mason walk through the door of the aquatics room. He addresses me with a sad smile. Oh, God. What happened?

  I climb out and grab my towel. “What is it?” I ask.

  “Ethan wanted me to check on you. Make sure you were okay.”

  I crinkle my nose at him. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  He cocks his head and stares at me. “Uh, because he said you wouldn’t return any of his messages.”

  “His messages?” I realize in my eagerness to see him tonight, I arrived earlier than usual so I haven’t checked my phone for over an hour. “Did he get held up at work or something?”

  “Well, shit.” Mason pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he looks at me like he’s about to tell me my dog just died.

  “That son of a bitch,” I say. “He didn’t get held up at work at all, did he?”

  Mason shakes his head and looks at his feet. “You should really be talking to Piper about stuff like this.”

  “Well, Piper isn’t here now is she?” I huff out an angry breath. “What did he tell you, Mason? Like word for word—what exactly did he say?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie. He said something about how you are great but he can’t be with you. He said it’s him, it’s not you. He said he knew you’d be pissed at him and wanted to make sure you were okay.” He puts a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you should go listen to his messages. I’ll send Piper over to your place. I’ll stay home with Hailey. Poker night isn’t happening anyway.”

  “So he bailed on you, too?” I say angrily.

  He looks uneasy. “Well, not exactly. But he said he was going to skip tonight. Wait until the dust settles.”

  “So now I’m dust.” I’m trying my best to hold back the tears, but I feel them coming. My chest is tight. My throat stings. My head hurts. My heart is in fucking pieces.

  “Listen, Charlie, if it really bothers you, we’ll ask him not to come back for poker night. Hell, I’ll kick him out of the gym if you want me to. Just say the word and it’s done.”

  “No. It’s fine. He was here first anyway.” I wrap my towel around me, hoping if I pull it tight enough, it will hold back the onslaught of waterworks about to erupt. “I’m gonna hit the shower. Piper can come over if she wants. Thanks, Mason.”

  I walk toward the locker room as Mason’s words follow me. “I’m really sorry,” he says. “But Charlie, if it’s any consolation, he’s a damn idiot and I don’t mind telling you I let him know it.”

  All I can do is nod my head at him. Then I disappear into the locker room and stand under the shower until the tears stop falling.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Here, drink this first,” Piper says, holding out a shot glass full of tequila. “But then put the glass down so you don’t throw it across the room.” She picks up a pillow off the couch and puts it in my lap. “If you need to throw something—throw this.”

  I down the shot while staring at my phone on the coffee table in front of me. I know I shouldn’t liste
n to his messages. I know they will crush me. I should delete them and not give him the satisfaction of having me hear whatever pathetic excuses he’s come up with. But it’s like he said—once you know the cookie is there, it’s hard to ignore. Except it’s not a cookie, it’s more like a big roll of cookie dough—you know you will feel like shit after eating it, but it’s too tempting not to eat the whole damn thing anyway.

  “Just do it,” I tell Piper, nodding to the phone I don’t even want to touch.

  She grabs my hand in hers and then taps on the screen to play the first message.

  “Charlie,” he says and then pauses. I close my eyes. The way he says my name says it all. It’s not anything like the way it came off his lips earlier today, when he made my name seem more like a prayer.

  Piper squeezes my hand.

  “I’m so mad at myself,” he says. “I never should have let that happen today.” Another pregnant pause and I can imagine him running a hand through his hair as he does when he’s frustrated. “I mean, it was great. You are great. But I can’t let it happen again. I know I’ve said that before and that I’m a dick for leading you on like I have. And the reasons I have for not wanting this are all about me and have nothing to do with you. I hope you believe that, because it’s true. And I’m sorry as hell, because I know I’m hurting you. Shit.” He sighs deeply into the phone. “I really wish you would have answered the phone, because I feel like a bastard leaving you a message like this. But I needed you to know why I won’t be coming to the gym tonight. The only way I know how to keep from hurting you again is to not see you anymore. But I hate leaving things like this, Charlie. Will you call me back and let me know you got this? I’m sorry. I really am. And you deserve better.”

  The message ends and I look down at the pillow, not knowing whether to throw it, or use it to muffle my cries.

  “Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” Piper says. I don’t look at her. I can’t. I know she’s crying. She’s feeling all of my pain as if our hearts were connected by a tether.