Finding Perseverance (The Unexpected Love Series Book 3)

by T. E. Black

  Nodding eagerly, I move, sliding down the whole length of him in one, slow movement. His groan of pleasure meets mine, and together we find a rhythm of our own.

  I bounce, threading my fingers into his chestnut locks of hair while his lips trace over the skin of my neck. Ecstasy consumes me as he takes control, digging his fingers into my hips and setting the pace and rhythm.

  Fast.

  Slow.

  Faster.

  Slower.

  We play tug-of-war with the speed until we are both moaning. I latch my mouth on to his, and his tongue swirls inside like it was made for me. The harder I slam down on him, the harder he fucks my mouth with his own.

  “Oh God,” I call out, feeling the tightening deep in side me—the slow burn that will eventually build to an inferno.

  He sucks in my words, swallowing them whole before moving our mouths apart and slamming up into me over and over again. A wave of euphoria rolls down my spine, and I rest my forehead on his for support.

  “You’re so sexy, Leigh,” he growls. “And, you’re mine—all mine, baby.” His voice is dripping in sex appeal.

  “Yes,” I moan.

  “How bad do you wanna come, Leigh? Tell me. Are you going to come all over my cock?”

  “Yes!”

  “Let go, baby,” he whispers while pressing his lips to my ear.

  The pressure of his grip increases, and he moves my body against his in a rhythm neither of us have forgotten. Then … I’m falling apart around him. The world slows, and all I see is Rook Wallace’s face as he comes with me. It’s beautiful and serene—peace at its finest.

  And there’s no other place I want to be.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ryleigh

  I’m never drinking again. All that comes from drinking is a cluster of feelings, regrets, and sex—a combination I don’t want to deal with.

  For instance, when I woke up this morning in bed with Rook and his body was cuddling the fuck out of mine, I panicked. I tiptoed around the apartment and prayed to God he wouldn’t wake up before I got out the door.

  Lucky for me, he sleeps like a damn log and it wasn’t an issue. What was an issue was him calling me about an hour ago, which I ignored and sent to voice mail. I know I can’t ignore him forever. It’s not as if I won’t see him again. For God’s sake, he’s living above my damn bar.

  I got a taste of him last night, and now, I’m royally fucked. I want more. I can’t help it. I loved every single moment of touching him, of him being inside me, of our mouths on each other. I loved him last night, and I want him with me now. I don’t want to be taking a shower alone, but I am.

  His beer-coated lips were the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Every single inch of him was better than the other in its own way—his bulging muscles, his rough hands, his smooth skin.

  I wouldn’t trade last night for the world, but now it’s day time, and I’m going to have to deal with the repercussions. I took this shit to next level. It was one thing to let him hide out above my bar for a while, but then I had to go and sleep with him.

  I’m feeling things for him now. Things that feel a lot like love, and that can’t happen. I can’t fall for him again. I’ve told myself this a million times, so it’s nothing new to my heart. Too bad the bitch doesn’t follow the rules when it comes to him.

  Angry at myself for being so stupid, I slam the water off and grab my towel. I may feel like a complete idiot, but at least I’m a clean idiot. Part of feeling clean is not smelling him on my skin anymore. It sucks. This whole situation sucks.

  With a towel tied around my body, I move into my bedroom and dig through my walk-in closet for my work clothes—the usual: a Max’s tank and a pair of shorts.

  My phone ringing on the nightstand next to my bed has me rolling my eyes. I’m sure it’s Rook calling again.

  It’s probably easier to get the conversation over with by answering his call. At least then, I can stand my ground. It’s easier to talk about something like this on the phone then in person, no doubt.

  I walk to the nightstand, grab my phone, and flick through my missed calls. Two from Rook and four from my mother.

  Great.

  I can only imagine what she wants. Last time she called, she talked to Trent and Mac. While I’m happy I didn’t have to deal with her, I know there is no way she is going to let this drop.

  My mother and I had our falling out when she publicly shamed me at a dinner party with her snot-nose friends. Everyone was talking about their daughters getting married, except my mother.

  So, when all eyes turned to her for news of my non-existent engagement, she turned on me. She told her friends I disgusted her because I loved women and men. She even had the audacity to bring Rook into mix. She told her friends the story of Rook leaving me eight years prior and then blamed it on my lack of keeping him satisfied.

  I was mortified at the way she spoke about me while I sat next to her in a restaurant. The waitress even looked as if she felt sorry for the bashing my mother was giving. I couldn’t sit there a moment longer. So, I freaked—told every one of those snooty fifty-year-old bitches to shove their insults up their asses.

  My mother may have found my actions horrific that day, but I think I handled shit rather well. Things could’ve been a lot worse if I had a few drinks beforehand. She should be happy I didn’t speak everything on my mind.

  There’s also the lingering thought in the back of my mind that she blames me for my father leaving us. She’s never said it directly, but her insulations were clear when she threw jabs at me. I’ve heard her use the phrase, “You are your father’s daughter,” more than once in my lifetime.

  I wait as the phone rings one, two, three times before she answers.

  “Ryleigh,” she greets with a snippy tone to her voice.

  “Mother.”

  “What’s wrong with you this morning? You didn’t answer my calls earlier. You never sleep in this late.”

  Like she really gives a shit if something is wrong with me.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to sleep in every now and then.” I pause. “What do you want? I know you didn’t call to have a casual conversation.”

  She scoffs into the phone line, and the pretentious tone I hate comes out in full swing. “I know you know where Rook is, and I want you to tell me. I’m worried about him. He needs a mother figure with him at times like this.”

  “Why the hell would you think I know where he is?”

  “Ryleigh! Don’t curse, you know it’s not ladylike,” she scolds.

  I roll my eyes and wonder why the hell I called her back at all. This is always how our conversations start and end—her judging me.

  “I don’t know where he is, Mother. I haven’t talked to him in years. Why why would you think I’m talking to him now?”

  “Ryleigh O’Donnell, don’t lie to me. I talked to him a few months ago, and he said you two had been in touch. You two spent years together, so you’re the only person I can think of who he’d turn to.”

  “Why the hell were you talking to him? And, yeah, we talked a little, but only about Trent and his sobriety.”

  She sighs, obviously annoyed that I’m not giving her any gossip, and it pisses me off to no end. My mother hates Trent as much as she hates me. She blames Trent for everything bad that’s ever happened and some things that haven’t.

  “Could you please leave Trent out of this? I don’t feel like getting pissed off today.”

  “Fine, but I still want to know where Rook is. I tried calling him, but he didn’t answer my calls either.”

  “Maybe he’s not in the mood to talk,” I comeback, taking a seat on my bed.

  “Or maybe, you’re with him right now and you’re telling him not to answer my calls.” Next she will blame the war in the Middle East on my mind control powers. She is unbelievable. Rook’s a big boy. If he wants to talk to the spawn of Satan, aka my mother, then that’s his choice. I won’t stop h
im.

  Granted, he doesn’t know how miserable she’s made my life the past ten years, but I’ll be sure to inform him. Then, he can make his own decision whether he talks to her or not. But, my guess is he’ll be running from her as quick as I did once he knows the full story.

  “I am not with him, wasn’t with him, and I sure as hell didn’t tell him not to talk to you. Listen, this is fun and all, but I have to get to the bar, so if you feel like calling me, asking where Rook is again—don’t.”

  “Ryleigh!” she shouts as I hit the end button to the call and toss my phone on the bed beside me. She may have been able to make me feel bad about myself once before, but not anymore. I know better than to take her opinions into consideration.

  What does freak me out, though, is she knows I know where Rook is. I want to say it’s a lucky guess, but I highly doubt it.

  She knows him, and she knows me, obviously. She has seen first-hand the lengths we are both willing to go to keep the other safe. Although neither of us has been in trouble since we were young, it doesn’t change our history.

  The pattern for Rook and me has always been to protect each other at all costs. It didn’t matter if what we did was right or wrong. We’d have the others back without a second thought.

  Is that why I slept with him last night? Because of old patterns?

  Because it felt good to relive history for a few hours.

  Or, maybe, he’s my weakness.

  No, I’m stronger now. It is just because we have such a deep history, that’s all.

  Who am I to deprive myself or him of the inevitable?

  Patterns don’t lie.

  If Rook and I repeat history together, then I want to experience all the good things I can before it goes south. I want to have those happy moments again. I deserve them. Last night, when he had me in his arms it was like all the bullshit and pressure had been swept away. I was safe and free of worry. It was the happiest I had been in a really long time. Not even my time with Susan could touch it.

  How stupid would I be to give that up?

  If I just brace myself for the bad ending, it shouldn’t hurt as bad as the first time.

  I could keep enjoying time with him without getting my heart broken in the process.

  No strings.

  No attachment.

  Just companionship.

  I could do that. Just sex—no love.

  It can’t be that hard, can it?

  Chapter Twenty

  Ryleigh

  I spent yesterday hiding from the truth. Today, I’m ready to face it head on. I’m ready to accept the things I’ve been denying since Rook showed up.

  It only took me a bottle of Jack Daniels to figure it all out, but somehow, in my drunken stupor, it clicked. I realized my feeling things for Rook again doesn’t make me weak or dependent. It makes me human. It makes me real.

  For the first time in what feels like forever, I actually feel like I deserve happiness—real, unfiltered, unexpected happiness. It just so happens he’s where I find it. In every moment of the night before last, I was ecstatic being with him.

  His touch, his taste, his warmth—it did something to me. It forced me to think about me and him as an us again. It took me three years to build a wall around the love I have for him that was thick enough to contain it. It took him only one evening to smash it. I don’t even care. We have too long of a history to let it slip away without a fight.

  I raise my fist to knock on his door but then let it drop back to my side.

  I’m nervous.

  I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep it together once I tell him what I’m thinking.

  “Get it together, Ryleigh,” I whisper to the peeling brown paint on the door in front of me.

  I raise my fist again, take a deep breath, and rap three times on his door.

  “Just a minute,” he shouts.

  If I weren’t on such high alert, I would miss the almost non-existent sound of his feet padding against the hardwood behind the door. I would miss my own moan when he opens the door, shirtless.

  “Hey.” He half smiles, his voice full of nerves.

  “Hey.”

  The silent pause between the two of us is choking my vocal chords. I’m not sure what comes next—what to say next.

  It may be his shirtless chest that’s distracting me from my plan. Or maybe it’s the happy trail running down the lower section of his abs and disappearing into his jeans. Maybe it’s his crooked grin and gorgeous eyes, which are staring at me with a hunger he has for only me.

  Maybe it’s the fact I’m insane.

  Every rehearsed thought I had before he opened the door is thrown out the window as I shove him into the apartment. We stumble in, and I kick the door shut behind me, not giving a damn if it actually closes all the way. The door is the least of my worries.

  The only worry I have now is feeling him—all the sensations I felt last time but magnified without the help of liquor doing part of the job. I want him sober.

  Our mouths fuse together, and he’s delicious. His mouth tastes like mint, and his skin smells of body wash from the shower.

  When his tongue swirls against mine, I moan into his mouth with a thousand needs and wants. Every single one has to do with him.

  “You taste amazing, Leigh,” he mutters, tearing his lips away mine, only to lavish my jaw and neck with open-mouthed kisses.

  Since talking isn’t necessary right now, I urge him backward across the room. Each step we take is clumsy and unrehearsed. It’s passionate, unscripted, and sensual. I love every second of it.

  Rook’s rough hands slip to the edges of my black tank, tugging it over my head in one swift motion. While he unclasps my bra, my mouth moves to his collarbone where I nip, suck, and bite every inch of his skin I can reach.

  I need him.

  I want him.

  I’m addicted to him, again.

  “Fuck, Leigh. You get more stunning every time I see you,” he growls while his thumbs trace over my hardened nipples.

  “Oh, God,” I moan, tossing my head back and arching into his touch.

  Then, his mouth is on my nipple, sucking and nipping in the sexiest way possible.

  He lavishes my breasts with affection, and I slip my hands between our bodies, rubbing his erection through his jeans. The harder I rub, the louder his growls become.

  Before I know what’s happening, he pulls away from my chest and drops to his knees. Looking up at me with a lust-filled gaze, he watches me as his fingers trace the line from my stomach to the buttons on my jeans. A shiver strikes me, shaking my body as he slowly unbuttons them and then eases the fabric from my hips and down my thighs.

  I step out of them when they reach my feet, anticipating Rook’s next move. When he hooks his thumbs in the side of my black, lace panties and grazes his lips from one of my hips to the other, goose bumps break out in a fever across my skin.

  “I can smell you, Leigh. You want this so bad, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I barely manage to answer him as he pulls the scrap of fabric down.

  Naked and bare to Rook, I bite back a groan as he sits back on his heels, caressing me with his eyes instead of his hands. My need builds and builds with every moment, and honestly, I can’t take the anticipation for a minute longer.

  “I want you.” My words are no more than a desperate sigh.

  “What do you want, Leigh? Tell me.” The heat from his breath touches me a second before his tongue swipes up my inner thigh.

  “I want—” He licks closer to the spot I want him. “Your mouth on me.”

  “Do you want it here?” He sucks on the top of my pussy.

  “Lower,” I whimper.

  “Here?” His tongue slips over my lips.

  “Stop teasing me, Rook.” I groan, winding my hands into the back of his hair.

  He shows me mercy when he sinks his head between my legs, and fuck, I couldn’t be more grateful for it. I need this. I couldn’t deny it now, not even if I
tried.

  As he licks and sucks my clit into his mouth, I’m on the verge of completely shattering above him. I’m holding on to a thin thread of sanity.

  My legs are quivering, threatening to give out at any second, but then he pulls away and stands. He crashes his lips into mine, and I moan, pulling him closer. The taste of me on his lips is erotic, feeding my desire and sending me someplace wild.

  My hands fly to his jeans and I snap the button in one swift motion. He slides his jeans and boxers down his own legs while our mouths stay connected.

  My palm strokes his hardened length, and I revel in his size. Rook has the biggest cock I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching.

  “Lie on the bed, Leigh,” he instructs, and I comply.

  Scooting myself up to the headboard, I’m vibrating with anticipation. Rook searches in the nightstand drawer for a condom, which seems to take him an eternity. Just when I’m about to swear the wait is going to kill me, he’s crawling over top of me on the bed.

  “You sure you want this?” he asks, positioning himself at my entrance.

  This is my moment. He’s asking for permission, and if I give it to him, I’m giving myself to him. There’s no taking it back. Rook wants me, there’s no doubt about it. And, I want him.

  Instead of answering, I yank his body against mine and tilt my hips in invitation. He sinks into me with a single thrust, forcing his name from my lips on a moan so desperate I don’t even recognize it as my own voice. I call out his name again and again as he pumps repeatedly, filling me with absolute bliss.

  “You feel amazing,” he groans.

  “Oh God, Rook. Faster, please. I can’t hold on.”

  The pressure in me builds at rapid speed—his scent, his mouth, and his cock inside me have me spiraling. He knows every spot to hit, what kind of pressure I need, he knows every combination to the lock.

  Our eyes stay locked as he continues to thrust. His muscles flex from the movements, and it adds to building orgasm.

  “I missed you, Leigh.” His words make my heart flutter with an emotion I’ve been trying to suppress for so long.