Tiller

by Shey Stahl

  I really hope River wasn’t involved in any of that. It’s been two days, but with the help of Willa and a little from Alexandra, I was able to get my entire apartment and River’s stuff packed and into the new place.

  And that brings me here. I decide I can’t wait any longer to see River. And if I’m being honest, Tiller. At two in the morning, I make my way inside the house. Not that the door is ever locked.

  The house is dark and quiet, and if you’ve ever been inside the Sawyer mansion, those two alone are something you never see. Even in the middle of the night, lights are on and there’s usually someone up, and most of the time, they don’t even live there.

  Keeping my steps light, I walk around the main floor looking for Tiller.

  When there’s no sign of him, I make my way upstairs, by-passing the noise coming from Shade’s room and down the hall to the left where Tiller’s room is. Tucked away from the other bedrooms.

  Inside his room, my heart bursts with happiness when I see River and Tiller together on his bed. He didn’t wait up for me, but there, on a twin bed with ninja turtle sheets. He’s holding her close, snuggled up and freaking adorable. I’m serious. It’s the cutest think I’ve ever seen. I’m somewhat jealous of her being able to snuggle that close to him. Over the years I’ve hardly gotten hugs, let alone being able to sleep on him.

  Careful not to wake them, I adjust the blankets on them and kiss River’s cheek lightly. It takes incredible self-control not to sneak my way in the bed with them.

  I’m exhausted, but strangely not ready for sleep. And I stink. All the bedrooms in their house have bathrooms, including Tiller’s. As quiet as I can without waking them, I take a much-needed shower.

  When I’m finished and drying off, a towel wrapped around my body, I stare at the foggy mirror in front of me. It’s then, in the low visibility of the steam, I spot a figure in the mirror behind me. Let me pause for a moment and briefly tell you a story. It won’t take long.

  Tiller and I used to watch horror movies as kids. Always his idea. Something about the rush of being scared he loved, even as a child. Given our horror movie connections, one in particular has given me nightmares my entire life. He knows this too.

  One has stayed with the two of us for years. Candyman. Let me explain why. In the movie there’s this legend claiming that Candyman can be summoned by saying his name five times while facing a mirror, whereupon he will murder the summoner with a hook jammed in the bloody stump of his right arm.

  For Halloween, the year after we watched this movie, Roan thought it’d be funny to dress up as Candyman, and he and Tiller held me to the floor until I said Candyman five times.

  Nothing obviously happened, but I still can’t look in a mirror without thinking of that damn movie and the boys who terrorized me with it.

  Can you take a wild guess as to what Tiller does in that moment of vulnerability?

  Smiles like a sinister evil person he is and whispers, “Candyman,” in my ear.

  Consequently, I nearly pee myself. The hairs on my neck stand up, a shiver shaking through my body, and I drop my damn towel as I bite back a scream, stumbling into the counter. “You jerkface,” I breathe, my hand covering my racing heart and smacking at him. “You did that crap on purpose!”

  I’d like to add, I’m naked.

  His head tips to the side, eyes drifting down my bare body. I don’t know what it is about the way he looks at me, but the hunger is undeniable. It’s frightening—I still can’t get Candyman out of my head—and exhilarating. “It’s my bathroom,” he points out, as if I didn’t know. “And I’ve come to hook you.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.” My hands move to my breasts, one of them at least and then I sneak one between my legs trying to cover my bits. Like he hasn’t seen me naked already.

  Half-naked himself and only wearing a pair of low-hanging basketball shorts, he steps forward and usually I’d tell him to get out, but I’m unable to move, anchored by his steady gaze and demanding presence in front of me.

  My pulse hammers. “Can you hand me the towel?” The last thing I want to do is bend over in front of him. Can you imagine the jokes he’d make? Or the things he’d try? I can.

  Planting his hands on either side of sink behind me, he traps me against the counter, his body pressing into mine and invading my personal space. “Nope.” His warm breath skims across my damp skin of my neck.

  He brushes his nose along my collarbone, breathing out a heavy sigh in the process. “Why not?”

  Drawing back, he levels me a dirty look, but in fact, it’s not dirty like you’d think. It’s like, well, naughty. “I prefer you naked.” The way he delivers the words, controlled and precise, there’s no denying the possession bleeding from them. “That’s why.”

  I don’t say anything. Or maybe it’s that I can’t. I’m shaking so badly I’m not sure my lips can even form words at this point.

  Leaning in, he wraps his hand around my throat. My pulse thumps wildly against his fingertips. “I don’t think you want me to hand you that towel,” he bites. “I think you enjoy ruining me.”

  Before I can lie and say he’s wrong, Tiller’s mouth drops to the swell of my breasts, then lower. Slowly, like he’s trying to torture me, he drags his tongue over my nipple.

  A moan of pleasure slips past my lips. It all feels so good I don’t want to stop him.

  Sliding down my body, he drops to his knees before me. “And I let you ruin me. I let you every fuckin’ time.” With his hands gripping my hips, he shoves his face between my legs.

  “Tiller,” I whisper, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what else to say..

  With his hands on my thighs, he widens my stance, darting his tongue out and flicking my clit. “Are you going to stop me?”

  “I uh. . . .” I’m shaking, my knees and legs wobbly. Unable to control myself, I grip his hair, tightening my fists between his dark locks.

  “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he growls, keeping his hold on me and forcing his tongue deeper, between my folds. “You might be innocent, but your pussy’s begging to have my cock inside it.”

  Notice the use and intonation of my in his words? I certainly do.

  My body flushes with heat as he buries his mouth between my legs, lapping at my clit with long leisurely passes. Pleasure races through my blood, my fingers yanking his hair.

  It’s when his pierced tongue glides over my opening, I can hardly keep from falling to the ground. I’ve always loved his tongue ring, but now I’m obsessed with the way it feels when it hits my clit and my opening.

  I don’t know when he did it, but he apparently at some point he stuck two fingers inside me because I can feel him massaging me, coaxing me along. “That’s it. Come on my tongue, baby.”

  Clutching his hair, I squirm, responding to his every touch. He doesn’t stop and it’s maddening. To fall apart like this, in his hands, and not be able to make much noise in fear I’ll be heard.

  I fall hard. So hard and so good. Best orgasm of my life, hands down.

  Looking up at me, he removes his fingers and sucks on them, his eyes so dark, so focused. “Are you going to let me?”

  “I’m scared,” I admit. I know what you’re thinking. I’m twenty-three and I shouldn’t be scared of sex. But this is Tiller Sawyer, and I am scared. Of more than just sex. And let’s not forget River is in the next room.

  He groans, smashing his face into my center and inhales. “Please let me inside.” Drawing back, he gives me the saddest look I’ve ever seen on him. Like he’s pouting. “You’ve been teasing me long enough.”

  My hand touches his face as I peer down at him. “I don’t want my first time to be in a bathroom against the sink. And with River in the next room.”

  He pushes away from me and stumbles to his feet. Reaching inside his shorts, he adjusts himself, giving me a full view of the monster inside his pants begging to be let loose. “Fine, but we’re talking about this again
.” And then he walks out the door.

  I stand there, still breathing hard but it’s his words, “We’re talking about this again,” that get me. He’s not going to let it go and while I’ve been hanging onto my virginity with him since I was fourteen and he tried to get me to have sex with him, I think nine years of waiting has finally become my breaking point. What am I holding onto? The fact that he’s been with other girls and I don’t want to be lumped in with them, or, and this is more than likely my reasoning, I don’t want him to lose interest once he’s gotten what he wants.

  After the incident in the bathroom, Tiller let me and River have his bed and he slept in one of the other bedrooms down the hall. His bed isn’t exactly meant for two people. An eternal bachelor, you can imagine why that is.

  When I wake up the next morning, the sun barely peeking through his dark curtains, I notice River isn’t in the bed with me. Crap. She’s probably downstairs being corrupted. Sighing, I slide out of his bed and throw on my clothes from last night and head downstairs.

  In the kitchen, I find a shirtless Tiller standing at the refrigerator, with River on his shoulders.

  River’s head turns when their little neighbor boy who never leaves, says, “Hey,” to me and gives me an overly cocky head nod.

  Knowing he learned this from the Sawyer brothers, I smile and wonder if this kid ever goes home. He’s young, maybe nine or ten. Wouldn’t his parents be looking for him at some point?

  “Good Morning,” I whisper, wishing for an entire pot of coffee. And maybe a massage. I’m so sore from moving my entire apartment. One thing’s for sure, River and I have entirely too much stuff, and I hope I never have to move her ridiculously heavy bed ever again.

  Tiller turns to the side, his heated eyes drifting down my body, my skin tingling with the memory of his hands last night.

  “We gonna eat,” River informs me, her hair wild and knotted. “I’m hungry.”

  By the looks of Tiller, he is too, but not for food. My heart skips, a rapid beat finding a steady rhythm.

  My voice is even, when I say, “I can take you to get some food.”

  Roan comes around the corner, bumping his shoulder into me playfully. “I’m going to make some pancakes.”

  River grins and throws her arms up in the air and launches herself into Roan’s arms. “Yay!”

  After tickling her ribs, Roan sets her down, and she shuffles, barefoot and wearing an overly large dirt bike jersey into the living room where Camden is playing video games. She curls up next to him like they’re pals. When did she become part of this family? Had I worried the last few days over nothing?

  It’s then I notice there’s nobody but them here. No bodies passed out on the floor, nobody laying around outside, just the Sawyer brothers and the neighbor’s kid.

  My attention reverts to Tiller, who’s looking amused and hands me a cup of coffee with coconut cream creamer. He knows it’s my favorite and the fact that they have it here says a lot. I think. He did something nice for me. “Sleep well?”

  Taking a deep breath of the sugary goodness, my hands circle around the cup, our fingers brushing ever so slightly. “Your bed is small.”

  Blowing out a breath, he leans casually against the counter, crossing his inked arms over his chest. I try not to let my eyes wander, but it’s impossible not to. Your eyes would wander too when you saw that cut deep V peeking out from his shorts hanging low. My memory flashes with the image of him adjusting himself last night.

  “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” he finally says, yanking my gaze back up to his face. “You got off last night.”

  What a brat. I slap my hand over his mouth, peering over my shoulder at the kids, and then back to Tiller. “Stop being so dramatic.”

  He removes my hand, his scowl deepening. “How is that dramatic? I have needs, and you’re not tending to them. If I remember correctly, you said I was your boyfriend.”

  I roll my eyes. “That was for the wedding.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me. “Are you telling me we broke up and I didn’t even know it?”

  I laugh, because how can you not? He’s adorable. “I told you. I’m scared.”

  Dropping his arms, he glances over his shoulder at Roan a few feet away, talking on his phone and pulling ingredients out of the cupboards for pancakes. Leaning in, Tiller’s hands fall to the edge of the counter. “You’re not another nameless face to me,” he warns softly, but there’s a playful edge to his tone. “You never could be. Actually, you know damn well you never could be.”

  I know what he’s referring to. Other than when Ava died, he’s always been there for me and that right there should prove his loyalty to me. “I said I was sorry,” I whisper, bringing the cup of coffee to my lips and taking my first sip.

  With his eyes on my mouth, he scowls. “Are you purposely trying to ruin me?”

  “Ruin you? What does that mean?” I ask, baffled by his question. Staring back at him, it all becomes achingly clear; he thinks I’m just using him.

  He crowds me, dominating my personal space like he always does when he wants to be intimidating. “Are you using me to get off?” A smirk tilts his perfect lips before he toys with his lip ring. “Because that’s fine, but at some point, I’m going to make you bleed, love.”

  “I’m not using you.” My finger jabs in his chest. “And stop being gross.”

  “I’ll be gentle. I’ll even tell you I love you,” he says, the admission doing all sorts of things to my tortured heart, but I know he’s not serious. Hello. This is Tiller Sawyer. He doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body.

  The silence that fills the air sends my heart sinking. His thumb strokes my cheek in an intimate gesture, soothing the ache in my chest. “Is that a yes?”

  I swallow thickly. “It’s a maybe.”

  “I swear I’ll be gentle,” he promises. “Trust me.”

  When he’s sweet, it’s hard to deny him.

  Before he can walk away, I grab his arm. “I have. . . uh. . . .” I don’t know how to phrase it, and by the look on his face, he gathers that much.

  “What now?” He has that fiery angry look I know so well. “Last time you had that look on your face you left me with her for two days.”

  “We’re supposed to have brunch with my parents,” I blurt out, then take off around the corner and upstairs to his room before he can say any more. Or worse, tell me he’s not going.

  We’re in a car, one paranoid, her eyes on the million-dollar homes sprawling over the hills, anticipating, obsessing over what today might bring. One driving, annoyed, fidgeting, sighing, flipping a lighter around in the palm of his hand. There’s another in the back seat, her eyes focused on the laces of her boots. She’s not speaking; she’s thinking, untying, tying again and repeating the process.

  None of us know what to expect today, but we’re going to brunch at my parents’ house. I’ve also never understood the meaning of brunch and neither does Tiller when he asks, “What exactly is brunch?”

  Laughing lightly, I twist my head to glance at him. His eyes are hidden behind blackness. “It’s apparently breakfast and lunch combined.”

  His head tips and I think his brows are furrowing, but I can’t tell for sure. “Why not just have lunch?”

  “Because eleven is too early for lunch?”

  Tiller shifts restlessly in the driver seat. “Fuckin’ rich people.”

  “You, my friend, make more than my parents.”

  He grunts, staring out the windshield. I want to laugh when I look over at him, I notice what he put on when I told him to get dressed. He’s wearing a black and white S3 Clothing T-shirt, gray board shorts and flip flops. Oh, and blacked-out sunglasses. That’s acceptable for brunch, right?

  It’s when we pull up to the main gate at my parents’ home, perched on the top of the hill—it’s no Sawyer mansion, but still, it’s definitely extravagant—that the nerves hit me. “Who thought this would be a good idea?”<
br />
  “Willa,” Tiller notes, pulling through the gate. “She’s fired.”

  River realizes where we are and groans. “Why are we here?”

  Tiller rolls his head to me. “See? Even the kid gets it.”

  We get out of the truck, all of us stalling. We’re walking up the pebbled stone path to the door when the nerves really hit me, and I think I might vomit. My stomach rolls. What if they take her away from me? What if they pulled some spy crap and had cameras installed at Tiller’s house?

  I shudder at the thought and push out a breath, smoothing my white flowy dress.

  Tiller stands behind me, his chest pressing to my back. Drawing in a breath, he sighs edging his index finger under the strap on my right shoulder. “White doesn’t suit you. Beauty without expression is boring.”

  My smile breaks my nerves. I’m going to have sex with him tonight. Shhh. Don’t tell him. And then the thought of finally giving in sends my nerves flying and my heart racing.

  The door opens. It’s the maid. “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson are on the terrace. Right this way please.”

  River pushes past us. “I’m hungry.” And then she takes off inside the house wearing combat boots and a yellow and pink sundress.

  Tiller follows me inside the house. “Why do they call it a terrace? Why not say, hey, they’re in the backyard?”

  Laughing lightly, I reach for his hand.

  He stops, smiles, but then looks down at our hands. “What’s that for?”

  “I’m not sure?” It’s a question. It’s not meant to be, but it certainly is.

  “Are you trying to put on a show for them?” He holds our joined hands up and tips his sunglasses up. Slowly, his penetrating stare drifts down my body to the dress I’m wearing. I own nothing white. I had to borrow this from Willa.

  “I don’t want them to take her away,” I admit, my voice breaking, emotions flooding like water pushing the barriers.

  Dipping his head forward, he lets go of my hand and holds my head in his hands. “They’re not. Ava gave you custody of her for a fuckin’ reason. No judge is going to go against the mother’s wishes. He’d be a goddamn fool.”