Every Sweet Regret (Orchid Valley Book 2)

by Lexi Ryan

  He chuckles. “Of course. I’m heading into an appointment, but I’ll be your errand boy as soon as I’m out.”

  “You’d better. Does Stella know I’m coming? I don’t want to freak her out.”

  Dean grunts. “Nah. I just left, and she was still in bed.”

  I swallow. That image isn’t helping. At all.

  “I wouldn’t wake her, though,” Dean says. “Let’s just say my spidey-sense tells me she had company late last night.”

  This sends a flurry of different emotions through me. Jealousy, annoyance, frustration. And fuck, my pride feels battered. I can’t stop thinking about her, and she’s already dragging some other guy home?

  I shouldn’t care. This is Stella. She does what she wants. But I still hear myself mutter, “I can’t believe she brings her hookups to your mom’s.”

  “Right?” Dean laughs again, and I grit my teeth. The idea of Stella sleeping so close to where I’ll be working was bad enough, but the thought of her sleeping off orgasms from some other guy? Way worse.

  I freeze halfway up the walk to Dean’s mom’s when I realize I left my earbuds at home. Fuck. I was planning to distract myself from the sexy redhead sleeping on the other side of the wall by listening to music. Loudly.

  Too bad. I just want to get this over with. At least it looks like her company already left—there’s no sign of an unusual car in the driveway.

  I use my key to let myself in, and Rusty meets me at the door, tail wagging wildly.

  I stoop to my haunches to give him a good scratch behind the ears. “Who’s a good boy?” I ask softly. His tail slaps the wall as he licks my face, and I grin. I should get Hope a dog. Amy was always opposed, claiming dogs stole any spontaneity from your life. “You can’t just run away for the weekend on a whim if you have a dog.” So we didn’t get a dog. Never “just ran away for the weekend,” either. Figures.

  Rusty bores of me quicker than he used to and heads back to the living room for what I’d guess is his second morning nap.

  I turn down the hall toward the guest bath when I realize even earbuds wouldn’t have spared me from all the evidence of Stella’s extracurriculars.

  Her black skirt and yellow top are lying in the hallway between the door to her bathroom and bedroom, as if she—or someone else—stripped it off her there. A hot-pink lace bra is on the floor right beside . . .

  I spin around and drag a hand over my face, but no. There’s no unseeing that scrap of fabric, and now that my brain has latched on to the image, it’s on a one-way track barreling toward the sight of her perfect ass framed in pink lace.

  Fuck.

  I don’t want to want Stella Jacob. I don’t want to fantasize about that perfect body or wake up with an erection that demands I think about her while I get myself off. I don’t want to see her fucking panties on the floor and wish I was the guy who’d stripped them off her. And yet here we are.

  Her bedroom door is cracked, and I resist the urge to peek inside. I bet her bedspread is as bright as her personality, and I can imagine the sheets crumpled and her pajamas tossed haphazardly on the floor beside it. Part of me wants to know how she keeps her most private space, but I’m not going to be some creep who peeks into bedrooms and stares at panties, like her old landlord. And I’m not going to let myself think about her bringing a guy here. She’s a fucking grown woman with a healthy sex drive, and she’s going to bring guys home from time to time. It’s easy enough to imagine her stumbling in, tipsy from too many drinks at Smithy’s, that smile stretching across her face as she drags—

  I shut the thought down. Because there’s no fucking reason for me to imagine some alternate timeline where I’m the guy Stella brought home from the bar.

  Just do the job you came here for.

  Ignoring the underwear and the cracked bedroom door, I step into the bathroom and stoop to look under the sink.

  There’s a red ceramic bowl under the plumbing to catch drips, and I put it in the sink, turn off the water supply, and then position myself on my back to track down the problem. I have the wrench in my hand and my head in the cabinet when I hear it . . . soft, barely audible whimpers. Sexy, needy, breathless.

  Her hookup is still here.

  I move to stand so fast that I hit my head on the pipe. “Fuck!” Too loud. That was too fucking loud, and I just want to get out of here. I’d rather drink paint thinner than listen to some random guy pleasure Stella. Would rather make it a double before meeting the asshole the morning after.

  I scramble to get out from under the sink and stand. The room spins a little as I right myself, and I have to brace against the counter. My head pounds.

  “Kace?”

  I close my eyes at the sound of her voice. Pass the paint thinner.

  “Jesus, are you okay?”

  The soft fall of her steps grows closer, but I don’t want to lift my head and look at her right now. I don’t have any right to the jealousy she’ll see in my eyes if I do.

  So I keep them shut. Even as she steps close and the warmth of her body brushes mine. Even as her fingers skim my cheek and she smooths my hair back to examine my forehead.

  “This is gonna be one hell of a goose egg if you don’t get ice on it.” She steps away, and I finally meet her green eyes and scan the freckles in the morning light coming in between the slats of her blinds. I’m weak for this woman. “Be right back, okay?”

  Either she and her hookup were fucking half clothed, or she got dressed fast. She’s in a baggy T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and . . . well, I’m not exactly sure what she has on under that. Probably better not think too much about it.

  She walks toward the kitchen, and I don’t look away as her T-shirt shifts and slides against her simple black panties.

  I’m really screwed in the head if I’m ogling a woman who was literally in bed with someone else less than a minute ago. I need to get out of here. I’ll come back later after she’s gone. “I can get myself ice at home,” I say, following her down the hall.

  She flashes me a confused frown over her shoulder. “That’s dumb, Kace. I have it right here.” She grabs a bag of peas from the freezer then strides back to offer it to me. My fingers brush hers as I take it.

  I swallow. “I’ll get out of here. I didn’t realize you were still— I mean, that . . .” I clear my throat. Fucking awkward. “That you had company over.”

  Frowning, she guides my hand with the “ice pack” to my forehead. “I don’t have company over.”

  I gingerly touch the bag of peas to the bump. God damn, that hurts. “It’s fine, Stella. It’s none of my business. I heard you two . . .” You’re making it worse. Abort. Abort. I step around her, ready to run out the door. “Anyway, I’ll be back later. Let me know when you’re done—I mean, when he’s gone. Or when I can come back.”

  She steps into the hall and grabs my wrist to stop me. Her smile is the picture of puzzled curiosity. “There’s no one else here, Kace. What did you—” Her cheeks flame red with the speed of a struck match. “You heard me?” Her eyes dart to her bedroom and then back to my face. “From in there?”

  “Yes, but it’s fine, and I . . .” Then her words register. No one else is here. My eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they drop to the hem of her T-shirt again and then shift to the feminine fingers still wrapped around my wrist. She was in the bedroom alone. Oh, fuck me, but the idea of her lying in bed making herself moan like that? My brain might’ve decided against being a creep, but my dick is totally on board. My mind immediately flashes to my fantasy, to the vivid image of her gripping the back of my couch and the sound of her moaning as I— “I should go. You can get back to . . .” Yep. Every time I open my mouth, I make it worse. “I’ll go.”

  She sidesteps in front of me. When she crosses her arms over her chest, her shirt creeps up, but I’m not going to look. I don’t need a reminder of her soft thighs. The laundry-faded black of her panties will be forever imprinted on my brain. “Are you going to be all weird
about this?”

  I jerk my gaze back up from where it drifted to her bare legs. “Weird about what? There’s nothing to be weird about.”

  “You look like you just caught me masturbating to My Little Pony or something.”

  I nearly choke on my tongue. “My Little Pony?” What the fuck? I shake my head. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

  “Oh, inside joke, I guess.” She waves away my confusion. “Anyway, it wasn’t anything freaky. Just . . .” She lifts her right hand and wiggles her fingers. “Normal, single-girl self-maintenance.”

  I cover my eyes with one hand. They can’t be trusted, anyway. “It’s like you’re determined to torture me.”

  She tugs my hand off my eyes and drags me into her bedroom, where she kicks the door closed behind her and bites back her smile. A small lamp illuminates a room crowded with too much furniture, as if she moved her whole apartment in here, and there’s no room to put space between us.

  This isn’t going to help anything.

  “Sorry for my lack of filter,” she says. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have mentioned it, but you’re so damn cute when you’re flustered.” She shrugs. “It’s like putting an ice cream cone in front of me and telling me I can’t lick it.”

  Lick it. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrestle my imagination back where it belongs. I should be thinking about anything but Stella’s tongue. “Fuck, Stella. Don’t say shit like that, okay? I’m trying to be a decent guy here.”

  Her gaze takes a leisurely stroll to my mouth then across my chest, tripping over my torso before landing just below my belt. Thank Christ I’m in jeans and not athletic shorts, but I’m sure she can still see quite clearly what’s happening south of the border. “I think maybe you should sit. Can’t be too careful with a head injury.” She nods to the couch that’s shoved into the corner. But the second my eyes land on her bed and her twisted sheets, I’m thinking about her writhing and moaning at her own touch.

  “I can sit in my own house. Give you some privacy.” Aaaaand now it sounds like I think she’s going to masturbate when I leave. Or like I want her to. Or like I need to be alone so I can imagine her doing it . . . Okay, that last one has a ring of truth to it. “I mean, to get dressed or whatever.”

  She smiles. “I don’t have to get dressed for another hour.” She shrugs and steps forward, nudging me backward until I hit the couch. “Sit. Let me take a look at that bump.”

  I’m a masochist, so I obey and lower the ice pack when my ass hits the faded blue upholstery. She leans forward to take a closer look, and I have to close my eyes. She’s definitely not wearing a bra.

  Turning off one sense only heightens the others, and now I’m obsessed with the smell of the detergent from her shirt and the perfume she probably wore out last night.

  This girl is everything I don’t need in my life. She’s wild and unpredictable with the priorities of a college party girl. I would’ve thought she’d outgrown that before graduation, but her time working at Allegiance with Amy proved otherwise.

  When I date again for real—and I’m not looking to do that for a long fucking time—I want it to be with someone who’s steady. Someone I can count on to be home every night and who will enjoy the simplicity of a life raising the coolest little girl around and making a home for her.

  Someone who won’t leave me because she’s grown “discontent.”

  “Are you okay?” Stella’s fingertips ghost over my head wound.

  “I’ll be fine.” I fumble for the bag of peas and press it back to my head.

  “Open your eyes and look at me,” she says. I obey, and she studies each one. I follow suit and study her irises, the way the green darkens on the outside and is lighter in the middle. She sighs, and her breath floats across my forehead. “Just as I suspected.”

  “What?”

  “Well, hell, Kace. This is a problem.”

  I arch a brow, then immediately drop it. Ouch. “I’m fine, Stella. No concussion. I promise.” My voice sounds husky. It sounds like it would if we were in that bed together and instead of her hand between her legs, it was mine.

  “Dilated pupils, accelerated heart rate, inability to focus on a conversation?” She keeps one hand in my hair and braces the other on the back of the couch. She leans forward, her lips brushing my ear. “It looks like you’re turned on.”

  I bark out a laugh. Not where I thought she was going with that.

  Climbing onto the couch, she puts a knee on either side of my hips, straddling my lap. “Aren’t you?”

  “I plead the fifth.” I could recite the whole damn Constitution. I’m sure there’s no amendment strong enough to keep her from feeling the bulge pressing against my fly.

  “Stella.” Her name is a desperate plea on my lips. I should ask her to move. Hell, I could pick her up myself and move her off me, but I don’t want to. I’ve thought about her here too many times. My reason is losing to my lust. “Didn’t you just have some guy in here with you last night?”

  “No.” She arches a brow. “Why would you think that?”

  “Your clothes were all over the hall.” I swallow. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “You think I brought some guy home to my mom’s and had him undress me in the hall?”

  “I . . .” Obviously, yes is the wrong answer. “So you undressed yourself in the hall?”

  “Rusty steals my clothes from the hamper.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would it bother you if I’d been with someone else?”

  “Yeah.” The word comes out rough, raw. Too much honesty, but I don’t know any other way to do this. “I fucking hate the idea of anyone touching you but me.”

  Her green eyes flash. She shifts herself so her body’s flush with mine and rocks against my hips. The movement is subtle. Nearly indecipherable. But it’s there, and my hips lift off the couch, chasing that heat between her legs.

  “We decided we weren’t doing this,” I say, but I’ve already gripped her hip with my free hand, holding her close.

  “There are so many reasons we shouldn’t. Then again, you got hard thinking about me touching myself, and now I really, really want to help you with that.”

  And Stella’s the kind of girl who takes what she wants and says damn the consequences. That’s exactly why I should stay away. Instead, I drop the bag of frozen peas so I can hold her with both hands. “How do you plan to help me?”

  She grins and slides her hand between our bodies, stroking me through the thick denim of my jeans. It’s so good and not enough. “There are a few effective treatment plans I could offer.”

  “Is there one without side effects? One that won’t screw up our lives?” My words are breathless, and I’m already jacking up into her hand, looking for the pressure, for the relief. I slide my hands under her shirt, stroking the soft skin of her stomach. “The one where you don’t hate me later.” My voice sounds as tormented as I feel.

  “We’re good, Kace. We’re just friends helping each other out. This is a mutually beneficial situation.”

  “So when you were alone in here, you didn’t . . .” I swallow.

  “Finish?” She shakes her head. “I was close, but then I heard something.”

  Fuck. I used to hate how blunt she was when talking about sex, but I was an idiot. It’s hot. So fucking hot. She’s not ashamed of liking sex or of having it often. Hell, after finding my marriage crumbling and our chemistry MIA, I should appreciate Stella’s frankness like no other. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

  She slides off the couch and onto the floor and looks up at me from between my knees, her eyes dancing with mischief. She tugs my hips forward, and I help, lifting off the couch so she can bring me where she wants me. When her fingertips brush the button on my jeans, I draw in a ragged breath and grapple for a hold on reason, but I’m already gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Stella

  The master of mixed signals is looking at me with so much heat in hi
s eyes that I don’t think I could walk away if I wanted to. First he feels me up at his place and makes promises I still can’t stop thinking about, then he slams on the brakes, only to find me on Random the very next day. And this morning, he thought I had some guy in here with me? Did he think someone was sleeping next to me when we were chatting this morning?

  “You’re a hot mess, Kace Matthews.” I brush my fingers against the button of his jeans again, smiling.

  He draws in a ragged breath. “Only with you.”

  I lock my gaze on his. “Tell me what you want.”

  His nostrils flare and his eyes go impossibly dark. “Judging by the way you’re kneeling on the floor, I think you already know, Freckles.”

  My heart is racing so fast that I feel like I just finished one of Savvy’s spin classes. I pop the button on his jeans and slowly unzip them.

  “Were you thinking about this while you were touching yourself?” he asks. He cups my face in one big hand then slowly slides it up along my jaw and into my hair. “Did you imagine your hand was mine, or were you thinking about some other asshole?”

  “That’s a dangerous question.”

  He wraps a lock around two fingers and tugs gently. “It’s an important question.”

  I trap the moan in my throat. “I was thinking about you. It seems like I’m always thinking about you.” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and drop my gaze to his cock. I want it in my hands. Against my tongue. I want to feel him lose his control and fuck up into my mouth, pushing deep as he comes. “Do you think about me? When you’re alone?”

  “I can’t fucking stop thinking about you. About that sassy fucking mouth of yours. If you knew the things I’ve imagined doing to that mouth . . .” His gaze drops, skimming over me. “The things I’ve imagined doing to every inch of you . . .” He shakes his head. “You might kick me out that door and lock it behind me.”

  “I doubt it.” I curl my fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans and boxers. He lifts his hips as I tug them down. When his cock springs free, I moan. He’s so hard. And thick. I flick my tongue against the tip.