His mouth covered mine, my protest disappearing against his lips. The reservations were there, screaming to escape my mind with the cons on the list I made earlier. But I silenced them, because there wasn’t room for them in this space with Rhys’s mouth over mine. Every time I tried to stop myself, every time I tried to push him away, I ended up pulling him closer, getting in deeper, and falling a little harder. As his mouth devoured mine, my arms around his neck and threaded through his hair, I forgot why I was afraid to admit I was falling in love with him.
I forgot I wasn’t going to admit to myself that I was in love with him.
And this time, I wasn’t terrified by the admission.
Rhys disengaged from me, his eyes searching mine again. He was trying to see if I would reject him. He was gauging whether I would say yes when he asked me what I knew would come out of his mouth next.
“Come with me?”
I nodded, afraid to speak because I was worried the cons list would try to rear its ugly head. Rhys stood, taking my hand in his, and I followed him as he pulled me out to the living room. I somehow managed to remember to bring my phone to listen for Christopher and set it down on the end table as we entered the darkened space. We both stood there for a moment, locked in time, our eyes meeting again. Then we came together, drawn as if by a magnet, our mouths colliding, bodies crashing into one another, arms and legs entwined. We tore at each other’s clothing, shedding garments here and there on the floor in a frenzy before we fell to the sofa, me on top of him.
“Are you sure?” he asked me as he reached for his jeans, slipping a condom from the pocket.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
That was all he needed for a green light. He rolled the condom on, shifting his weight and mine so that I was straddling him, his erection positioned at my entrance. Our eyes met again, and something in my chest crashed open. The walls I secured around my heart disintegrated, imploding in on themselves. Why was I fighting this so much? Why was I afraid to love Rhys?
Not willing to wait any longer for him to take charge, I impaled myself on his cock, sinking down all the way until we both moaned. I began to move first, tilting and lifting my hips slowly, enjoying the drag of his dick over my clit. My orgasm built, deep in my core, and I planted my hands on his chest to gain traction. Rhys’s hands gripped my waist, forcing me to speed up, and my climax to climb higher until I was on the edge.
When I finally came, my eyes slammed shut, stars bursting behind them as I threw my head back and bit my lip to keep from crying out. I felt like I was floating, falling, swirling as my body convulsed around his. There was nothing left of me when I came down, collapsing onto his chest, sated and boneless.
But Rhys wasn’t done yet. After allowing me a minute to collect myself, he gave me a slight smack on the ass.
“Get up, lean over the back of the couch,” he growled, lifting me off of him.
I obeyed, moving as quickly as I could. Rhys stood behind me, gripping my hips, and thrust inside of me as I bent over the back of the couch.
“Ah,” I groaned quietly, biting my lip again to silence myself.
He thrust again and again, hard but not painful, filling me as a second orgasm rose from my already sensitive nerves. I fought the urge to cry out again, burying my face in the back of the couch just as one of his hands released my hip. Snaking around between my legs, he found my clit, massaging it with his thumb. Moments later, I came, unable to stop the wild keening sound that managed to slip between my lips. Rhys wasn’t far behind, grunting out my name as he came, one arm wrapped around my waist and the other still on my hip.
As we both came down, he rested his head on my back, feathering light kisses up and down my spine. He muttered something, but I couldn’t hear what he said, and my ears were ringing a little bit in the silence of the room, so I didn’t try to decipher it.
With a last squeeze to my hip, Rhys separated from me, heading into the kitchen to dispose of the condom. I looked around for my clothes, locating my t-shirt on the other side of the sofa. Pulling it on, I watched him walk back across the room towards me, his beautiful body on full display. This time, I didn’t look away from him. Instead, I took it all in, from head to toe. A smirk lit his mouth as he approached me.
“Like what you see?” he asked, and I was reminded of almost two weeks ago when he came to see Christopher and me after we first moved to LA.
Had it really only been two weeks? With Rhys, it felt like eternity.
“I think I may,” I answered him.
“It’s not the boots then?” he responded, the smirk slipping into a full smile, complete with a slight chuckle.
I tried to hold back the laugh that was bubbling in my chest but I wasn’t successful. A full giggle, too loud in the silence of the house, burst out and I slapped a hand over my mouth.
“It’s not the boots, Rhys,” I finally said after composing myself.
My voice was serious now because he was looking like he wanted to devour me again, still nude and on full display, while I stood there in nothing but a t-shirt.
“What is it then?” he asked, his voice deep.
I swallowed hard, unable to speak for a moment because I knew what he was asking. Yes, he was asking if I thought he was sexy, but beyond that, he was asking if there was something else.
He was breaking his promise.
“Rhys,” I said, the tone of my voice scolding.
He shook his head. “No, you’re right. Don’t answer that. I’m sorry.”
“Can we just be for tonight?” I asked him, finding my underwear and shorts. I slipped them on and sunk onto the couch.
My hands went to my hair again, the braid messier now than before. I busied my fingers with undoing the braid as he dressed and sat down next to me.
“Yeah, we can do that,” he finally answered my question.
He put his arm out and I slipped underneath, resting my head on his chest.
“If that’s all you can give me right now, I’ll take it,” he added.
My chest clenched as we lay there, in the dark house, the quiet shrouding us like a blanket, while the words sank in.
But he was right. It was all I could offer him right now.
37
Rhys
I never felt this way before. Being with Natalie and Christopher was a whole new experience for me. The first week I was there, I felt like an outsider, someone looking in on their routines and invading their space. The second week, I felt like I was home. It was a strange feeling because the only other place I ever felt this way was growing up in my mom’s house, and I honestly felt I wouldn’t find that anywhere else. But the truth was, no matter where I lived, if Natalie and Christopher were there, I would still feel like I was home.
The feeling scared the shit out of me as much as it excited me.
“Rhys? Did you hear me?” Natalie’s voice cut through my musings and I looked up at her with confusion.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t,” I answered, my eyes roaming to where Christopher sat in the high chair for the first time.
He was almost five months old, big as a minute, but improving every day with his developmental milestones. Still too little for solids, he was sitting in his high chair to get used to sitting up. It was also so Natalie and I could eat our breakfast without passing him back and forth.
“Oh, it’s okay. I have a meeting at one. You aren’t busy, are you? Isabella Garcia’s manager called me last night to ask if we could renegotiate the terms of the PR contract. He’s worried she won’t be able to make all of the show dates I was suggesting.”
“I’m not busy. I do have rehearsal tomorrow at noon though. The guys are coming into town early so that we can rehearse for the next few days before the San Fran show.”
I didn’t add that I had to do quite a bit of convincing to get them to come up to LA to rehearse. The guys, especially Todd, were irritated they had to stay in a hotel for the week to accommodate. I told them it was a business expense, and Na
te and Rob agreed, deciding to do the nicest hotel they could find. Todd gave me shit about it, blaming Natalie, claimed she was manipulating me, and even had the nerve to suggest Christopher wasn’t mine. He told me to get a fucking DNA test. I told him to go to hell.
“I’ll be here tomorrow, I can work from my office while Christopher naps,” Natalie said in response, waving her hand as if to indicate it wasn’t a big deal.
She took a bite of her pancakes, the first bite she took since I laid the plate in front of her. I studied her as she chewed, closing her eyes a moment to savor the food. Dark circles rimmed her eyes again because Christopher was up most of the night. Though she would never admit it, the sleepless nights were wearing on her. We even placed an emergency call to the pediatrician since it was the fourth night in a row, but he assured us it was only teething.
“These are really good,” she said around a mouthful. “I haven’t had pancakes in a really long time.”
“They’re my specialty.” I made a big production of folding my hands together, pushing them out to crack my knuckles before taking a sweeping bow, as if mixing up pancake mix with milk and eggs was a culinary masterpiece.
Natalie chuckled, and a small piece of food shot from her mouth. “Oh no!” She covered her mouth with one hand, a mortified blush spreading across her cheeks. “I swear I know how to chew with my mouth closed.”
We both laughed at that, unable to eat because we were doubled over. It wasn’t even that funny, but lack of proper sleep made us punch drunk. Several minutes later, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, Natalie sat up straight, pushing another forkful of pancake in her mouth.
“It’s really nice having you here, Rhys. I was so lonely for so long,” she admitted, though the shocked look on her face let me know she had no intention of saying the thought out loud until it actually came out.
“It’s nice being here. With Christopher…” I paused before I finished, unsure if I should add what I wanted to. Ultimately, I decided I was done playing games. “And with you.”
The tone of our conversation shifted. What was once a lighthearted breakfast became a serious talk about how we felt about our situation. Despite Natalie pleading with me to not bring it up, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
She nodded slowly as she chewed, silent for a moment, her eyes never leaving mine. I could tell she was thinking but had no idea if what she was thinking was good or bad.
“Me too, with you,” she finally said, her eyes flicking away from me to her plate.
I didn’t need to ask for clarification; I knew she was throwing me a bone, albeit a small one.
It would have to do.
* * *
“Ok, little buddy, what do you want now?” I asked Christopher, bouncing him up and down with one hand as he fussed while I fumbled with the other to make him a bottle.
He ate two hours before, and lately he was able to go almost four hours between feedings, but today he was fussy and Natalie was out. I would have to figure this one out by myself. As I made him a fresh bottle, I went through a mental checklist of everything we did with him the day before, trying to decipher what Natalie did in the afternoons to settle him when he had fussy episodes. But he wasn’t fussy yesterday, or the day before, not during the day anyway.
Cursing to myself, I regretted not getting up more at night to see what Natalie did to soothe him. My phone felt heavy in my pocket as I juggled the baby and the bottle, the urge to call Natalie or my mom rising.
No, I could figure this out on my own. I was his father.
I bounced my way to the nursery, settling into the rocker, and laid Christopher in the crook of my arm. I lowered the bottle to his mouth, but he turned away, refusing it. Frustration at not knowing what to do bubbled in my chest. Setting the bottle aside, I picked him up again, putting him over my shoulder and patting his back. Maybe it was gas.
But the patting seemed to aggravate him further, so I stopped. For lack of a better option, I grabbed the pacifier sitting on his dresser and popped it into his mouth. He sucked on it for a moment before spitting it out again with a wail. I was getting nowhere.
I began to pace the house, the movement of the walking soothing him to a light fuss, but he was still unsettled. Even though I wanted to do it on my own, I feared I would have to call Natalie if he didn’t relax soon—the poor baby had been crying for almost an hour.
Finally, I remembered the conversation Natalie had with the pediatrician the day before. He said Christopher was likely teething and I slapped myself in the forehead for not thinking of it sooner. What had the doctor said would soothe his sore gums? Of course I couldn’t remember, so as I continued to pace around the house, I pulled my phone from my pocket and Googled safe home remedies for teething babies.
A lot of random articles and testimonials showed up, most of them either not safe or unrealistic. There was no way I was going to rub his gums with whiskey. But after I sifted through all the useless stuff, better information popped up. I could give him Tylenol, something soft to chew on, or even a frozen washcloth.
I snapped into action, first going to the medicine cabinet in Natalie’s bathroom to check for infant Tylenol. Tears actually sprang to my eyes when I found it up on the highest shelf, still sealed in the box. Shifting Christopher back to my shoulder and supporting him with my forearm, I tore the box open to pull out the small bottle. My eyes skimmed the instructions to find the correct dose. It was based on weight, but I didn’t know how much Christopher weighed right then.
I let out a growl of frustration, startling Christopher, who began to cry harder. Everything was going great, I felt like father of the year, until Natalie left me alone with him. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all?
Setting the box back down on the counter, I lifted Christopher to eye level so we were face to face.
“I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I mumbled softly, and for just a moment, he got quiet, his eyes meeting mine, as if he knew what I was saying and he forgave me.
That was the moment I knew—no one was cut out for parenting in the beginning, not even the most experienced person, but we had to earn it. And I planned on earning it this afternoon alone with my son.
An idea struck me as I looked around the bathroom, hoping for a solution. My eyes fell on Natalie’s scale in the corner. If I weighed myself holding the baby, and then weighed myself alone, I could find out how much he weighed. Christopher started up his chorus of steady crying again as I positioned him in a way that would maximize the weight distribution evenly. I stepped on the scale and looked down.
After I noted the number, I walked back into Natalie’s room, placed Christopher in the bassinet next to the bed, and rushed back in to weigh myself as quickly as I could as he screamed louder. I did the math in my head while I retrieved a now red-faced baby from the bassinet to determine what his dosage would be. With one hand, I measured out his dose in the dropper and squirted it gently into his mouth. The instructions didn’t say how long it would take to work, but in the meantime, I would try another method to get him to settle down.
I made my way back into the nursery, scooped the pacifier from where I left it on his dresser, and held it up to his mouth to see if he would chew on it, instead of trying to suck, which I read could make teething pain worse. With relief he took it, chewing on the side of the nipple between his gums. The crying stopped almost instantly as he gnawed on it, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I sank back into the rocking chair, setting Christopher on my lap as he chewed on the pacifier. I had calmed him down without help from Natalie or my mom. I could do this.
I watched as the tension in his little face subsided, his blue eyes looking up at me. Todd’s words from a few days ago echoed in my head. I didn’t want to think about them, didn’t like the idea that Christopher wasn’t mine. But, despite his cruel words and Natalie’s initial deception with her ex-husband, when I looked at Christopher, I knew he was mine. Those blue eyes alone gave away his parentage
but if that didn’t convince me, the slope of his nose and the blond hair on his head would. Beyond that though, even if biologically he weren’t mine, which I wasn’t doubting, I would still claim him as my son. Christopher and I bonded these last two weeks, and nothing could change that, not even some DNA test.
The sound of the front door opening snapped me from my thoughts. Natalie was home. I listened as her footsteps approached. She didn’t call out, in case Christopher was asleep. Finally, her head poked around the door and she smiled when she saw us.
“Hey, it was so quiet in here I wasn’t sure if he was asleep,” she said, her voice muted. “What’s going on?”
“We’re just hanging out, chewing on a pacifier,” I said with a slight chuckle.
Natalie laughed too. “I can see that. How was he?” she asked, moving further into the room.
“A little fussy,” I admitted, “but we handled it. I think his gums are sore.”
Natalie nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a rough two days. Thanks for watching him while I had this meeting.”
“He’s my son, Natalie. It’s not a favor, it’s called being a dad.”
Her eyes narrowed at my comment, something behind them I couldn’t recognize. She gave her head a slight shake before she spoke again.
“Do you want me to take him?”
I could tell by the way she said it, she was itching to hold him after being away over two hours. “If you want him, you can take him, but we are good here.”
I could tell there was a war going on inside her head at what to do. “Since you two look so relaxed, I’ll leave him for now while I get settled.”
“How was your meeting?” I asked her as she started to back out of the room.
The uncertainty in her eyes that was present since she walked in faded with my question and she relaxed, leaning back against the dresser as she began to tell me the details of the meeting. Her voice was animated, excited, and I could tell she really loved her work as she gestured with her hands and explained how she convinced the singer’s manager to get on board with the deal.
One Song: book two in the one series Page 25