Laurel
I’ve been anticipating this moment all day—maybe longer. Nerves have me fiddling with the hem of my gray shirt, tugging it down over the waistband of my jeans though it’s cropped.
Half boots.
Cute.
Self-consciously, I wonder if I should have worn yoga pants. After all, we did say we were going to watch movies, and I don’t plan on doing that particular activity in the living room where his roommates can bother us.
I’ve had just about as much Rex Gunderson as a girl can take.
I ring Rhett’s doorbell, stuff my hands in the pockets of my khaki green jacket. Paste a smile on my face when the door cracks open and Eric Johnson’s mug peers down at me through the screen.
“Sup Fire Crotch.”
My eyes narrow. “Fire Crotch? Really? You’re taking it there, huh? Right to my face?”
He shrugs, pushing the door open, letting me enter. “Why not?”
“Most people wait a few weeks—you know, until they get to know me better.”
“Guess I have bigger balls than most people.”
I doubt that. “Guess so.” Glance around. “Rhett’s home, right?”
He closes the door behind us, pointing. “Bedroom.”
“Thanks.”
“Make good choices,” he says at my back when I hit the hallway. “Or don’t.”
Rhett’s door is ajar, and I give two soft taps to the frame. “Knock, knock.”
He’s at his desk, shoulders hunched. Head bent. Looks up, startled. “Hey! Shit.” Stands, shoveling a stack of papers before pushing back from the table. “I must have lost track of time.”
“Grading papers?”
“Oui.”
I practically purr, already excited to be in his bedroom. Drop my purse and meet him halfway so he can drop a kiss on my lips. Scan the bedroom, eyes hitting the bed first, of course.
He’s tidied up.
Rearranged the room, bed pushed against the far wall. Dresser opposite, television perched on top. Moved the desk next to the closet.
My jacket comes off and I hang it on his desk chair, plopping down to remove my shoes. Without them, I’m an entire three inches shorter.
“Did you eat?” he asks. “Don’t say pizza.”
“Haha. Yes, I had some chicken bake Donovan threw in a crock pot this morning before class with white rice and canned veggies.” I pull a face. “Did you eat?”
“Shit tons of water.” He laughs. “Bagel, peanut butter, fruit. I’ll probably get up to pee a lot and should eat again before bed.”
I crawl on the bed, flopping down on his pillows. Lean over and take a whiff, wanting to bury myself in the smell of him.
My shirt drifts up when I roll to my back, baring my flat stomach; his brown eyes fall onto my pale, smooth skin. I smile. Cross my arms behind my head, letting him look.
I’m nice like that.
“Aren’t you exhausted?” I wriggle my toes, elongating my body on the bed, raising my arms into a stretch. “Let’s watch a movie. Come lie down by me, your pacing is making me nervous.”
It’s not; I just want him to lie down so I can touch him. Get this whole pretense of watching television over with so we can fool around.
He moves to the door, turning the lock. Removes his ball cap before sitting on the right side of the bed, shaking out his hair and presenting me with his back. Grabs the remote.
Scoots back until his rear hits me, lying on his side facing the TV.
His broad back blocks my view, but I don’t even care. I didn’t come here to watch a movie; I came here to spend time with him, get to know him better.
Weasel my way into his heart.
“What do you want to watch?” he rumbles, already flipping through Netflix.
“How about New Girl. Have you ever seen that?”
He clicks it. Hits enter so we’re starting season one, episode one. Tosses the remote to the foot of the bed. “I don’t watch a lot of TV to tell you the truth. Mostly just have it on as background noise.”
When he flops onto his back, I seize the opportunity and roll toward him, snuggling up into his side. Lay my hand on his stomach, cheek on his chest. His abs constrict from the contact. Dick twitches beneath his mesh gym shorts.
I bite back a smile.
His arm comes down around me, pulling me close. On the television in front of us, Jess and the gang meet for the first time, and I giggle against Rhett’s chest at the on-screen antics.
Run my hand under the fabric of his shirt, sliding it north, over his rippled abdomen. Up his sternum, palm skimming his nipple.
For the next ten minutes, we lie together silently, motionlessly except for our breathing.
Then, “Do you ever lie in bed the night before a meet and think about it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you know who your match is against tomorrow?”
“Sure do—name is Eli Nelson. Five ten. One hundred ninety-eight pounds. Seventeen percent body fat. Record is thirty and four, from Spokane, Washington.”
“Anything else?”
“His girlfriend’s name is Candace, and she’s a Scorpio.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Yeah, I made that up.” He laughs.
“Nervous?”
“No. I’ve wrestled him before.”
“Did you win or lose?”
His brow quirks. “Do you even have to ask?”
I blush. “Want me to rub your back?”
Rhett hesitates, glancing down at me. “Sure.”
“Want to take off your shirt?”
“Is removing my shirt part of the standard massage package?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Guess I’m taking off my shirt, then.”
I fight the urge to rub my hands together, the anticipation of his incredible physique palpitating my heart. He uses his rock-hard core to rise, raises his arms above his head, drags off his shirt. Lies down on the bed, on his side, presenting me with his powerful back.
The muscles are taut, firm. Skin is surprisingly smooth. I explore first, palm grazing his warm flesh, running it along his deltoid. Down his dorsi. Up his spine and across his shoulders.
Marvel at the strength in these shoulders, the power in his obliques. Explore the tops of his glutes, wanting to pull back the waistband of his shorts and dip my hand inside.
He shivers. Skin prickles with goose bumps.
“Is this massage supposed to tickle?” he mutters.
“Shh, relax,” I croon into his neck. “It’s the new butterfly technique. They only teach this in French massage parlors.”
“Ah, well, that makes sense I guess.”
I lean in. “I promise it comes with a happy ending.”
I simply cannot stop my hands from wandering; he feels too, too good under my insatiable hands.
My fingers play with the ends of his hair, trail down his thick bicep, down his forearm. Over his hip, over his ass. Both palms run parallel up his spine, thumbs kneading on their climb up.
I knead his neck, squeeze his shoulders, thumbs doing all the work. The sound of his contented sigh is agony.
So much so, I can’t stand having clothes on anymore. Pull away to remove my own shirt. Unclasp my bra. Brush my long hair out of the way so there’s no barrier between us when my hard nipples brush the flesh of his back.
God, the skin-on-skin contact is intoxicating.
He groans when I kiss between his shoulder blades, breasts brushing his back. Delicate kisses on the back of his neck. Warm, wet kisses. Soft. Gentle.
Sexy.
I scoot closer so I can kiss the spot behind his ear. Lick his lobe. Slide my hand around his middle, covering his pec with my palm. Caress it.
His huge bear paw finds my hip, pulling at me from behind, hauling me closer, stroking my thigh as I pepper his body with my mouth in a most unmassagelike way.
“Shit, Laurel. Move back, let me roll over.”
I roll back. He shifts toward me.
Our mouths fuse together, tongues mate. Those large, capable hands rake up my ribcage. Cup my breasts and stay there, kneading.
“Your hands feel so good.” I encourage him with a breathy moan into his mouth, my fingers finding the curls at the base of his neck. Playing with them. Kissing him senseless.
He breaks away. “My hands aren’t too rough?”
“No. No, they’re amazing. Put them back.”
The truth is, I can feel every coarse callus on the pads of each finger, each and every one a souvenir of the sacrifices he makes to win. For his team. To be the best. Reminding me how damn resilient he is. How fit and virile and masculine.
Those magic hands splay over my collarbone, sliding down my shoulders and arms like liquid. Lose themselves in the waterfall of my wavy hair. Play with the ends, brushing it to the side.
My chest is heaving from my beating heart when Rhett pulls back, studying my pale torso wordlessly, several torturous seconds, reluctance written clearly in his questioning gaze.
Hesitantly, his hand reaches out, fingertip finding my dusky areola. Silently, his brown eyes linger on my breasts, fixated. Remain there, tracking the movements of his own thumb when it brushes over my puckered nipple.
Then the other.
Raging hormones cause my breasts to swell. Heavy. Begging for relief.
Still, he slowly learns my curves, the cool air of his bedroom hardening the already stiff peaks. God, it’s so terrible.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper, arching my back into his cupped hand.
“I’m thinkin’ ’bout everything.” Finger goes lazily round and round my nipple. Plucks at it lightly.
It’s begging for attention.
Mmm. My teeth rake across my lip. “Wrestling?”
He licks his lips. “Definitely not wrestlin’.”
“What then?” I exhale the words, almost out of breath.
“I’m thinkin’ that these are the prettiest breasts I’ve ever seen.” Fingertip skims the tender flesh of my side boob. “I can’t believe I’m touching these.”
He can do more than touch them—and I want him to put his mouth on me so desperately I’m practically panting.
Just then, a loud bang hits the bedroom door—two hard thuds with the flat of someone’s fist, a high-pitched male voice calling out, “Special delivery, motherfuckers!”
More thumping has Rhett’s hand going still, shifting, flattening on my ribcage. Pressing another finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Then he yells, “WHAT? Jesus.” Cranes his neck toward the banging. “What do you want!”
Brief pause. “Ginger, you in there? Make sure our man packages his meat!”
I raise my head to the sound of scraping across the hardwood floor: a long, gold strip of condoms being shoved under the door. Laughter in the hall, followed by the distant sound of the front door slamming.
Two sets of intense gazes fixate on those gold foil packages.
His.
Mine.
Sex, sex, sex, the condom packets broadcast to the room. Orgasm, orgasm, orgasm.
I know Rhett is thinking it too, and I can’t even be sorry for the interruption because I didn’t think to buy any, and if I know Rhett, he doesn’t have any either. If we were going to have sex, he wouldn’t have premeditated it, would have had to get up, walk down the hall, and ask his roommate for one.
The sight of them seems to fuel us both into a passion-induced haze, and he positions himself on top of me, bracing up on his elbows, hovering. Rotating his hips. I can feel his long, rigid erection through his gym shorts, through my jeans.
He strokes the loose hair fanned around my head. Runs a finger along my jawline. Down my neck, to the spot behind my ear that has the ability to drive me crazy with lust.
Takes his time before placing a chaste kiss on my temple. The corner of my eye. Mouth. Chin.
He lets out his breath. “Laurel?”
Mine catches. “Yes?”
“Do you…” When he pauses, I arch my entire body, closing the gap between us, tips of my breasts brushing his pecs.
Wiggle.
“Do I what?” Nuzzle his neck. Lick. “You can ask me anything.”
Our mouths fuse again before he responds, swallowing his question, four hands suddenly everywhere. Frantic. He rolls again, taking me along with him; I’m on top, straddling his hips.
Gazing down while he gazes up, I position myself over his erection. Undo the metal button on my jeans while he watches, transfixed. Pull down the zipper as his hands roam parallel up my obliques. Skim the underside of my breasts.
Toy with the waistband of my pants.
I lean in so my breasts brush against his bare skin. “Do you like that?” I ask, nose trailing along the shell of his ear. “I love your skin. You’re so warm.”
His hands run the length of my spine, bury themselves in the back of my pants. I lift myself when he gently pushes the denim down over my hips. Thumbs hook inside my underwear.
“I’m desperate for you,” I moan in between kisses. “Desperate.”
God, I like him so much. Drown in his goodness. His kind spirit and pure heart. The romance of his second language. Sweet brown eyes and beautiful smile.
“You are?”
“Yes Rhett, I am.”
“Do you want me to…” His gulp is labored, Adam’s apple bobbing. Stares up at my breasts, then at the door. At the floor. “Do you want me to…pick those up off the floor?”
I kiss his jaw, sucking on his lower lip. “I think we’re ready to take the next step, don’t you?”
His giant paw cups my jaw, eyes searching mine. “I know I am, but I don’t want to pressure you.”
“That’s funny—I was thinking the same thing about you.”
We laugh, nerves sending my giggle into small fits. My lower half shakes, body void when he dumps me on the bed to leave my side, stealing across the room, snapping up the condoms off the floor. Tosses them on the bedspread so they’re nearby.
Shucks his shorts, pushing them down his powerful thighs. Stands in nothing but his boxer briefs, flushed, climbing back into the center of the bed.
Pulls me flush against his big, strong body and kisses the stuffing out of me, hands spread on my back, on my glutes, squeezing, a ripple of pleasure already building inside my core.
God I love it when he squeezes my ass.
“I’m glad we got the sex talk out of the way.” I laugh when his mouth moves to my collarbone, gasp when he licks the valley between my boobs. Bumps my nipple with the tip of his nose before drawing it into his mouth and sucking. Flicking it with his tongue. “S-So glad.”
“Looks like someone brought me more cookies,” he whispers against my bare flesh.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
We’re obviously not talking about cookies; we’re talking about sex, and I like it. I like this sexy but cautious side of him. He’s taking risks with me that he’s not entirely comfortable with, and I admire him for it.
I’m so outside his comfort zone, it’s laughable.
Yet, here we are.
“Is that going to be our code word for sex? Cookies?” I lift my hips when he dips his hands into the waistband of my pants, drags them down my hips.
He’s grinning from ear to ear. Kisses my belly button. “You think we’re going to have enough sex to need a code word?”
“God I hope so.” I groan when my pants get thrown to the floor. Then, “But I wasn’t thinking about sex when I baked those cookies for you, so get that out of your head.”
“I might be clueless about some things, Laurel, but I know what it means when a girl drops by my place with baked goods.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Fine, I’m busted—I did want you eating my cookies.”
“They were good. Melted in my mouth.” His lips graze my throat. Clavicle.
“Sweet?”
Laps at my nipple. “So sweet.”
Ugh, this boy. Those words. That tongue.
“You’re sweet.” I brush the hair out of his eyes so I can get a good look at him. “I find you irresistible.”
He studies me, braced on his arms. “Yeah?”
His voice is a deep timbre that gives me the chills, brown eyes mesmerizing.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” I run my hands down his muscles, his rock-solid biceps. Ugh, these arms. “Embrasse moi.” Kiss me. “Then let’s get under these sheets.”
He pulls down the corner of his quilt so we can scurry beneath it. When we do, I slide off my panties, dropping them beside the bed.
“There, naked.”
He swallows. “I don’t know if I’m going to last—it’s been a few years. I don’t want to embarrass myself…or disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me? Not possible.”
I wonder if I should suck him off, get him to come quick so when we finally get to the business of having sex, he lasts longer. I’m selfish like that.
Throwing back the covers we climbed beneath, I drag my breasts down his bulky frame, hands looping the elastic waistband of his navy underwear. Drag them down, mouth on his thick, erect—
“Oh shit,” he groans when I suck. “What are you doing?”
“Foreplay.” I hum, finger immediately seeking the hot button under his cock. Press down in tiny circles just like I read once in a magazine. His hips twitch, legs start to shake.
I smile around his dick.
“Shit Laurel, if you keep doing that I’m going to come.”
That’s the whole point of this pre-sex blow job.
I suck hard and long, palming his balls. Hum onto his cock, the tip hitting the back of my throat. Feel the telltale signs of pulsing—a good sign. Too easy.
“Stop, oh fuck…I’m gonna come.” He’s panting after only a few minutes.
Suck, suck, suck.
Rhett’s head tips back, glorious throat constricting. Hands grip my shoulders. “Fuck, oh fuck, fuck yeah.”
Small tremors. Thighs quiver.
Rhett comes in my mouth and I suck, swallowing. Remove my mouth, wiping it with the back of my hand. Admire his body as he lies there, spent, the aftershock of the quickie ’gasm wearing off.
I lean over toward the bedside table and grab the water bottle, twisting off the top. Chug. Gurgle. Replace the cap and slip under the covers, pulling them up around us.
Lie facing him, watching as he comes down off his climax, eyes hooded. Lips set in a content line, I spread out beside him, hip against his cock.
One kiss. Two.
One to my brow. Tip of my nose.
Bow of my lips.
I open for him, legs spreading when his hand drags along my inner thigh. Tongues touch lazily. Unhurried. Dreamy. My tender breasts full.
Aching.
Rhett’s rough, callused fingers splay, gripping the sensitive skin between my thighs. “You’re beautiful.”
I’ve heard it a thousand times before, but this feels like the first. Coming from him? It’s significant.
I’m not just a pretty face to Rhett. Not just arm candy or a trophy to be won and flaunted among his pompous friends. If anything, he wants to keep me for himself.
“Tu es belle.” He kisses my temple.
Tu es belle—it sounds familiar. He’s said it to me before, I know he has, but I don’t have time to wonder what it means as I allow myself to get lost in his touch.
Rhett
“Tu es belle.” I kiss her temple as my fingers explore between her legs. She is beautiful, hair spread out on my pillow, blue eyes sparkling ardently. Lips swollen from my kisses, pale skin red, marred from my beard stubble.
When Laurel stretches like a cat, arms above her head, my body begins responding in kind to the sight of her naked flesh. Her round breasts and flat stomach. The shaved valley between her slender thighs.
She tips her head, arches her back as my fingers part her slit. I run one up and down, tiny circles against her pussy. Laurel bites her bottom lip, nostrils flaring.
Lips part the barest of a fraction. Eyes roll.
Reaching out, her fingers rake through my hair, watching me as I finger her. Shit, I don’t know if I’m even doing it right—but her face is flushed and she’s squirming a lot, which I take as a good sign.
“You’re getting hard again.” She wiggles her hips.
Impatiently? Excited.
I am getting hard again—thank Christ. Eyes scan the bed for the condoms I threw down earlier. They’re near the foot of the bed, close to the edge, but not so far I won’t be able to reach them when I need to slip one on.
Condoms.
I’ve only ever worn them twice—for the same fuck. The first time I tried putting one on, it snapped when I rolled it, breaking. The second attempt went marginally better, the actual sex act lasting only as long as it had taken to put the damn thing on in the first place. Beth, my first partner, wasn’t a virgin, didn’t come when we fucked, and whined about it the entire drive home.
We stayed friends—because we’re from such a small town—but it was always awkward after that. Just awesome.
Laurel is wet, my fingers slick. Thumb caressing the swollen nub hidden there. She moans. Thrashes her head.
Whines.
Gazes at me with eyes so glazed over with a looming orgasm it makes the throbbing between my own legs increase tenfold.
“I want you i-inside me when I…oh God…”
“Should I get the…” Condoms?
“Yes,” she hisses. Her legs squeeze closed when I fly to the foot of the bed, snatching up the strip of condoms and tearing one off. Rip the package open with my teeth like a savage, roll it on like I’ve done it a hundred times.
When I rise to climb over the body personifying every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had, I take a second to appreciate the view: Laurel’s legs spread wide, inviting me to slide inside that smooth pussy. Long, wavy red hair. Amazing rack. Hands white-knuckling the bedspread.
Impatient. “I can’t stand it anymore. Hurry.”
Trembling, I reach down, grabbing my cock, guiding it into her heat, hoping like fuck I stick it in the right hole.
Then?
A collective moan when my dick slides in, inch by glorious inch, guided by the white light behind my eyelids. Vision a blur. Loud, passionate groans our only soundtrack.
I push into her gently, elbows braced on either side of her gorgeous face, bending to kiss her. Her mouth opens, tongue plunging into mine. Starving, sexy.
Over and over.
I can’t believe I’m having sex with Laurel Bishop, my brain screams, momentarily distracting me from all the sliding in and out I know I should be doing.
God she feels good. Hot.
Fuck she feels good. Slick.
Jesus she feels good. Tight.
I thrust into her, pleasure coursing through my blood, veins. Head. Feet. Legs. Balls. Dick.
“Rhett,” she whimpers, tapping my bicep. “I knew you would feel good.”
“You’ve thought about it?”
“Only a hundred times a day.”
Her fingers dig into my hips, nudging me off her. Shoves me to my back, legs swinging into a straddle. Eases down around me, sinking onto my dick. Undulates her hips, back and forth, in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.
And this is the part where I fucking die and go to heaven…
Holy Christ. Holy shit.
Oh fuck.
I use the swivel in my hips to thrust up, her hands planted behind her head, deliberate…mind-blowing…rolls of her narrow hips…
“God, Rhett, yes…right there, yeah yeah,” comes her plea, her chant. “Keep doing that with your hips, don’t stop, don’t stop.”
Her tits bounce as we fuck, hair falling in a shocking red wave, the entire visual more than I can even fucking handle. I can’t take my eyes off her—couldn’t if I tried.
Laurel’s hands skim my pelvis, nails dragging along the skin there. Head tipped back, she moans as we move together, bodies in synch, her tight—
“You should see yourself,” she whispers on a whimper. “You’re gorgeous.”
And in this moment, I believe her.
I have to.
Because there’s something in her eyes when she looks down at me, an expression I can’t place. Words waiting on her lips, words she wants to say. Adoration in the bend of her brow and the depths of her pretty blue eyes.
Yearning? Maybe.
Desire? Yes.
Affection. Devotion.
Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was in love with me.
I know sex can make you say and do some pretty fucked-up shit, but I don’t think I’m wrong here. Feel a shift when she breaks the contact, leaning forward, palms grabbing the wooden headboard behind me. Rocks her hips—
“Harder. Grab my ass,” she demands. “Feels so…mmm.”
Bends her head, hair falling in a cascade, so long it hits my chest. When she leans down to kiss me, I push it out of her face, cradling her jawline as she screws me on top.
Christ, shit, fuck…
“Rhett.” My name, said like that, on her lips, silently spilling into my mouth. “God, baby, oh Goddd.”
“Laurel,” I chant back, lost in the feel of her tight pussy. Her tongue.
The look in her eyes.
“Baby.”
When we come, it’s together—mouths falling open, two sets of wide eyes bonded, intense—something I assumed was only reserved for movies. For cheesy romance novel bullshit. For my dipshit friends and their relationships.
Not for me.
Laurel takes her hands off the headboard, placing them on the pillow beneath my head. Rests her cheek on my sternum, listens to the erratically beating heart within my chest.
I stroke her hair. Back.
She kisses my shoulder.
“Rhett?”
“Hmm?”
There’s a long stretch of calm, her fingertip tracing along the veins in my forearm.
“I…”
“You what?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Laurel sits up, yanking a sheet over her pale breasts. “Doesn’t it sound like there are a bunch of voices in the living room?”
Insatiable, I drag her back down to the mattress, throwing back the sheet, mouth latching on to her nipple. Suckling. “No.”
“Rhett, stop!” She makes no move to smack me away, letting me taste her skin. “I’m serious,” she all but moans. “Listen for a second.”
I pause. Listen.
She’s right—there are voices coming from the front of the house. Voices I don’t recognize.
“You don’t think your roommates are having a party, do you?”
When I shrug, hand creeping below the covers, back between her legs, she spreads them for me. “Who knows. I don’t trust those two.”
“But you trust me,” she boasts, hands cupping her bare breasts. “You want more of these?”
My dick twitches. Hardens. “Fuck yes.”
“You want my cookie?”
“Fuck ye—”
Footfalls in the hallway give me pause. A loud banging at my door.
“New guy!”
“WHAT!” I shout, horny and immediately irritated. Laurel kisses my back when I twist my torso toward the door, eyes searching the room for my boxers.
“Dude.” Gunderson laughs through the door. “I hate to break up the party, but you have company.”
A warm mouth drags down the back of my neck. “Tell them to piss off.”
“No can do.”
Petite hands snake around my middle, wrapping around my—
“Godfuckingdammit Gunderson, I said piss off!”
“Afraid that’s going to be impossible amigo.” His annoying laugh drifts through the door.
Laurel’s soft hands slowly pump up and down my cock. “Why the fuck not?”
Jesus Christ, did I just grunt that entire sentence out?
“What’cha doin’ in there, buddy?” More laughter. “Better finish up and come out here—I know how much you love surprises.”
“Jesus Christ, Gunderson.”
“Just put some pants on and throw a shirt on your ginger—you’ll thank me later.”
The doorknob jiggles. Another knock, this one different—seven short raps in a pattern.
Delicate.
Familiar…
Fed up, I throw back the covers, slip a pair of boxers over my raging boner, perturbed.
Unlock and yank open my bedroom door. “What the hell did I tell you assholes about—”
Holy shit.
“Mom?”
“Surprise!” My mother reaches forward, pulling me in for a hug. Squeezes me tight. Backs away, looking me up and down. “Sweetie, where are your clothes?”
Behind me, in a heap on the floor—because I kicked them off before climbing into bed to fuck Laurel for the last two hours.
The corner of my eye catches the distinct shape of three gold discarded condom wrappers, and I kick the remaining ones away with my toe, out of sight. They skid across the floor, sliding under my dresser.
“My clothes? Uh…”
“Do you need me to do your laundry?” She pushes forward, jamming the door with her hip. I push back, stopping it with mine. Her brow furrows. “Why are you blocking the door? Let me in—I’ll grab your dirties.”
Dirties? Shoot me now.
“Mom, it’s fine.”
“We’re just so excited! We wanted to come see you for your birthday.” Her hands grasp my face. “You look so good, sweetie!” She wraps her arms around me again. “Your father and I—”
I know the moment her eyes catch sight of Laurel over my shoulder, through the crack in the door, will never forget her stunned silence as long as I live. It’s palpable, followed by a dramatic gasp. “Who—I mean, oh my! I…goodness!”
I’ve never seen my mother at a loss for words, and right now? She has no fucking clue what to say. Averts her wide eyes, face flushed.
I crane my neck, catch Laurel’s grimace, sheets pulled up to her neck, brilliant red hair in a tangle, cascading over one bare shoulder. It’s obvious she’s naked, embarrassed, and thoroughly fucked.
Her words are strangled. “Oh my God Mrs. Rabideaux, hi. I…we…oh my God.” She disappears beneath the sheets.
“I am so sorry! The boys didn’t tell us you had company.” My mother peeks over my broad shoulder one more time; she’s curious, interested now that the shock seems to have worn off. “I am so sorry!”
Laurel emits another groan.
“Mom, can you give us five minutes, to uh, you know…change.”
“Of course! Yes. Goodness.” In two seconds, she’s going to start spinning in circles. “I’ll just…y’all get changed. I’ll go wait in the living room with your father.”
“Jesus. Anyone else come with you?”
“Your brothers. My baby turned twenty-one, of course we drove up!” She does a small squeal then chokes down another one. “Y’all have a big meet this weekend and your dad thought it was time to check up on you after all the…” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “All the trouble with the team.”
I lean against the doorjamb, continue blocking her view into the bedroom. “She knows about the drama, Ma. You don’t have to whisper.”
“She’s so pretty!” my mother gushes in a staged whisper. “What’s her name? Is that your girlfriend? Are you a couple?”
“Mom, please, just—”
Her hands go up. “I’m going, I’m going.”
I blow out a frustrated puff of air. “Five minutes.”
“I’ll stall your father.” She kisses me on the nose. Pats my cheek. “You look great. Put some pants on and throw those condom wrappers in the garbage.”
Slowly, I close my bedroom door. Stand in stunned silence, staring holes into the dark wood
I turn. “So…my parents are here.”
“How am I supposed to go out there, Rhett? Your mom practically saw me naked.”
“Pretty sure my mom knows we were in here having sex.”
Her head pops out from its hiding spot. “At least she knew you were seeing someone though, right?”
I fidget.
“Rhett, please tell me she knew you were seeing me so I can shrug this off as embarrassing, but not hopelessly unfortunate.”
Shit. “She didn’t know. I-I mean, we…I… Shit.”
Laurel slides out of the bed, magnificently nude. “You can tell your mom I’m your girlfriend if you want, all right? I don’t want your parents thinking I’m some random girl you picked up downtown for the night.”
“Trust me, that thought won’t cross their minds.”
“I know, but still. It would make me feel better. Less…” She waves a hand around. “You know, like I do this sort of thing all the time. Her opinion of me matters, Rhett. This is not the impression I wanted to make when I met your parents for the first time.”
She was planning to meet my parents?
When?
She prattles on. “My mother would die right now if she saw me. Die. Then she’d kill me.” Laurel bends at the knees, scooping up her bra, glancing over her shoulder as she fastens it. “Can you imagine what my dad would say?”
Her body shivers.
Retrieving her underwear, she pads over to where I stand, bolted to the floor. Kisses me on the lips. “I knew you would have great stamina.”
“Babe, don’t touch me. The last thing I need is another fuckin’ hard-on.”
Her gaze is wicked. Delighted. “Your parents are out there.”
“Yup.”
“You poor thing.” Her hand comes around, slapping me firmly on the ass. “Better not leave them sitting with your roommates too long. No good can come from that.”
Laurel
Rhett’s mother rises from the sofa, her shoulder-length brown hair cut into fashionable layers, her lithe frame a ball of energy. I swear, she’s positively about to burst at the sight of me. His two meddling roommates loiter in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, listening to the whole exchange. Brothers flank either end of the couch.
I shuffle into the living room, embarrassed, just my purse dangling from my hands as I do the walk of shame through Rhett’s living room, hair mussed, lipstick kissed off, mouth stained.
He moves to introduce us, face flushed, but Gunderson beats him to it, calling out from the kitchen. “Have none of you met Ginger, Rhett’s girlfriend?”
His mother’s brows go up, gaze trained on my flaming red hair. “Your name is Ginger?”
Ugh, why are his roommates such idiots?
My face heats up. “No ma’am, it’s Laurel.”
“It’s good to meet you. I wish we’d known…”
Again, the peanut gallery chimes in. “Tsk, tsk, Rabideaux—you didn’t tell your parents you had a girlfriend?”
I wish he would stop talking. He’s embarrassing Rhett and making a mess of everything.
“Girlfriend?”
“Uh…”
“That’s your girlfriend?” one of Rhett’s brothers practically shouts. “Holy shit. You’re hot.”
“Austin!” His mother gasps. “Manners!”
“We’re, uh, datin’, I guess,” Rhett says by way of explanation, hands shoved into the pockets of his Louisiana hoodie.
“Your mother and I thought we’d drive fifteen hours so we could wait in your living room while you threw some clothes on.”
“Charles!” his mother scolds. Turns to me. “This is what we get for comin’ unannounced. We were plannin’ on maybe doin’ dinner, but it’s so late now and Rhett has check-in and can’t leave so I think I’ll pack the boys up and head to the hotel.”
I smooth down my hair self-consciously, sure it looks like I’ve been rolling around in bed all night having sweaty, hot sex…which I have. “And I should get going. I, um…it was so nice meeting you.”
I need to get out of this house; I’m so embarrassed.
“Will you be at the meet tomorrow, Laurel?”
“Yes! I would love to sit with you if that would be okay?”
Mrs. Rabideaux beams. “We would love that.”
Rhett
“Rhett Clayton Rabideaux.” My mom starts in as soon as I set foot back inside the house after walking Laurel home. “How could you not tell us you have a girlfriend?”
“It never came up.” Not with all the bullshit I’ve been dealing with lately. “Besides, she’s not really my girlfriend.”
Mom’s face falls. “Oh.”
“If I could interject here.” Gunderson clears his throat, interjecting from the kitchen. “That’s a lie, Mrs. R—your boy here is full of shit. They’re definitely an item.”
Fucking Gunderson.
My parents both raise their brows. Turn back to me.
“I guess we’re kind of…talking.”
Fuck. Laurel would be so pissed I’m explaining it this way. She’s the type of girl that demands respect, and here I am, being cavalier, butchering the explanation like she means nothing.
“Are you using protection?” my dad inquires, pointing the remote at the TV, eyes locked on the screen. “Your mother and I are done raising little kids.”
Oh my fucking God. “Yes.”
“No worries, Mr. R, we hooked young Rhett up with the world’s finest prophylactics. No STDs in this house—not on my watch.”
“That’s disgusting,” my brother Beau chimes in.
“What’s an STD?” the other one wants to know.
My mother ignores them both.
“Laurel is so beautiful,” Mom enthuses. “Even her name is pretty, sounds like a flower.”
I know.
“How the hell did the two of you meet?” Beau rudely asks.
I glance up. Catch my roommate’s eyes across the kitchen as he pretends to be busy making himself dinner.
Gunderson shrugs.
Oh, now he has nothing to fucking add to the conversation?
“We met at a party.”
Gunderson snorts.
“Where did you take her on your first date?”
Jesus, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?
“We, uh, haven’t gone on a date yet.”
“You’re screwing her and you haven’t taken her on a date?” my dad deadpans from the couch, setting down the remote and suddenly paying rapt attention.
“Charles!” Mom reprimands him while turning a raised brow on me. “Is this the kind of gentleman I’ve raised? One that doesn’t take his girlfriend out on dates?”
“I never have time, Mom!”
Why am I defending myself? Jesus.
“Well what is it you do?” she presses.
“I don’t know—we study. Hold hands. Walk to school together. She comes to my meets. I don’t know what else to do with her!”
“Oh boy,” Gunderson deadpans from the kitchen, chewing on a carrot.
“That’s your idea of dating?” My youngest brother snorts. “Taking her to watch you wrestle? You sure are full of yourself.” He turns to my roommate. “What do they call that?”
“Egomaniac,” Gunderson supplies.
“Shut up, Beau, you’re not helping.”
He shrugs, thumbing through the fitness magazine he swiped from the coffee table, looking for female models.
“Trust me, she doesn’t care that we just hang out,” I counter.
My mother crosses her arms. Glaring.
Disappointed.
“I’ve never met a young woman who didn’t want to be properly courted.”
I have a flashback to our conversation in the library, the one where she asked why I’d never asked her on a date.
“Forget I said anything,” she said after bringing it up. Too late, I clamped my lips together, confused as fuck.
“I didn’t realize you wanted me to ask you out.”
She looked up at me then, pretty brows bent. “I’ve been flirting and messaging you for weeks. I brought you cookies. I called you to pick me up from a bar in the middle of the night. Kissed you on my porch. What did you think I was doing all this time?”
“I don’t fucking know, Laurel. Friendzonin’ me? I thought we were studyin’. What did you think we were doing?”
“I thought you were waiting to ask me out until the time was right,” she blurted out, cheeks red as her hair. “I can’t believe I said that. I don’t ask guys out—I’ve never asked a guy out in my life, and I’m not starting with you.”
Shit.
I’m an ass.
Me: Sorry about that whole thing with my parents.
Laurel: It’s okay, I survived. Only a mild heart attack. Lana charged me back to life with sushi.
Me: I apologize in advance for anything my family says tomorrow.
Laurel: I’m so nervous. I hope they don’t think I’m…you know, sleazy or whatever.
Me: They don’t think you’re sleazy. They spent the entire past hour grilling me about you.
Laurel: I guess I can use tomorrow as an opportunity to redeem myself from the walk of shame I did in front of them tonight.
Me: Tu me manques déjà
Laurel: Does that mean what I think it means?
Me: What do you think it means?
Laurel: You miss me terribly?
Me: Uh, that’s kind of exactly what it means. LOL
Laurel: You are the sweetest. Honestly. I miss you so much. Do I sound clingy saying that?
Me: No, because I just said it.
Me: My parents just left.
Laurel: And?
Me: And I’m thinking you should get your sweet little ass back over here.
Laurel: God, now all I can think about is you touching me.
Me: Then what are you waiting for?
Laurel
“So what did your parents say after I left?” We’re lying on our stomachs in the middle of his bed, feet dangling off the other side. I switched into yoga pants before coming back over, but I don’t expect them to stay on long.
“My mom only wanted to talk about you, and my dad kept tryin’ to talk about wrestling.”
“What did she want to know about me?” My stomach can’t help but leap at this news.
Those broad shoulders of Rhett’s move up and down in a shrug. “You know, the usual.”
Oh God, if he’s going to be vague, I’m going to have a stroke. “Like what?”
“Rex would not shut up about you being my girlfriend.” He laughs it off, but I detect an undertone in his voice that has my ears perking up. “And my mom kept pryin’ for details.”
Pryin’.
I swear, my heartbeat quickens. “What did you say to the girlfriend thing?”
“I didn’t want her to get all excited, you know? My mom’s the type that would start plannin’ a weddin’ and shit—she has three boys—so, you know, I told her the truth, that we were talking.”
I pull back. Talking?
I mean, I get it; he doesn’t know where we stand, and neither did I until just now. I try to laugh, swallow down the disappointment. Downplay how that word makes me feel.
Talking.
What does that even mean?
“Talking.”
His laugh sounds strangled. Nervous. “You know—hanging out.”
Stomach in knots, I turn to face him, body twisting. “Is that what you want? To hang out?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you want, you know…more?” With me. Specifically.
“What do you want?”
“Rhett, I’m asking you.” I’m curt, but need to know I’m not wasting my time with someone who doesn’t want me back—that his heart, like mine, is invested.
If even just a little.
It hasn’t occurred to me before this moment that he might be using me for sex, using my body, like the guys that have come before him—but hearing him hesitate like this? It just might break my heart.
My eyes squeeze closed; I can’t look at him. “I’m not trying to push you into anything Rhett, I swear I’m not. I can handle the truth, I just need to know if you want what I want.” Before I fall completely and madly in love with you.
I’m more than halfway there already.
Feeling decidedly Alex-like, I realize I’m an utter asshole for bringing this up. It’s unfair to him, I know this; he has never been in a relationship before, so how would he know how he felt about me after only a few weeks? The last thing I want to do is railroad the poor guy into a relationship by being pushy. For all I know, he hasn’t had a girlfriend for a reason.
What if he doesn’t want one? Just wants to sow his wild oats? Catch up from his lifelong dry spell?
I like him far too much to stay silent.
I have to know.
“Are you askin’ if I want a girlfriend?”
I roll to my side, studying his expression. “I guess I am.”
He mulls it over, rolling to his back, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “Any girlfriend, or someone specific?”
I narrow my eyes; who knew he’d be this cheeky? Bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling.
“Don’t be coy,” I scold, impatient. Sulking.
“Oh, I’m the coy one, huh?” his deep voice teases. “So what I’m gettin’ from that cute pout of yours is you wouldn’t mind, you know, being, uh…committed.”
My ears perk up.
Commitment. I almost breathe the word out loud. Yes.
“So, no sleeping with other people while we’re sleeping with each other,” he muses.
“Right.”
“That won’t be a problem for me.” When he laughs, I want to smack him for joking around and not giving me a straight answer. Ugh.
Ten minutes later, he still hasn’t answered my question.
Ten minutes later, I reach to pull on my Chucks, crouching at the foot of the bed. Slip one shoe on, moving to zip the soft leather up its side.
A warm hand touches my spine, caressing my back, up and down. Kisses my neck from behind. “Goin’ somewhere?”
“Home.” I glance at him over my shoulder.
Rhett furrows his brow. “But I thought…”
I shoot him a sharp look, trying to control my out-of-control emotions. “You thought what?”
I know I’m being hypersensitive, but I’m in uncharted territory here, completely out of my element, and don’t know quite what to do with myself. Normally I’m the one calling the shots in my relationships, the one being chased after, showered with compliments, and getting gifts.
Rhett has shown me none of those things, and yet…
Here I am, dreaming about him every day and every night. Falling asleep with a smile on my face, waking up thinking about him, with his name on my lips.
“I-I don’t know what I thought,” he stammers, hands splayed helplessly. “Help me out here, Laurel. I don’t know what I did to piss you off.”
“Truthfully?” My shoulders slouch, fingers releasing their hold on my shoe, letting it drop to the ground. I sit up straight, ashamed. “I don’t know why I’m leaving.”
What a liar.
I don’t have a clue what we’re doing and can’t handle not knowing. I guess that makes me a control freak, doesn’t it? I can’t push the subject with him because if I do, I run the risk of pushing him away.
Rhett simply isn’t equipped to deal with a girl like me.
It’s depressing.
As it is, I practice every ounce of self-control I have, doing my best not to eat him alive. It’s hard; he’s so freaking irresistible.
“For what it’s worth, I want you to stay.” He leans in again, brushing my long hair out of the way, kissing the back of my neck. “Stay.”
My body gives in, falling back down onto the mattress. He hovers above me now, shaggy hair falling into his concerned brown eyes.
“All right.” I trace his jawline with the tip of my finger. “You’re right.”
“I have to be up really fucking early, but you’ll have the house to yourself in the morning. The guys and I have to be out the door by five.”
“Five?” I wrinkle my nose. “Is it even light out that early?”
“Barely.”
“Rhett?”
He gazes down adoringly.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being such a…girl.”
He rears back, grinning. “What does that mean?”
“It means…” I worry my bottom lip with a sigh. “That I’m letting my insecurities get the best of me.”
“Uh, okay.” Translation: I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.
“You know what would make me feel better?”
His brows rise.
I raise one of mine.
Two seconds later, he’s on his haunches, peeling off his shirt.
He’s hot and horny, wanting to have sex constantly, the condoms we had almost entirely gone once we rescued them from under the dresser.
“Laurel?” The gentle whisper comes from somewhere above my head. A light caress touches my back. “Laurel, I’ve gotta go.”
I roll to my back, his hand taking the short journey across my flesh when I turn. Stretch, sheet sliding down my pale skin.
Groggy but not blind, I catch when his eyes roam my naked upper body. Give him a tired little smirk and let him ogle my amazing breasts.
“Mmm, morning baby.” I can’t help calling him that; it feels so right.
“Sorry to wake you, I just wanted to say goodbye.”
When his hand settles on the flat of my stomach, I reach for it. Drag it up my ribcage, resting it on my breast. His thumb immediately begins a tender stroke over the crest.
“You have to leave right this second?” I whisper, hand reaching out to stroke along the visible outline of his dick beneath black mesh gym shorts. I wonder if he’s ever had morning sex, or at least thought about it, about having it with me. Probably not since he’s standing next to the bed, completely dressed, showered, and ready to leave. “Once more before you go, please babe.”
“Once more what before I go?”
Is he serious? “A quickie.”
Rhett wars with himself, debating, and I wonder if it has more to do with my hand on his junk, his hand on my boob, or my use of the word babe.
His cock, at eye level, twitches. Grows.
My arms stretch above my head lazily. Breasts tempting, hair fanned on his pillow, I know I’m an alluring sight, unfurled like a cat in the sun. Irresistible to his hormonal, raging body.
I know it’s wrong to make him choose, but I want slow, orgasmic, morning sex, and I want it now.
“Make love to me real quick,” I whisper, hips rolling beneath the sheets, already damp between my legs. “Please, baby.”
Baby: I know with that one word, I’ve got him by the balls.
Duffle dropping like a lead weight to the floor, Rhett hurriedly yanks his shirt up over his head. Shucks his shorts, shoving them down his muscular thighs. Crawls under the covers between my spread my legs, palm running up my calf, leg, cupping my breast. Squeezes gently. Sucks a nipple.
He’s a fantasy come to life, hard as a rock and warm and smelling like peppermint. Shampoo and woodsy soap. Feels like heaven in the dusky morning light barely filtering through the sheer curtains.
“Gotta make this quick.” Hesitates before pushing in. Long and hot, he’s already learned what makes my body purr. “Shhhit, Laurel.”
Wide awake and full of raw power, his hips thrust, doing all the work for both of us, face buried in the crook of my neck, mouth on my skin. Hips rolling slowly at first, his stiff cock hitting my sweet spot almost immediately.
Ah, the beauty of morning sex—or maybe I’m just so turned on by him I was already halfway there.
When Rhett’s large hands grip my ass, sinking in as deep as he can go and pumping into me wildly, I whimper, clinging to him, orgasm imminent.
Horny, adrenaline-fueled Rhett feels…is…
“Perfect. So perfect.”
We make no sounds when we come, no grunts, no moans.
Just the sound of our heavy breathing in the first light of day, bodies pressed so closely together there’s no room between us, not even for a whisper.
His kiss hits my lips when he pulls out; rising to clean himself up, he gathers his clothes to pull them on. I watch him dress, sated, chin propped on my elbow.
His body is chiseled perfection. His heart? Sweet and a bit naïve.
Mine flutters, observing him hustle around his room; he deserves this wave of love I suddenly feel for him.
We both do.
“Breakfast in the fridge.” He swoops in again to kiss the pulse in my neck, lips lingering. “My parents will be in section three, right where you sat last time. My mom will be watching for you.”
I roll up in his covers. “Kay.”
“Bye.” Long pause. “Babe.”
My heart races when he tests the endearment for the first time, leaving me just a little bit breathless. Jeez, I miss him, and he hasn’t walked out the door yet.
Get a grip, Laurel. “See you later, baby. Good luck.”
One more sweet kiss to my collarbone and he’s gone.
I flop down on his pillow, burying my face in the space he recently occupied. Give it a sniff, sighing all over again. Roll onto his sleeping spot and slip into blissful, satisfied slumber.