Chapter Twelve
Rhenn
I barely slept a wink.
Not even the tranquil rocking motion of my boat could calm my raging hormones. All I could think about was the way she melted against me, the feel of her lips against mine, her taste on my tongue. I tried – fuck, did I try – to push her out of my mind, but I just couldn’t do it. I had a taste, and now I want more.
More of her, sure, but more of all that other shit too. The touches, the lingering glances, the kisses, and the noises she makes when she surrenders in my arms. The things that felt a hell of a lot like a relationship. The things I swore I’d never want or need again.
It didn’t help my situation that I was forced to listen to my friend fuck his wife, albeit as quietly as they possibly could. I can’t even be mad at him because if I were in his situation, I’d be screwing my wife as much as possible too. Well, if I had a wife, that is. Which I don’t.
And won’t.
I tried everything. I got up and went upstairs, trying to get away from the low thump of the mattress hitting the wall. That didn’t help because all I thought about was how Marissa would look splayed out on my deck, her legs wrapped around my waist, as I drove my cock deep inside her. I even tried to make some tea shit that I found in the cabinet. It tasted like ass, even after I added a few splashes of tequila.
I couldn’t shower – they left the bathroom door to the main living area locked from the inside, only to access the bathroom from the master bedroom. I couldn’t jack off, which was what my wayward cock needed, because I had no easy way to clean it up. Not to mention the fact that my friends could come out of the bedroom for a just-had-sex snack and find me whacking off to images of the sexy bed and breakfast owner I left up on the beach last night.
I was in hell. I was hard, aching, and craving release like no one’s business.
I was craving Marissa.
As soon as the sun started to peek out, I changed into running clothes, jumped in the johnboat, and headed toward the shore. It was too early for breakfast (unfortunately), and even though I’d much rather fuck my way through this sexual frustration I’m drowning in, I opt for the second best option.
Running.
My shoes pound into the wet sand, the familiar burn in my legs and lungs settling in. I keep a brutal pace, much faster than I normally would, considering I’m running in sand. I run for a good thirty minutes down the shore before turning and heading back. My pace on the return is a little slower, mostly because I’ve finally found my rhythm. I try to push all thoughts of a certain blonde with alluring green eyes out of my mind, but it’s impossible.
My body craves her like the sun needs the sky.
That’s a problem, and unless I get it under control, she’ll know exactly how much I want her when she takes one look at me. It’s not like basketball shorts camouflage boners, ya know? She’ll take one look at me and run away screaming.
Though, I’m pretty sure she caught on to how she impacted my body last night. I could see it in the way her eyes flickered to my shorts.
Hell. This is what hell is like. A raging hard-on with no means of taking care of it. That’s probably what my headstone will read too. Here lies the sorry asshole who died because all of his blood was in one concentrated area for too long. Death by woody. Nick would love the shit out of that.
When I return to the stretch of beach that belongs to Marissa’s family, I head toward the johnboat. In desperate need for a shower and a bottle of water, I climb in, only to realize that my shower really isn’t an option right now, unless they unlocked the door within the last hour. Nick and Meghan are surely still sleeping, dead to the world from their marathon sex last night. Even though they’d deserve to get woken up after keeping me up half the night with their sexcapades, I don’t want to be the reason they’re up for no reason. Especially since she’s pregnant and probably needs the rest.
Dropping my shoulders, I opt to head to my truck. I can drive into town and purchase some water at the gas station, but before I even make it two steps, I realize I don’t have my keys. They’re on the boat in my pants from last night.
Fuck.
Out of options, I make my way up the path that leads to the bed and breakfast. I know the code to get into the house, so it looks like I’ll be working for a bit until it’s time for breakfast. Checking my watch, I see I have about an hour before I’m supposed to be at Marissa’s place. Not a lot of time to get anything really done, but maybe it’ll help calm my racing heart and raging boner.
As I step through the clearing and into the yard, I notice a light on in the little cottage out back. Marissa’s already up. When the front of her place comes into view, I notice the front door is open, her cheerful curtains all fluttering in the breeze. There’s also music playing, something new and definitely pop-ish filtering through the yard.
Instead of heading to the house, I find myself stepping onto her porch and knocking. I can see her there, standing at the counter, a surprised look on her face as she glances up and finds me. “I know I’m early,” I start, not really knowing what else to say. I’m sweaty and probably a little stinky from my run, and the boner I had just finally willed into submission is starting to come back.
“Come in,” she says quickly, wiping her hands on the front of the apron she’s wearing.
An apron. I’ve never found one so fucking sexy, yet here I am, staring at her as if she’s wearing some sexy negligee and beckoning me to come closer.
“Sorry to just show up like this. I was going to head into the house and maybe do a little work, but then I saw your light on,” I reply, running my hand through my sweaty hair as nerves flutter in my stomach. Nerves. I’m fucking nervous.
“It’s fine. I’m just cutting the lemons to juice.”
I find myself walking over to where she stands, invading her personal space a bit too much for a man who hasn’t showered today, and lean against the counter to watch her work her magic. “Can I help with something?”
Marissa faces me and wrinkles her nose. “This might not be appropriate to ask before breakfast, but why are you all sweaty and gross?”
I can’t help but smile. “Well, you see, I had this problem. One that kept me from getting any sleep last night. So, I got up early and went for a run. After an hour or so, I realized I couldn’t go back to my boat without waking up my boatmates. Access to the shower is in the main bedroom, since they locked my side of the door last night, so I thought I’d come and get some work done, and hopefully, give them enough time to wake up.”
“Wait,” she starts, setting down her knife and turning to face me. “You ran. For. An. Hour?”
“Yeah,” I answer with a shrug.
She looks at me as if I just sprouted a second head, then carefully, picks up her knife and finishes cutting the lemons. “You know, I do have a shower.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“I’m thinking that you not showering might inconvenience me more,” she sasses, the quip of her lip and glance over her shoulder going straight to my dick.
I bark out a laugh and move to stand behind her. I can feel the heat of her body as I press my front to her back. Things in the groin area are already out of control, so there’s no use in trying to hide my reaction to her. “Marissa?”
Her breath catches as she replies, “Yes?”
Bending down, I take a subtle inhale of the delicate skin of her neck. “Can I use your shower? Please?”
She gasps as I set my open lips against the place where her shoulder meets her neck. “Yes.”
I place another kiss on her skin because I can’t seem to help myself. “Thank you. I’ll be right back and then I’ll help with breakfast.” I use all of the willpower I possess to pull myself away from her and head off to her bathroom. It’s not too far of a walk, since the cottage is so small, but Marissa stops me before I can shut the door.
“Do you have a change of clothes?” she asks, making me realize for the first time that I’ll be putting my nasty clothes back on over my clean body.
“Shit.”
“Hold on,” she says, wiping her hands off on the apron once more and walking to her room. Since I’m curious, I follow her into her private space without being invited. Her room is exactly as I’ve pictured it. Feminine and clean. It’s organized with everything in its place.
Marissa goes to the closet and opens the bi-fold door. On the shelf, she grabs a small stack of clothes and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. What the fuck? I watch as she flips through the clothes, pulling out a solid blue T-shirt and a pair of gray Nike basketball shorts. “Here, they might be a little snug, but at least they’re clean.”
I just stand there, staring at the proffered clothes like they’re about to bite me. “You have men’s clothing in your closet?”
She gently puts the remaining clothes back on the shelf, grabs a pair of socks sitting beside them, and tosses them my way. “Yep.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. A foreign sensation creeps up my spine and wraps around my chest, restricting my airway. My heart starts to pound and my head feels like it might explode. Am I having a stroke?
Realization hits me hard in the chest. This is what jealousy feels like. The thought of Marissa having men’s clothing in her closet – clothes that some douche bag before me wore and evidently left behind – leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I can’t even enjoy the fact that I’m standing in Marissa’s bedroom because all I can think about is the dick who wore these clothes. The dick who probably had his hands all over Marissa in this very room.
I hate this.
I hate him.
I hate jealousy and the way it burns my stomach like bad Mexican food.
“Are you okay?” she asks, still holding out the clothes.
“Uhhh,” I start, but can’t seem to find the words. I shake my head clear and reach for the clothes. “You’re giving me your ex-boyfriend’s clothes?” I try to sound casual. I fail.
Marissa seems to stop moving, stop breathing. “What? Oh God, no. Those are Jensen’s. They all have a quick change of clothes here for when we’re working on the house.”
Oh.
Fuck.
I can breathe again.
They’re her brother’s clothes.
“Ahh.” That’s all I got. I take the clothes and walk back into the main living room.
“Rhenn?” she asks behind me, stopping me once again from stepping into the bathroom.
“Yeah?” I respond, turning once more to face her. This time, I’m a little embarrassed by my reaction to the whole clothing situation. I’ve never freaked out like that before, even if just on the inside, and frankly, I’m not sure how to handle it.
“Why didn’t you get much sleep?” she asks, leaning against her bedroom doorjamb.
“You mean besides the fact that my best friend was screwing his wife in my bed half the night?” The corner of my lip ticks.
Her face instantly blushes a dark shade of red. Marissa clears her throat. “Yeah, besides that?”
Turning to face her completely, I decide to throw all my cards down on the table. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open, but I don’t hang around for a reply. Instead, I close the door, knowing I was a half second away from inviting her inside to help with my shower. Oh, the things I would do to that woman while naked and wet…
* * *
I shower just a smidge longer than normal. Why, you ask? Because her shower smells like her. The shampoo, soap, even the bright pink loofa that hangs from the rack in the corner. It’s her, and I find myself completely immersed in her fragrant scent, smiling like a psycho when I scrubbed my body. My cock throbs with every inhale of breath I take. Instead of taking it in my hand, like I really want to do, I flip the water to cold.
Fucking hell!
The burst of cold liquid pelting me in the chest might help alleviate the throb, but it does nothing to calm my blue balls. Now, they’re blue for another reason.
I shut off the water and grab one of the fluffy green towels off the shelf above the toilet. Running it along my head and face, I make my way down my body, careful not to whack myself in the family jewels. They might never recover.
I bring the towel up to my face once more. Would you believe that this fluffy green bastard smells like her too? And the moment I wrap one around my waist, it’s like a Marissa hug to my cock.
Fucking. Hell.
I spy the clothes sitting on the sink and imagine her brother. Nothing kills a boner like picturing another dude. Worse, I don’t have any clean boxer briefs so I’m freeballing it in another man’s shorts. Awesome. I throw on the too-small shorts, followed quickly by the shirt and run my hand through my hair. With the socks, my dirty clothes and wet towel in hand, I step out of the bathroom, make two steps to the left, and find myself right back in the kitchen.
See? Small cottage.
“I wasn’t sure where I should put this,” I say, holding up the wet towel.
Marissa turns around, a bowl of pancake batter against her stomach as she stirs it swiftly. There’s a smudge of flour across her cheek, which reminds me instantly of the day we met. “Oh, you can throw it in the basket in front of the washer,” she says, stirring and nodding in the direction of the back door. I find the world’s smallest utility room with a stacked washer and dryer, furnace, and hot water heater.
Honestly, her cottage reminds me a bit of my boat. It’s close, tight quarters, which she obviously doesn’t seem to mind, as long as it’s well organized. Hers clearly is. I shut the door behind me and step back in the kitchen. Marissa is pouring pancake batter onto a griddle, the scent of bacon wafting through the air and wrapping around my empty stomach.
“Smells delicious,” I say, coming to stand beside her. I’m not entirely talking about the food, neither.
“It’ll be ready in just a few minutes. What time are Nick and Meghan coming?” she asks, expertly pouring the batter and then flipping the big, fluffy pancakes with a spatula.
Running my hand through my hair once more, I reply, “I didn’t invite them.”
Marissa stops and turns to look at me. “I made enough for four.”
“Trust me, Angel, I won’t let any food go to waste, but if there is extra, we can take it back to the boat with us. I’m sure when the lovebirds finally wake up from their night of christening my bed, they’ll be starving.”
She drops the spatula. “Your bed has never…you’ve never…” Her face turns as red as an apple.
“Oh, there’s been plenty of that, Angel. I’m just saying they’ve never done it in my bed. At least I don’t think they have,” I reply, reaching down and grabbing her discarded kitchen utensil.
Why does it suddenly feel hot in here? Like the combination of oven and griddle is causing the tiny kitchen to reach hellish heat levels. The truth is, yes, there has been plenty of sex in that bed. When I first purchased the boat, I was never alone. There was always a woman – often more than one – who wanted to go for a sail. And yes, many times, sailing involved fucking. Partying. Blowing off steam and letting loose. It was who I was – or who I am.
Present tense.
Then why does my chest ache right over my heart when I think about it?
“I’m sure they’ll be some left to take to the newlyweds,” she says, grabbing a new spatula and removing the first batch of pancakes off the griddle. I continue to watch her work as she adds more batter and makes a second round.
As she starts to remove the second batch, I head over to her cabinet and grab two plates and some silverware. I can’t help but wonder how I remembered where everything was located, when before last night, I was never much of a details person. Hell, I never really cared to help set a table before – mostly because, before I helped her make her dishes last night – I’d never really eaten with another person. Nick, sure, but that was grilled shit. But I’ve never had a woman over for dinner. I’ve never woken up the next morning and made breakfast, and I sure as shit didn’t hang around while she made me food in the morning. Once daylight hit, I was gone.
I’m silent as I set the table, retrieving butter and syrup from the fridge. Only when I open the fridge, I don’t see any syrup. “Uhh, Marissa?” How the hell does she expect me to eat pancakes without syrup? Especially when she did nothing but brag about her fresh maple syrup from some syrup farm down the road?
Without saying a word, she walks over and grabs the glass bottle from the sink. It’s wet from sitting in warm water, obviously warming it up so that it isn’t cold straight from the fridge, and after running a towel over the container, she hands it to me. Our fingers touch. My blood boils. My cock throbs.
All because of syrup.
No, not syrup.
Because of Marissa.
When the third and final batch of pancakes is done, she shuts off the griddle and joins me at the table. My mouth waters and my stomach growls angrily as I take a quick sip of the freshly squeezed orange juice I found in her refrigerator. I’ve died and gone to heaven…and I haven’t even eaten any of the food yet.
“Dig in,” she says, placing a stack of three flapjacks on my plate and one on her own. I waste no time dousing them in syrup, choosing to forego the butter, and add a few strips of bacon on the side.
My first bite? Orgasmic. Explosions of deliciousness hit my tongue and I groan. Loudly. I do it again with my second bite, and then my third. I’ve never had something so amazing as zesty lemon blueberry pancakes in all my life.
When I finally look up, her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open, and her breathing a little labored. Yes, I’m enjoying the hell out of my food, but what draws my attention now is the look in her eyes. She looks like she wants to eat me alive, instead of her breakfast, and for the sake of complete disclosure, I’d be one-hundred-percent in favor of this.
Suddenly, breakfast has a whole new meaning.
She drops her eyes quickly and takes a small bite of her food. I watch as she closes her eyes, savoring the taste of the many flavors, and slowly chews. I’ve never watched a woman eat before. Not like this. This is…erotic. All I can think about is drizzling that damn syrup over her naked body and licking it off.
We eat, but it’s tense. Somewhere along the way, we picked up a third diner: sexual tension. It’s raw and thick and makes me think with the wrong head. If I’m not careful, I’m liable to let him make all of my decisions, which no doubt, would include throwing her on the table and feasting on her body.
Every time she looks at me, I feel like there’s something hanging, something she wants to say, but doesn’t. At first, I think I’m just imagining it, but now, as she pushes her empty plate away from her, I can tell she has something on her mind. She’s almost nervous, but I’m not sure why. It could be about our pending sailing excursion, but I have a feeling there’s more to it.
“Say it,” I instruct, finishing off my last piece of bacon.
She looks up, shocked and a little confused. “What?”
“You have something on your mind, I can tell. So, say it.”
Marissa clears her throat and glances away. “I’m not sure I can.”
Pushing my own plate away, I reach for her hand. She’s wringing them both together, a nervous habit that she probably doesn’t even know she has. When I hold them both between mine, I don’t miss the slight tremble. “You can say anything to me. Anything. In fact, I want you to. Even if you don’t think I’ll like what you’re about to say.”
Again, she clears her throat. It takes her a few long seconds, but I sense the moment she finds her resolve. “I was thinking…”
“About?”
“Something my sister said.”
Glancing down, I notice my thumb stroking over her smooth knuckles. For some reason, I really like it. “What did Harper say?”
“That…maybe we…you and I should…oh, God,” she grumbles, dropping her chin to her chest and averting her eyes.
“You and I should what?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest as I wait.
She looks up, her eyes wide, and says the words I never thought I’d hear come from her sweet lips. “That we should sleep together while you’re here.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I die.