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“Tonight,” he says again. “I’m yours.” For the first time in my life, not only am I tempted to run toward my ruin, I’m anticipating it.
For the first time in my years of sexual experience, I understand true lust-induced pain. Touching her both inflames it and is the only thing that will make it better.
Everything is upside down. The only thing that makes any sense is touching Brenna again.
As it is, I don’t eat another bite of food. If it isn’t Brenna in my mouth, then I don’t want it. Thankfully, no one notices. That’s the strange thing about being the clown, if you’re not talking shit and acting like a fool, people tend to forget about you. I’m not sure if that’s comforting or insulting. At the moment, I don’t care.
Whip and I stare at each other. The thing about Whip is that, out of all of us, he hides himself away the most. He does it so well, no one truly notices they’re not getting the real deal but a shadow. But I know him better than anyone. Something is up. Finally, he lets out a breath and shakes his head. “When you’re willing to tell me what’s going on with you, then maybe I’ll do the same.”
Elevator guy was right; it’s different when it matters. She matters. Of course, she matters. She’s been a part of me for so long, I wouldn’t know how to function if she were gone.
It’s almost too much, this connection. Sex is supposed to be fun, a release. Instead, I’m aching, so hot I can’t breathe properly. He’s spreading me wide, invading, making himself well and truly known. There’s no ignoring a cock like his, or that it’s him. It’s primal and inescapable. That I’m experiencing this with Rye does funny things to my head, makes the room around me blur. All I can feel is him. He’s all I can see.
I am changed. I feel it in my bones, in the way the world around me suddenly looks different. Edges are sharper, colors are deeper, smells are stronger. I am aware of the way my body moves through the air, of every ache and twinge gained from losing myself in her. Everything is different. In the words of “Amazing Grace”: “I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.” Yes, I’ve taken to quoting hymns in my head. That’s what Brenna has done to me. It’s terrifying. But I’m strangely happy about being terrified. In short, I’m one messed-up dude.
“I’m not going to tell Jax.” “Tell me what?” Jax asks, popping out of nowhere like Houdini and making me jump. “That Rye and Brenna are bumping uglies?” I glare at Scottie. “Seriously?” The man nearly rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t tell him. I prefer to keep all your secrets to myself. Much easier to manipulate you sods that way.”
“Not even Stella?” He waves his shake with an idle hand. “She doesn’t count. We’re a relationship unit.” “God.” I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose where a headache is forming. “Which means Sophie knows too.” Scottie’s smile is brief but fond. “No. I love my wife, but that doesn’t mean I’m unaware that she has the biggest mouth in all creation.”
“You’re both wrong, by the way. This thing with Brenna and I just started. And it’s complicated.” “Of course, it’s complicated,” he snaps. “Which is why it’s stupid.” “Galactically,” I deadpan, slurping on his shake. Figures he’d get something salty.
🤣
“We’ve been a family for over a decade, Rye.” Jax’s expression is earnest now. “You two get together and then break up and it’s like a divorce. We’ll all feel it, and it will hurt. A lot.” A small, hard lump of disappointment and resentment sits in my chest. I can’t help who I want. I’ve tried to ignore it, and it never went away. But I’ll be damned if I say as much to them.
“I mean the very idea is laughable.” “Laughable?” She’d drawn herself up then, lifting her chin, fire flashing in her amber eyes. It was at that moment I truly saw the Brenna I know today. Cool, confident, and oh so disdainful of me. “Listen here, buttercup, I could twist you around my finger if I so choose. But you’re not worth the effort.”
“She’s the one that got away.”
“So, yeah, I know. I know the risks better than you chuckleheads. But she’s finally let me in. And I’m going to take the chance, for however brief it might be. Even if I crash and burn and don’t survive the wreck. Because I can’t do anything less and still comfortably breathe.”
“Question.” I turn to Jax who’s thumbing through my LP collection. “Do women truly frown upon the whole ‘call me Daddy’ thing?” Jax pauses, his mouth falling open. “Please, for the love of vinyl, tell me you didn’t go there.”
“Probably best if you don’t call yourself ‘Unkie John.’ That’s creepy.” “Whatever you say, Daddy.”
God, I miss him. I miss him! How the hell can that be? We had sex once. I shouldn’t be craving him like this. Oh, but I do. Before, I ached for physical touch. It was a nebulous need, strong but not rooted in one specific person. Now, it’s him I ache for. Damn it.
“Of course, you do. It’s Rye. He’s always been your weak spot. Not that I blame you. Few can resist that aw-shucks grin. The beard thing is a surprise. I didn’t think it would work for him, but it’s like when Chris Evans went from wholesome, cute ‘how do you do, ma’am?’ Captain America, to ‘who’s your daddy, you’re gonna like the spanking I give you’ Cap.”
I’ve never been loved like that. My parents love me, sure. But that isn’t remotely the same thing. What would it be liked to be loved by someone not required by blood to do it?
Sick man that I am, I feel lighter. If anything in my life is consistent, it’s Brenna. “Ah, Berry. I’d take you sniping at me in that bossy-boots tone of yours over silence any day.”
Blue days. That’s how she describes them. When you feel down and can’t find your way back to the light.
For the first time in days, I can breathe. It’s unsettling to realize that the woman who has somehow become my air doesn’t want to be, that she only needs me for quick physical comfort. Even so, I’m going to enjoy every second of her while I can.
I can’t breathe. Rye has taken all my air. I don’t know how he does it; all I have to do is think about him and my body goes haywire. Down is up and wrong is right.
How had I managed this long without having this? How do I go on when it’s gone? For the first time in my sex life, I’m afraid. Not because I think Rye will hurt me; I trust him implicitly with my care. But because I’ve lost control.
Control has always been mine, no matter the partner, no matter the situation. Rye is another story. Hell, he’s a whole other genre.
I’ve never felt more utterly exposed. I don’t believe I’m perfect. But right now, under the admiration of his gaze, I feel close to it.
My voice isn’t steady or very strong when I finally answer. “I want to get messy with you.” Rye’s breath leaves in a chuff. His hand slides to the damp nape of my neck, and he rests his forehead against mine. “Oh, honey, we’re going to get so messy.”
Then we’re both laughing. Fucking and laughing. Rye’s strong body bracketing mine, his face burrowed in my neck. God, it lights me up, laughing with him. I breathe him in, soak up his heat, his strength. I never want to leave this moment; I want to live right here in this bubbling contentment of sex and joy.
Authors rarely take this chance to explore how knowing each other for years intensifies the intimacy between two people in friends to lovers romance
“You were being a dick to Rye,” she says, shocking the shit out of me and Killian, who gapes. Brenna’s gaze narrows on him. “You were. We don’t rag on each other for having off days.”
Her smile, aimed at me, is brilliant and impish. And it renders me temporarily speechless, my bones humming as if struck by a tuning fork. She’s smiling at me. In public. It is a small sun upon my skin. The warmth slides right into my chest and fills it up. I should make some joke, say something about Killian’s weird water preferences. But I only want to say the truth: I want her. I’m here because I can’t stay away.
Maybe I should feel cheap or small for turning to Rye for physical gratification, but I don’t. For the first time in years, I feel…well, not safe…but excited. Life was starting to lose its color, its immediacy. Rye gives that back to me.
“Waiting for me?” It’s a stupid thing to repeat. He was perfectly clear. But I can’t help it. No one has ever waited for me. His hand slowly rises, and he touches a raindrop trickling down my cheek. “I came here for you. Of course, I’m going to wait.”
Rules. There were rules, weren’t there? “Our day isn’t until tomorrow.” Rain drips from the ends of his hair, now the color of old bronze coins. His lashes are spiked with wetness, shading his urgent gaze. “We said we could have other days if needed.” His grip tightens on my sweater. “And, Bren, I fucking need.”
Up close, I’m struck by her beauty. Brenna’s features aren’t conventionally pretty. Her beauty is austere, striking. It is the difference between Vivaldi’s “Spring” and “Winter.” The lilting notes of “Spring” lull you into peaceful compliance, whereas the vibrant tempo of “Winter” stirs the blood and reminds you what it means to be alive. That is Brenna: thrilling, lively, vital. Her nose is blunt, her face a narrow oval of smooth alabaster skin that glows with good health. Her lips aren’t overly full but are well-shaped and candy pink. But it’s her eyes, the color of fine whisky in firelight,
...more
He’s beautiful in his raw and utterly masculine simplicity. Clean lines, strong bone structure, the dark blond of his hair spiking up in wild disarray. Faint laugh lines grace the corners of his expressive dusky-blue eyes. Even when he’s serious, it’s as if his natural inclination is toward happiness and any other emotion is just temporary.
“I suppose you’re the brave someone in this scenario?” “Of course. Sir Ryland, the noble sex knight. Able to tame the savage Brenna beast one orgasm at a time.” “That is painfully bad.”
Damn it, why did it have to be her? Out of all the women in the world, the one that thinks I’m dirt is the one I want.
For as much as people love their heroes, they’re exceptionally good at tearing them and their loved ones down if they don’t act exactly as expected.
Another gift. He keeps giving me these pieces of himself. If he isn’t careful, I’ll soon have all of him.
Scottie likes to draw it out, hoping his victim will roll over and blab away all their secrets. Not today, Satan!
“I need you to do something for me, though.” My hands have gone ice-cold, and I clutch the phone tighter. “If it’s to water your plants, be warned, I once killed a silk fiddle leaf fig tree. Sophie called it dark sorcery.”
I move to hang up when Scottie’s voice stops me. “Brenna?” “Yes?” He hesitates for a fraction of a second. “Take care.” The worst part is, I’m not certain it’s myself he’s asking me to take care with.
Music, music, music. It is part of the fabric of my being. Pull it away and I unravel.
They’re killing me. It isn’t that I didn’t expect their kindness; we’re best mates, as Scottie likes to say. But the swiftness of it, the way they’re instantly all in…even if I’d do the same for them, being on the receiving end of it is a comfort I didn’t know I needed.
😭😭😭😭😭
There are people with worse problems, worse pain. People fighting for their lives. In the scope of things, my issues are small. Doesn’t stop them from feeling big to me.
Blinking rapidly, I don’t say anything for a moment. “Shit.” A shuddering breath escapes me. “You guys are going to mess me up.” “There, there.” Jax reaches out and musses my hair. “They’re only feelings. You’ll get used to them.”
“I’ve ordered pizza.” Scottie tucks his phone in his pants pocket and then removes his suit coat. “I assume you have beer.” “You assume correctly.” He nods and heads to the kitchen. “There’s a Supernatural marathon on. They’re starting from the pilot.” Killian groans loudly. “It’s like he’s a preteen.”
💖💖💖
Whip, on the other hand, is already jumping onto my couch and reaching for the remote. “Okay, the Star Trek thing is annoying but Supernatural, Kills? How can you hate on Dean and Sam?” Baffled, Killian looks to Jax and me as though seeking help.
For a thick moment, I’m so damn grateful for my friends, I can’t speak.
🥺
