When It Rains, page 19
All he does is wink at me.
Sighing, I stroke Sweet Potato’s soft fur because there’s no way he’s going to give me any hints. “If we did this at my place, you’d have a big table to work on instead of sitting on the floor.”
It’s a gamble considering I’d brought it up once or twice before without much luck. He’s been to my place before, but we spend far more time here. Even Sweet Potato is used to being lugged around in the carrier she hates so much.
My apartment in center city is down the street from Somerset University, mixed in with the other student housing. I’m the only post-graduate staying in the house that was recently renovated into four different apartments, which I’ve been looking into moving out of because of how loud the other tenants are. Unlike Sebastian, who was a self-proclaimed party boy in college, I’ve always preferred a quieter lifestyle. That hasn’t changed since graduating.
The way he shifts uncomfortably on the floor has my mouth twitching downward. “You have to admit that it’d look a little strange for a college professor to be seen walking into a student rental. Especially someone like me who’s one of the few younger faculty on staff.”
There’s only a moment of hesitation before I find myself nodding slowly at the concern. “But I’m not a student at the university anymore and you’re not my professor. My landlord may cater to the off-campus student population, but that’s not the only people they rent to. There used to be a 52-year-old divorcee who lived above me before the new lease started in January.”
My apartment is nothing special to look at, but it’s mine. It’s a small two-bedroom that is narrow and cluttered with furniture I proudly bought myself and had my family help move in.
Even though I haven’t re-signed my lease for another year yet, I still love the tiny place that Sweet Potato has made her own with toys thrown around every which way. Rent is reasonable, there’s food in the fridge, and money left over for takeout. Plus, the location is convenient. It’s not a far drive to work or to any of my favorite places to eat. I don’t have to go more than ten minutes to get groceries, and it’s safe to walk around without being hassled by anybody.
“It’s a short walk to the campus,” I offer lamely when his silence stretches. I know how much he loves walking, but it’d be a far shorter trek than it is from his place considering he lives on the city’s steepest hill.
“I promise we’ll spend time at your place, but I’m trying to get on stable footing on campus. There’s a lot of students who live nearby your place that may get the wrong impression if they see me. People talk, Breena. I can’t afford to risk my job because of gossip.”
Gossip.
He hasn’t told me he’s ready yet. Ready for me. Ready for more. But, in a lot of ways, it doesn’t feel like he’s had to. It’s always been his actions that spoke louder than words.
In the ways he’s been willing to communicate. In the ways he’s cooked for me when I’ve been too busy to do it myself. He’s always feeding me, pampering me, and showing me that he cares by the smallest tasks.
So why does my heart sink right now?
Evading his eyes, I focus solely on the cat who’s napping contently in my lap. As if she senses my growing tension, her soft rumbles slowly unknot my shoulders as I stroke her fur.
Giving myself a moment to think, I offer him the only thing I can. “The best ammunition against gossip is the truth. It’s not that hard to talk about it when you accept it.”
Accept me, is what I don’t say.
Accept what’s in front of you.
His eyes meet mine and there’s something different in them. Warm but not. Hesitant and struggling. “Bree…”
I shake my head and fight off the sudden burn of tears in my eyes knowing he’s still not letting himself cross any lines. “Sometimes I wonder why I stayed,” I whisper aloud.
“What?”
Throat bobbing when I look up at him, I debate my options. The truth or something close to it. A white lie. But I don’t want to keep walking on eggshells around Sebastian to save face. “You told me you wanted me in your life,” I remind him, voice thick from the swell of emotion trying to suffocate me.
His brows furrow, genuine confusion on his face as if he can’t see how much his reluctance to our situation kills me. “I do.”
I give him three words in reply. “Then prove it.”
They’re not the three words I’ve wanted to tell him for a long time. Because just when I fear the real ones will bubble out of me, he does something that makes me question just how valid they even are. It silences me. Numbs the feelings.
Maybe it’s better that way. I’ve never been in love before, so how could I know with certainty that’s what this is?
Because you can’t fight it.
“The day I saw you at the Espresso House,” he begins quietly, his focus on the paper that his fingers nimbly move over to fold and bend, “I saw a butterfly on the window. I hadn’t even planned on going in. But the butterfly landed right there, right next to the profile of your face. Something about it made me walk inside. Made me want to talk to you.”
My brows pinch at his randomness. “A butterfly?”
He hums. “A butterfly.”
Confusion clouds any other feeling I previously had.
His lips quirk up as he keeps working on the paper that he seems to be getting somewhere with. A shape is taking form that he eventually smiles at before holding it out in his palm toward me to take.
I gape at the fragile, paper butterfly in his hand, carefully taking it and studying each little detail. Each crease and fold are so precise even the imperfections look intentional. “It’s beautiful.”
His eyes aren’t on the paper butterfly when he says, “Yes. It is.”
Blushing, I show Sweet Potato who sniffs the paper and nudges it with her nose. “Why a butterfly?”
He picks up one of the colored pieces of paper, a thick purple one, and starts recreating a second version in my favorite color. “My grandmother used to say that butterflies are reincarnated souls. When my grandfather passed away a few years ago, there was one that followed her around everywhere. She swore it was the same one no matter how far she traveled. That it was my grandpa making sure she knew he was there for her no matter what.”
Warmth spreads from my chest to my fingertips at the sweet thought. “Do you believe that?”
He pauses for a moment, his eyes trained on the craft in his hands. “I’d like to believe that the kind of pure love they shared could cause a phenomenon none of us ever really knew existed until them. Like anything is possible if you have that kind of bond.” Glancing in my direction to gauge my reaction, he lifts a shoulder. “I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a romantic.”
His lips part to say something else before hesitating, his eyes going back down to the paper he’s holding. “I never really wondered if my grandmother was right before about the butterfly. But seeing the one at the café… It made me confident that my grandfather is still around and guiding us. Showing us what we need in life even if we don’t know we need it.”
My breath catches in my throat.
He doesn’t elaborate as we lock eyes.
And he doesn’t need to.
He leans forward and kisses me. “Happy birthday, baby.”
* * *
My body stirs awake when I feel something hard press against my ass as smooth, warm hands travel sensually underneath the T-shirt I stole. Loosening a shaky breath as those palms curve around my bare breasts and tweak my hardened nipples, I arch my ass back and let out a quiet moan when he starts kissing my neck.
“Need to be inside you,” Bash says against my skin, nipping at the sensitive spot below my ear before moving beneath the blankets until he’s settled between my parted legs and lifting the shirt off my otherwise naked body.
Thighs parting to welcome him between them, he swoops down to kiss me the same time I move my hand between us to wrap around his twitching cock. He groans into my mouth as I pump him once, twice, then guide him to where I’m ready for him. It never takes much. One kiss, one soft little touch, and I’m there.
He pushes in slowly, the sound coming from him enough to make me clench around him until he’s panting my name into my neck.
My fingertips thread into his hair as he pulls out and pumps back in slowly. But gentleness is not what we need.
Not him.
Not me.
We need hard.
Fast.
Rough.
Slow and soft makes me feel too much.
Things I’m afraid he never will.
That means expectations.
Disappointment.
I refuse to ruin everything by letting my emotions get the better of me, so I change gears. Let my body take over so my mind is silenced.
My lips find his ear, nip at the lobe, and whisper, “Remember when you said you don’t play fair? I think now’s the time to put your money where your mouth is.”
He draws back and looks me in the eye, a dark, hungry look dilating his own before those perfect lips start to curl at the corners. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t told me that.”
My fingers curl around the back of his neck and squeeze once. “I highly doubt that.”
The feral noise slipping past his lips isn’t one I’ve heard yet as he rips the blankets from my body and pulls out. I’m about to protest when he stands at the end of the bed, grabs ahold of my ankles, and drags me to the end of the mattress.
“Arms up,” he commands, reaching for something on the floor.
A spark shoots through me when he picks up one of his ties and starts winding it around each of my wrists in skillful knots and then positions them above my head.
“If you move them,” he informs me, trailing his fingers down my arms, torso, and abdomen until they tease the arousal between my legs, “I will stop, and you won’t cum. Do you understand?”
Shivering from the anticipation makes it hard to speak, so he slaps my pussy before surging two fingers inside of me. “I asked you a question. Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes,” I rasp. “Yes, yes, yes.”
The beastly smile he gives me is the only warning I get before he positions my ass to hang from the edge of the mattress, spreads my legs, and plunges inside of me over and over again, fucking me with an untamed hunger that has my mouth wide open from the silent screams wanting to escape my throat but can’t.
He bends forward and inserts two of his fingers into my mouth, forcing it open as I pant out his name in muffled moans. My eyes roll back at the sensation I didn’t know I could feel from each harsh thrust he enters me with. Sex has always been good with him, but this is an entirely different level.
It’s desperate and needy and selfish.
Selfish because I know he can’t deny how he feels when he’s inside me. Because I know he feels the trust I hand to him the second I let him strip me of my clothes and give him my body.
Here I am. Have me. All of me.
Here’s my heart. Take it.
He makes me feel loved with every touch.
Every move.
Every noise.
Every look.
My senses scream from the overload, but I embrace every tingle, prickle, and ache he creates with his hand, mouth, and dick.
Selfish, selfish, selfish.
I don’t care.
“Going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight,” he all but growls, crushing our lips together as he moves his hands around my thighs and spreads me even farther apart until my knees are bent near my shoulders. The new position hurts my hips, but I don’t want him to stop jackknifing into me. The sting of pain only makes the intensity of his cock fucking me into the mattress that much hotter.
He’s present in the moment.
It’s him and me.
Only us.
Nobody else.
Nothing else.
I try grabbing ahold of his arms out of instinct, but he quickly slams my arms back and pins them to the mattress on either side of my head with a strength I can’t break even if I wanted to. “I thought you were going to be a good girl and keep your hands to yourself. Don’t think I won’t tie you to the bedpost and make good on my promise. Do you want to come?”
Thrust.
“Answer the question, Breena.”
Thrust.
“Yes,” I tell him again, the word seemingly the only thing I’m capable of saying.
He rolls himself into me, circling his hips to make me feel all of him. “Then keep your hands above your head and watch me take you.”
So, I do.
Because his words are spoken with a possessive authority that gets me off. He doesn’t let go of my wrists as he drives into me until his mattress creaks louder and starts covering the sound of my cursed moans, and desperate pleas for him to keep going, to never stop.
I couldn’t care less if his neighbors hear us from the other side of his bedroom wall. I want them to know just skilled he is. How he knows exactly what to do to my body. I want them to know he’s mine and I’m his and that nothing else, nobody else, matters in the moment. I want them to hear the rawness of my voice—to wonder what position I’m in that makes my throat so raspy and my begging so loud.
The bedroom is the only place I’ll ever let a man control me.
Sebastian pulls out abruptly and flips me onto my stomach, causing me to yelp when he angles my ass up and starts fucking me from behind. Between his low grunts and the loud sounds of my arousal filling the room with each slap of his hips against mine, it becomes too much and not enough all at the same time.
Because I don’t want him to stop.
I never do.
When he stops, reality comes back.
He’ll be unsure again.
Distant when he starts to feel too much.
And what will I be?
I grip the sheets in front of me and bite down onto my bottom lip as his hand comes down and slaps my ass. Hard.
Then he does it again.
And again.
And again.
The burning pain from each imprint against my cheek has me biting harder onto my lip until I taste blood.
His cock doesn’t stop.
His hand doesn’t stop.
Without any warning, my head is yanked back by a fist full of my hair setting off an orgasm that blasts through me within seconds from the pleasure coursing through my body by each punishing stroke. My pussy pulsates around Sebastian until he’s following suit, kneeling onto the bed, and fucking me even harder than before until he buries himself deep and empties himself inside of me.
He stays like that, letting me take all of him until there’s nothing left to give.
When he pulls out, I wince and feel our mixed cum dripping down my thighs and onto his white sheets.
A pair of lips carefully press against the cheek he spanked, caressing the sore skin before he moves his mouth up my back, shoulder blades, and neck, and adjusts me to my side where he hooks his arm around me and pulls me into him.
It’s comforting.
Secure.
Loving.
He won’t admit it though.
“How are you feeling?” he asks against the crown of my head, working to undo the knots of the tie still around my wrists.
Sad.
Because it’s over.
Happy.
Because he’s holding me.
Scared.
Because I never want this to end.
I hum out a sated, “Sore.”
It’s better than the full truth.
“Does that mean round two is out?” His playful tone has me melting into his hold, silently reassuring me that we’re fine. For now. For a long time.
Peeking over my shoulder, I give him a subdued smile. “I may need some Motrin and a nap before we explore that possibility.”
He chuckles, pecking my head before sitting up. “I need to get to work anyway for an early meeting. Shower with me?”
I’m disappointed we don’t get more time together. To cuddle. To hold each other. To just be in one another’s presence. My soul is content whenever we’re together. It’s after we’re apart that the worry grabs ahold of me and doesn’t let go.
When he stands from the bed, I can’t help but give him a thorough onceover, noticing his glistening cock still standing at attention as if he really can go another round already. Knowing him, he probably could. He’s always been insatiable.
If we can’t stay in bed, I’d take the shower. Because it’s time. Time with him. Time together. And time is valuable.
“I could definitely use one.”
Maybe the water will wash away the sickly feeling creeping into the pit of my stomach that says, protect your heart.
But even as the warm water sprays down on each of our bodies, it doesn’t wash away at the hardening exterior slowly bricking up my heart.
A wall.
A warning.
Selfish, girl, that voices chides snidely in the back of my head. Silly, selfish girl.
CHAPTER TWENTY
September 2022
Today I sit on the couch, not the chair, and let the sun beam into the back of my head as I do a thorough scope of Dr. Barnett’s office feeling like something is different today.
My eyes stop at the wall by her door where three new frames hang. Encased in brown sculpted wood that looks like it could have been handmade are three different pictures of dogs.
One black.
One brown.
And one yellow.
“Your dogs,” I realize, standing up and walking over to examine the new addition to her space. Studying each stacked photo makes my smile widen. “They’re cute.”
I’m playing with the hem of my sweatshirt sleeve while I smile at each of the pictures. “I’ve gotten compliments all week on them since I asked my husband to hang them up. I’m glad I listened to your suggestion.”
Husband.
“A lot of people are taking my suggestions seriously lately,” I murmur, turning on my heel and walking back over to the couch.
“How so?” she asks, still sitting behind me in her usual spot.
I debate on answering, but find myself asking, “How long have you been married?”
