Dear Rosie,: Love Letters Book Two, page 18
“You don’t have to explain. I get it.” I do get it. She’d had no one.
I’d been her best friend, then I left.
And things got worse.
She’s shaking her head, not listening to me. “No. I shouldn’t have let you bring me here.”
“Don’t,” I growl, knowing where this is going and already hating it.
She lifts Charles off her lap and sets him down next to her. “I know we have history. And you’ll always be important to me, Nathan.” No. That now familiar lump in my throat starts to form. “But none of that means you’re responsible for some… fling.”
“Fling?” I shove up to stand and stomp the few feet over to her. “This isn’t a fucking fling for me, Rosie. You mean something to me.”
I drop down onto my knees before her.
Rosie reaches out and tugs on my shirt. “Stop doing that.”
“I can’t stop caring about you.”
She tugs on my shirt more. “I mean, stop kneeling on hard floors, you dummy.”
I lean into her space. “I will always kneel before you.” I lightly grip her wrists. “And you’re just proving that you care about me too. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
“Of course I care about you!” she practically shouts as she throws her hands up pulling out of my grip.
Then she winces.
The bubbling anger inside me pops, morphing into guilt.
“Shit.” I gently cup her cheeks. “Just hold still and let me tell you something.”
“Tell me what?”
I ghost my thumbs over her cheeks. “We’re dating.”
EIGHTY-NINE
ROSALYN
“We’re… what?” I stare into his eyes, sure I heard him wrong.
“We’re dating. This isn’t a fling. It isn’t casual. You’re my girlfriend.”
My mouth opens. Then closes. “You want to date?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t want. We are. And we’re going steady.”
“But you—”
“Swear to god if you say something about obligation or me being famous, I’m going to lose it.” He takes a slow breath. “Tell me you understand.”
I shake my head the smallest bit. “No one says going steady anymore.”
The side of his mouth lifts. Just a little.
Then it drops.
He brushes his thumb over my cheek again. “I want to kiss you.”
“You can.” I rest my hands on his forearms. “I might be a little banged up, but I’m not broken.”
I refuse to be broken.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers.
I lean forward. “You’re not.”
“Tell me you’ll stay.” Nathan moves closer, leaving only inches between us.
“I’ll stay,” I tell him. Even if it’s just for a few days.
His fingers flex, like he knows what I’m thinking. “For the three weeks you’re on crutches.”
“Nathan,” I sigh.
“Rosie.”
“Three weeks is a long time,” I try to tell him.
“It’s a blink,” he replies. “Now agree you’ll stay.”
It’s ridiculous, and…
“You really want to date?”
Nathan groans. “Pretty Rosie, I know you’re a clever girl. And I know you heard me the first time.”
“Isn’t it weird to have your girlfriend of like, what, a week, live with you?”
He shakes his head. “First, you and I go way back. You’re not just some girlfriend. And second, the beginning of a relationship is always the most sex-filled.” My brows lift. “I know I need to give you some time before I fuck you into the mattress again.” He slides one of his hands down from my cheek to palm the side of my neck. “But as soon as you’re ready, I’ll be making use of the fact that we’re under the same roof. And in the same bed.”
I roll my eyes, like my body isn’t thrumming at the idea. “Do you promise not to barge in when I’m on the toilet?”
He nods solemnly. “Unless you scream my name again.”
I give him a flat look. “Sorry, I hadn’t assumed it was the cat opening the door.”
“Never underestimate the cat.”
I roll my lips together and take in the man before me.
He’s so handsome.
And has such a mouth on him.
He’s kind and generous and a good cat dad.
And he’s practically begging me to be with him.
A part of me knows that we can never be. Not forever. My baggage is too heavy.
But I can have him for now.
I can have him for at least three weeks.
“Okay.” I nod against his hold on me.
“Okay?” His eyes search mine.
“Okay, I’ll stay. Okay, I’ll be your girlfriend.” My mouth pulls into a smile at the look on his face. I tip my chin up. “And I believe you said you’d kiss me.”
Nathan grins. “That’s my girl.” Then his lips are on mine.
They’re warm, and he presses them firmly against my own.
My body relaxes, and muscles I didn’t realize were tense release.
I lean into the kiss.
But Nathan pulls away.
“Eat your food.”
I blink my eyes open. “You’re a tease.”
He snorts, then reaches down to adjust himself. “I am not without punishment.”
I bite down on my laugh, knowing it will only make my head hurt more.
Nathan braces his hands on either side of me. “I’ll grab your painkillers, but you gotta eat something.”
I look over at the bowl of cereal, taking in the little shapes floating in some sort of milk. “Marshmallows?”
“They’re no Rosalyn’s Restaurant’s. But they help feed my newly rediscovered marshmallow obsession.” He holds my gaze. “Because it seems I’ve become obsessed.”
My eyes stay on him as he stands and strides away.
Because I’ve become a little obsessed too.
NINETY
ROSALYN
Go to bed with Nathan beside me.
Wake up sprawled across him.
Eat.
Nap.
Repeat.
For two days.
Maybe three.
Time has begun to blur.
Another nap.
Another meal.
Someone knocks on Nathan’s front door, and he gets up from his end of the couch to answer it.
He’s been keeping his distance, physically. Not touching me, except for in sleep. But he hasn’t left the condo since we got here.
Always nearby to offer help.
Always telling me to rest and feeding me.
And always keeping our topics of conversation light.
He’s been… perfect.
I smile into my bowl of canned soup. Happy to know there’s at least one thing he’s not good at.
When he apologized for it being canned, I made an offhand comment about having a bunch of homemade soups and casseroles in my freezer back home. And it wasn’t until Nathan perked up that I realized I probably shouldn’t have said that. It didn’t work out well the last time he went snooping around my apartment. But I am glad I can bring something to this relationship, even if it’s just my cooking skills.
But as my eyes roam around the condo, I concede that this isn’t such a bad deal.
Living in a penthouse.
Having a super fine man waiting on me around the clock.
I set my bowl on the side table as Nathan opens the front door.
There’s no need to glance down at myself to know I’m in a bit of a state.
My hair is oily and pulled back into a loose ponytail since I want it out of my face, but a tight bun still makes my head ache.
I’m wearing the same set of sweatpants and T-shirt I went to bed in last night. And the little body wipes Nathan gave me have only done so much.
All in all, I feel and look disgusting, and I can only hope this visitor won’t judge me.
“Thanks.” Nathan’s voice carries through the apartment, then he shuts the door.
Okay, not a visitor.
When he turns back, he’s holding three paper shopping bags in one hand, and in the other, he has a stool with a plastic top and metal legs.
He lifts the stool, showing it off. “Care for a shower?”
My mouth drops as I look at the item again. “You bought me a shower stool?”
“Technically, yes.” He smirks as he carries the bags over to the island. “But I can’t promise that I won’t take a seat on it next time I’m tired in the shower.”
A shower stool should hardly make me want to cry.
I have no idea how expensive they are, and with Nathan’s bank account, I’m sure he didn’t blink at the price. But the thought…
I lift the collar of my shirt and try to discreetly wipe at the corners of my eyes.
The stool is practical.
A tool to use in managing my hygiene.
And yet, it’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever bought me.
When I leave, I’m bringing it home with me. I don’t care if it will take up half of the tub in my bathroom.
“Want to use it now?” Nathan is still in the kitchen, but his tone has changed, and I suspect he caught me wiping my eyes.
I nod and scoot forward on the couch, grabbing my crutches from where I left them leaning against the coffee table.
I don’t bother trying to grab my dirty dishes—Nathan has scolded me enough for that—I just make my way toward the bedroom.
NINETY-ONE
NATE
I feel stupid for not buying Rosie the shower stool sooner.
And truthfully, it was Maddox who suggested I get one, but I’ll keep that to myself. Because as soon as he said it, I wanted to smack myself in the face. I’ve been injured enough over the years to know showering with an injured leg is hard. I’ve just always lived in places that have the built-in shower seat, so I never had to buy anything special.
Something special. It’s a fucking shower stool.
And it made her cry.
“You need anything else?” I ask, standing in the bathroom door.
Rosie eyes the dining room chair I put outside the shower stall. “Please tell me you aren’t planning to sit there watching me.”
I look at the chair, then to the opaque glass of the stall. “If the glass was clear…”
Rosie huffs. “Nathan, I appreciate you, but I’d like to do this alone.”
I hold my hands palms out. “You’re the one who brought it up. And, Miss Pervy, that chair is for you to use while you’re taking on and off your clothes. Unless you’d rather I help…”
She purses her lips, assumably at her new nickname. “Thank you, but no.” Then she glances at me. “Not this time.”
That sparks my interest.
I take a step forward into the bathroom. “But another time?”
She lifts her shoulder in a casual shrug, and the days of denying myself physical touch gather like a weight around my balls.
I take another step closer. “I can be gentle.”
A flash of humor crosses her features. “I’m sure you can. But I’m gross.”
“You’re not gross.” I immediately argue.
“Nathan, I haven’t showered in days. I feel grimy and disgusting, and I can smell myself.” She makes a face as she says the last part.
When she looks like she’ll try to take a step backward on her crutches, I stop advancing. “Fine,” I tell her. “But I’m leaving the bathroom door open. If you need anything at all, just yell.”
The look Rosie gives me says she won’t be yelling for help, but as I back out of the doorway, I decide to stay close by.
NINETY-TWO
ROSALYN
Feeling relaxed and squeaky clean—after three rounds of body wash—I decide to pull on the fluffy pink robe that magically appeared on the back of the bathroom door yesterday.
I didn’t ask about it, sure it was purchased for me and uncomfortable with the fact. But now that I have it on, it’s definitely coming home with me, along with that shower stool and possibly a bottle of Nathan’s shampoo.
Nathan left the bathroom door open like he said he would. But he didn’t mention that he’d be waiting in the bedroom.
On the bed.
Lounged back on the pillows.
Reading a book.
I stop just inside the room. “What are you doing?”
He looks up at me, his eyes traveling over my robe-clad body. “Waiting for you.”
His black T-shirt clings to his body, and his sweatpants should be illegal.
He’s been wearing lounge clothes all week, and I don’t know if it’s out of solidarity or if he really dresses like this at home. But either way, I appreciate it.
And I appreciate it even more now because damn.
Nathan lowers a hand to his lap.
“What exactly are you waiting for?” I ask as I take a step closer to the bed.
Instead of answering my question, Nathan sits up and pats the bed next to him. “You need to take a rest.”
“A rest?”
Nathan stands and circles around the foot of the bed, not stopping until he’s right in front of me. “A rest.”
Nathan takes my crutches and rests them against the wall. Then he wraps his arms around me in a hug and lifts me, carrying me to the edge of the bed.
He sets me on my feet, and I keep just the toe of my bad foot on the ground for balance.
Letting go of me, Nathan leans in, lowering his voice. “And if you listen like a good girl… I’ll treat you like my good girl.”
Something heated rolls down my spine, settling between my thighs.
We’ve been so close to each other. Waking up wrapped together. But not touching beyond that… And fuck if I’m not ready for more.
“You gonna do that for me, Rosie?” he whispers. “You gonna give me that control you hold on to so tightly?”
I swallow.
I never wanted to be the way I am.
Rigid. Paranoid. Scared.
And as I look at the man in front of me, I understand.
I don’t have to be this way.
Not with him.
My fingers move to the tie at my waist, and I pull it free.
The robe parts, exposing my nakedness. And I shrug it off, dropping it to the ground.
A noise rumbles in Nathan’s chest, but instead of stepping into me, he steps back.
To look at all of me.
I still have scrapes.
Still have bruises.
Still have a plastic brace on my ankle and wet hair lying across my shoulders.
I still have the same soft body I did a month ago.
Heavy tits and stretch marks and parts I’ve never wanted a man to see in the light.
But all that disappears when Nathan looks at me.
Because he’s not looking at me like he sees my insecurities. He’s looking at me like he’s memorizing me.
“On the bed. On your back,” he demands.
I lower myself to sit on the edge of the mattress, then shift so I’m lying fully on the bed.
Nathan steps to the foot of the bed, bends, and picks up the large wedge pillow off the floor.
I eye him as he carries it back to my side. “What are you doing?”
“You’re supposed to be elevating.” He shifts the pillow to one arm, then hooks his other arm under my knees.
With no apparent effort, Nathan lifts me by the knees, raising my ass off the mattress so he can shove the wedge pillow underneath my butt, leaving my ass several inches in the air above the mattress.
This pillow is meant to keep my leg elevated, but since I’ve just been putting my ankle up on Nathan at night, at least we’re making use of it.
Nathan lowers me, then steps back again.
I keep my knees lifted, and even though they’re pressed together, so much of me is still exposed.
He groans and palms the front of his pants, which are now tented from his body.
Letting him be in charge, I don’t say anything.
I just watch as he squeezes his dick once more before letting go and shoving his pants down.
As soon as his cock is freed, it bobs in the air.
I expect him to pull off his shirt and climb onto the bed. But instead of grabbing his hem, he wraps his hand around his length.
And he starts to stroke himself.
My blood sizzles at the sight.
Eyes on my body, with his hand on his dick, Nathan is the most divine thing I’ve ever seen.
He hasn’t touched me.
Hasn’t even kissed me.
But I’m so ready for him.
So ready I have to do something.
Needing some sort of contact, I reach up and grab my breasts.
“That’s it,” Nathan moans.
He’s gripping his cock so hard I don’t know how it doesn’t hurt.
I roll my head to the side so I can stare at his dick.
There’s no point pretending I’m not watching him jack off.
With the hand not on his cock, Nathan grips the hem of his shirt and pulls the material up.
His stomach muscles flex. And a shiver of excitement coats my body as I admire his strength.
I shift my fingers until I’m pinching my nipples.
“That is being a good girl.” He makes a sound in his throat, then pulls his shirt off all the way.
He keeps stroking himself, and I keep staring as his tip starts to glisten.
“Legs open,” he demands.
I drop my knees apart.
“Foot on my shoulder.”
I lift my gaze from his dick to his face.
“What?” I ask, but he’s already climbing onto the bed.
Between my thighs.
He’s on his knees, and I think he’s going to shuffle forward so he can line up with my exposed entrance. But he doesn’t shuffle, he bends.
One hand presses into the mattress next to the pillow—which is lifting my core to mouth level—and the other hand hooks around my knee, guiding me until my ankle brace is resting on his back.
