Page 90 of Rafferty's Rules
‘Did you argue a lot with your brothers when you were growing up?’
‘Only all the time.’ Testosterone has a lot to answer for, according to Mum.
‘I bet it was great growing up out here,’ she adds wistfully.
‘It was. The weather, the freedom to run wild, doing what we liked. Fishing in the creek, riding our bikes through the place like a bunch of hoons. There were trees to climb and bushlands to explore, and so long as we were back for dinnertime, it was all good.’
‘It really does sound perfect.’
‘It was.’ It really was. ‘Almost as perfect as being here with you.’ Fuck, I was not supposed to say that. ‘Out here, I mean.’
‘Oh.’ Her expression wavers, brightening almost immediately. ‘You didn’t want to stay in the main house?’
‘Shit, no. Privacy for the win. As far as I’m concerned, Amber is a dead set legend for putting us out here.’
‘Okay.’ The word is more bemused than an agreement.
‘The house is great.’ Even if it’s not my home anymore. ‘And pretty big. But I had a nightmare thinking about what I’d have to do to keep you quiet.’ Especially when I like her loud.
‘Me? Are you saying I talk too much?’
‘No, I’m saying you’re loud when we fuck.’ Which is exactly what I want to do right now.The thought is lightning quick and vivid, flashes of Lissa arching against the car seat, her thighs clasped tight, only instead of her hands between that creamy skin, it’s my head.
Is that the source of my tension? Do I want to fuck her? Heat flares in the pit of my gut, because of course, I do. When do I not want to be between her legs?
‘You’re nothing but a sweet talker,’ she says, though not exactly in a complimentary tone.
What were we talking about? Right. Not staying at the house. ‘And then there are the carpet grubs,’ I add, picking and then dropping the TV remote.
‘What?’ she looks horrified. A perfect segue to moving this conversation away from declarations of perfection.Next thing, we’ll be talking about feelings.
‘Yeah, I mean, the carpets will have been cleaned for the wedding, but you just never know if—’ Nope, it’s no good. I can’t keep it up, cracking up at just the look on her face. She has the most expressive face. The loveliest face, too.
‘What are you laughing at?’ Lissa demands, even though she’s laughing herself now. ‘Pests are no laughing matter,’ she says, digging a finger between my ribs. ‘Especially pests like you!’
‘Ow! Gedoff!’ I stumble away, wriggling at her poking fingers, even though I want to throw her across the bed. ‘Carpet grubs aren’t insects, not in this instance.’ Are there such things in actuality? Maybe I should Google it and read up. Take this energy someplace I can turn it off.Thinking of insects and larvae won’t encourage my hard-on.‘I was talking about ankle biters, about kids. They have no respect for privacy and even less for sleep.’
‘Oh. That’s like a local term? An Australian-ism?’ I nod. ‘I suppose that makes sense. But only in your world.’ She quirks a brow before bending to open Cat’s carrier, making me throw my gaze skywards.
That arse.
‘Did you enjoy your walk with Daddy and Matty?’ she murmurs to Cat, encouraging him out of his cocoon unsuccessfully. The thing is more furry slug than the cat.
‘Sure he did. And I’m not his Daddy.’ Because that would make Lis his mum, and I’m sure we’d have much better-looking kids.
Matt and I took him earlier for a little walk around the garden on his harness. ’Course, when I came back inside, Byron gave me heaps of shit about walking a cat on a lead. A pussy walking the pussy, I think were his exact words. He shut up quick when I pointed out his pet dogs are called Fluffy and Muffy and aren’t exactly rottweilers.
But I have other pussy on my mind right now, namely the one belonging to the gorgeous girl in front. Maybe that’s exactly what I need to settle this excess energy coursing through me. The build-up of adrenalin caused by my trip home has long since drained away, but I’m antsy and, if I’m honest, still fucking nervous that Rebecca will resurface and—fuck, I’m not thinking about this now. Not when I’m looking at the most perfect arse ever made.
Standing behind her, I grab Lissa’s hips, pressing my rigidness against the shape of her.
‘We don’t need to show our faces until dinner, so how about a little afternoon delight, my gorgeous girlfriend?’
‘Fake girlfriend,’ she replies as she straightens, her words like a swift kick to the nuts. As in, unnecessarily painful. Or maybe I’m deluding myself here, and that’s the reminder I need. After this week, we’re done. She goes back to her life and I continue with mine. My fake girlfriend has made herself plenty clear; this is just an interlude in her life. I’m not even her rebound. But I can offer her one thing, one thing that has sorely been lacking in her life.
I pull her up and turn her to face me.
‘This relationship might be fake, but the orgasms are real.’
