Page 53 of Unravel Me

My lips twitch in a half smile, unsure how to respond to the twinge of sadness in his voice. Like he believes I will break his heart, like he expects it. But those thoughts dissipate quickly as he scoops me up by the waist, placing me on the island.

I gasp playfully as Rhett holds me tight, planting kisses down my neck in a way that tickles. Our chaos causes Mabel to fill the house with her howls.

The heat between us switches quickly, as I greedily unbutton Rhett's shirt, needing him closer to me. My heartbeat intensifies, desire building with every touch.

“I need you,” I whisper into his ear, his eyes grow hooded, and the world around us disappears.

Wanting fingers work at buttons and belts, the thud of jeans hitting the ground around Rhett’s ankles.

Rhett takes the hint, his soft lips nibbling little bites down my collar bone, pulling my yellow sundress over my head. I remembered to wear my matching black lacy set, and I mentally thank Penny for insisting I did.

I pause as the light ping of dropping rain starts above us, tilting my head back to look at the ceiling.

“It’s the tin roof. It’s loud when it rains,” Rhett says almost apologetically but I shake my head.

“I love it.”

And I do. And I love the way the dim lighting makes his eyes appear bluer, the way it feels like we are tucked away from the world; safe in this little kitchen, safe with each other.

“Where have you been all my life?” Rhett’s question catches me off guard, but I don’t have an answer. I’ve been chasing a lie, an illusion that would’ve never included him.

I tighten my legs around his waist and lean in to kiss his neck. He smells like the cedar wood filling his workshop and feels as unswayable as the old oaks in the front yard. Nudging my mouth back to his, I kiss him with a new lust, tasting the sweetness of him.

Rhett growls into my neck, his fingers circling my sensitive chest. When it’s clear neither of us can take another moment of torment, he lifts me off the kitchen island, and we move as one, inseparable, but we don’t make it to the bedroom. Rhett pushes my back into the kitchen wall, and I smile as he bites my lip, feeling my walls come down even more. All I can think about is getting closer, feeling him fill me, take me.

“Right here…I can’t wait any longer...”

Rhett does as I ask, setting me on my feet. The roughness of his hands pulling my panties down gingerly makes my skin tingle, and when he parts my legs with his, you can barely hear my gasp above the sound of the rain on the roof.

I try to stay upright, lacing my fingers through his messy, blonde hair.

“Harder…please…” The words shock me, even if they come naturally with Rhett. I didn’t know you could feel so seen and so safe at the same time. But with him, I do. He invites me to be uninhibited. So, I dig my fingers into his biceps, and he wraps his large hands around my waist, intensifying his thrusts, supporting my weight against him.

He’s rough when needed and soft when I least expect it, a respite of warm water dripping onto the cold stone that my heart has become over the years.

“I could worship your body all night…” His voice is hoarse, and enough to push me over the edge.

A raspy gasp escapes me, pushing me to my limit until there’s nothing left to hold back. Throwing back my head, my eyes shut, I shudder around his length as he simultaneously comes into me. Rhett bites my bottom lip, returning me to him.

I feel Rhett everywhere. Every inch of my skin buzzes with him, with the warm embrace of his arms, the gentle but strong grasp of his hands on me. Reminding me he is here, holding me together, holding us together.

Us.

There’s that word again. There is no denying anymore there is an us.

Rhett’s blue eyes shine at me like he’s looking at the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And in his eyes, I see a world I’d like to stay in just a little longer.

Chapter thirty

Rhett

“Good morning.” Audrey’s voice sounds like honey, and I spin to see her enter the kitchen wearing my blue Atlanta Braves shirt. She has her own pajamas but seems to prefer my worn-out cotton shirts—and I’ll never deny her. Seeing her barefoot in my kitchen with my shirt on awakens something primal in me.

I pull two mismatched mugs from the cabinet, placing them on the counter as the coffee maker sputters behind me, probably on its last leg.

“Sleep well?” I offer her a lazy smile, pouring black coffee into a mug.