"I'm scared," I whisper. "I want to hide in you and let you take care of me. This—" I meet his gaze"—feels right."
Tension fills him. "But?"
"But...if I do, I'll never figure out who I was. What I loved or why. Who I was outside of the girl who loved you. And I need to know that, Rike."
Pain tightens his expression for a moment, and he blinks it away. "I can't help you?"
I hesitate, the offer so fucking tempting. And his gaze, so hopeful. "Rike," I whisper, and his gaze flares.
"Peyton, don't hate me," he murmurs, and then he's kissing me.
His lips are gentle, and the scruff of his beard is sharply abrasive as it brushes against my skin. His teeth nip at my lower lip, and I whimper. He groans and shifts, pulling me with him as he lays back. A big hand comes up to lace into my hair, holding me still as he kisses me, his tongue tangling with mine, retreating and thrusting back. His other hand is on my hip, cradling it and pulling me closer.
I groan, breaking the kiss as his erection nestles between my thighs, and I grind down against him.
Rike curses, and his lips are against my throat, warm wet kisses and soft, dirty words. I flush. What the hell. I don't do this.
His hand on my hip slips lower, over my ass, and I startle, going stiff in his arms.
And just that quickly, the moment is over. He sits up, and shoves his long hair back as I shift off of him. Sit awkwardly a few inches away.
Too fucking aware of his still-hard dick and how amazing it felt between my legs.
I'm so wet I'm almost squirming in my seat, and he's watching me with hooded, dark eyes. A smirk tugs his lips.
"I won't touch you without you asking, Peyton. But I want you to remember something. When I leave and you sink your fingers into that creamy wet pussy—I know. I know what you taste like. I know how you feel, and how you look so fucking gorgeous when you come. I know what you sound like when you scream. And I'll get off tonight, thinking about you here."
I stare at him, and I can feel the hot flush in my cheeks, and he smiles. Leans down and kisses me.
And then he stands, adjusts his dick, and leaves me alone.
***
I don’t sleep well that night, or the next two nights. I’m horny and I want to get myself off—but after that first night, when I did come against my fingers, with his words playing through my head, the orgasm left me reeling, my head spinning and body shuddering. It was hot and sexy and dirty.
In the morning, a text had been on my phone.
Rike : Did you wait until you were in bed before you got yourself off, or did you do it as soon as I left?
I stared at it for a long time, and almost cursed when the second one popped up, the phone vibrating in my hand.
Rike : I got off before I left the parking lot. And again in the shower, picturing you on your knees and my dick in your pretty mouth.
I turn the phone off before I get another message, and spend the day reading a book and trying to ignore how horny I am.
The problem is, I’m not getting anywhere. And I know that there is a nearby source of information.
Tommy has been coming by, like clockwork, and he nudges my barefoot with his while I eat dinner two nights later. “When you gonna see Rike again?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I have an appointment tomorrow for my cast to come off. I was thinking I should probably see Lindsay while I’m there.”
“She’s still in the hospital?” he asks, his eyebrows hitching upward.
I nod. “I can't take you to the hospital tomorrow," he says, and I tense. I knew better than to assume he would. But I did it anyway. Tommy has been as reliable as the sunrise, but I've been here now for almost two weeks and he has to be getting tired of babysitting me.
"I'll figure it out," I say.
He taps the phone sitting on my side table. "Call him. He'll take you."
"You really are in his corner, aren't you?"
"I'm in the corner that gets you healthy and whole, Peyton. And he's part of that, even if you don't want to admit it yet."
"He's not my type."
"He is. Maybe he's not the type you think should be your type, but he's who you chose. And you hated that life anyway. Don't cling to your preconceived notions of who you think you should be because it's all you know. Be the girl you want to be for the rest of your life."
I consider that for a long time after Tommy leaves me alone, and eventually I turn on the phone.
The damn thing lights up with text messages and I flush, imagining how dirty and provocative they'll be.
I'm under no delusions that Rike has decided to leave me alone because I'm being quiet.
I ignore the messages, and pull up his number, dialing before I can chicken out.
"Peyton?" he says, and I can hear the surprise in his voice.
"Hi. Sorry. I don't mean to bother you, but—"
"You aren't. You will never be a bother. I thought we'd already gone over that."
I flush. "Um. Do you think you could give me a ride to the hospital tomorrow? My cast is coming off and Tommy can't take me. I think he got in trouble last week. But if you can't, I totally get it; I can get a cab to pick me up."
"What time?"
"Eleven. My appointment shouldn't take long, but I wanted to stop in and see Lindsay. If you have the time?"
"Of course," he says immediately. A tiny weight slides off my chest and I can breathe easier.
"Do you want to grab lunch, after?"
And just like that it's back.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I say softly.
"I was your friend, long before you realized we were together, before. Let me be your friend, Peyton. You could use a friend."
"I need a friend who doesn't send me dirty texts," I say tartly.
He laughs, completely unrepentant.
"Fine. Lunch. But nothing fancy."
A secret smile colors his voice when he says, "Deal."
We're silent for a moment, and I can hear the sound of someone in the background calling his name, and I flush. "I should let you go."
"Yeah. I left a client in the middle of a tattoo piece. I should probably finish. But I'll see you tomorrow, perfect girl."
I hang up the phone, and turn it off. Because as much as I want to look at the texts I know it’s a bad idea.
But I can’t keep the smile off my face. Tomorrow, I’m going to see him again.
Chapter 11 : Before
I’m not sure what hurts more—my back or my head. It’s pounding and my back feels like I brawled with Scott. I glance down and mutter a curse.
I groan and roll to my stomach, propping my head in my hand as the world spins dizzily.
“Scott,” I croak.
“He went to get breakfast. Said to let you sleep.”
I jerk upright, and glare over my shoulder at the blonde girl leaning against the door jam.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Lindsay lifts one eyebrow, a quiet censure in that single move, and I am suddenly acutely aware that I’m naked in a room that doesn’t belong to me. “What happened?” I demand.
“You were drunk, Rike, but I didn’t think you were that out of it,” she says stiffly. I flip her off weakly and she makes a grumpy noise before retreating. I scramble to find some clothes in her absence, and tug on my jeans.
I hear a door slam, and for a moment, I think she’s gone before I hear Scott talking to her, his voice pitched low. Then he appears, and his eyes skim over me, assessing.
“What happened?” I ask. I haven’t been blackout drunk since the night—I shut that thought down and focus on my best friend. “Did I fuck her?”