Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(78)

It’s that craving that pulls me out of bed and leads me down the darkened stairs. It stirs in my core and pebbles my nipples. But it’s more than that. I crave his heat, his bulk, just…his company.

Tonight, I would settle for just drifting off beside him.

The basement door creaks, and I stare down, remembering how I’d just finished redoing this room for him. I didn’t expect him to see it so soon.

I can hear the washing machine humming as it spins, and I can see the outline of his hulking form in the bed when I peek through the banisters below the railing. The same spot where I spied on him as he attempted to film that promo.

Light filters from behind me, just enough that I can tell he’s facing away. But he holds his shoulders just a little too rigidly to be asleep.

I don’t bother asking if I can come in, because I don’t think my heart can handle him turning me away. And in my bones, I know that he won’t.

I pad down the stairs, strumming my bottom lip between my teeth. When my feet hit the Persian rug beneath the bed, his head shifts. But I don’t stop. I follow that draw to him that I’ve felt since the first time I laid eyes on him. The one that had me glancing back over my shoulder at him as I left his house in Emerald Lake.

I couldn’t help myself then, and I can’t help myself now.

So I go straight for the bed, softly slip in behind him, wrap an arm around his bare ribs, and press my forehead to his back.

He says nothing, but he covers my arm with his own as he links his fingers with mine.

“Hi, Tabby,” he whispers in the darkened room. And I find myself wishing he’d call me baby or honey again instead. The familiarity of those names in such a vulnerable moment soothed me.

“Hi, Rhys.” I trail a fingertip over his shoulder, tracing the swirls and patterns of the tattoos that wrap around his entire arm.

He shivers but doesn’t turn toward me.

“I love my room. Thank you.”

I nod, cheek brushing against his bare skin. His body carries the faint scent of cinnamon, and that makes me feel warm inside, like apple pie and cozy Christmas baking.

“I should have done it sooner. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Maybe not, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’ve been too damn hard on him for no good reason. Like we’ve been holding ourselves back. And right now, I can’t think of a single reason to hold back anymore. Sure, he could hurt me. But after everything, something tells me Rhys would do anything in his power to keep me from feeling any pain.

It’s a heady realization. To trust someone like that.

With one palm flat on his shoulder, I press a kiss to his back. He stills.

“What are you doing, Tabitha?” His voice is rough, the words strangled.

I breathe him in and exhale. Once. Twice. And on the third time—“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I first laid eyes on you.”

My chest aches with needing him, with wanting him to say something, wanting him to turn and face me. “Rhys, please. I missed you.”

That confession has him turning toward me, his heavy features coming to the same level as mine. I feel his breath against my lips and his heat seeping into my body, ridding me of the chill I couldn’t shake. His hand lies possessively on my bare hip, and need stirs inside me as I slide my palm up his bare chest. My feet tangle with his calves beneath the blankets.

“You told me you missed me, and I missed you too. I was… I don’t know. I don’t know anything, except that I missed you.”

He nods firmly, eyes searching my face as though he can’t believe what I’m telling him.

“And I need you to forgive me.”

Sadness sweeps across his features, and his fingers tighten on my hip. “There is nothing to forgive, Tabby. I got it all tangled up. I promised to comfort you, and I didn’t do it quite right, but I was trying the best I knew how.”

My eyes sting, and if I wasn’t out of tears to shed, maybe one would fall. Instead, I’m stuck staring into the earnest eyes of the world’s most beautiful, tender, complicated man, and…I want him.

I lick my lips and drop my gaze to his sinful mouth. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Comfort me. I need you to touch me right now, Rhys.”

His hand slips around my waist, splaying at my lower back as his tongue darts out and questions dance in his eyes.

I hook a leg over his, pulling us flush. “Please.”

“Jesus, Tabby. Are you begging?”

“Please,” I repeat with a desperate little moan, dusting my lips over his stubbled cheek.

“Because you don’t need to,” he says. Then he seals his mouth over mine and crushes me against him, giving me everything I wanted in one harsh exhale.

His tongue seeks mine, and his hands grip me like I’m integral to him in some way.

We’ve kissed in anger. We’ve kissed to taunt. We’ve kissed for show.

But we’ve never kissed like this. Like we need each other to breathe and don’t care if the other one knows it.

His hands roam my body, and stopping him doesn’t cross my mind a single time. We pull closer, tighter, like we could swallow each other whole.

He groans when my leg tightens around him, my wet core sliding against his firm quad. And, god, it feels good.