A Real Goode Time Page 12

  “Me either.”

  Silence.

  “I’m gonna try to sleep, now,” I said, eventually.

  “Me too.”

  I finally managed to fall asleep, but my dreams were of Torie.

  Of doing the things on our lists…together.

  Torie

  When I woke up, Rhys had already made coffee, and had bacon frying. Good lord, I could get used to waking up to the smell of coffee and bacon.

  He was shirtless, in nothing but a pair of gym shorts. They were a little too big for him, hanging low on his hips. Facing away from me, he had his phone in his pocket and earbuds trailing by the cord, and he was dancing. God, it was freaking adorable. He was shaking his hips, waving his hands around, a pair of tongs in one hand. Head bobbing side to side.

  The shorts revealed just a hint of his buttocks, the dip of the crack and upper swell of each firm cheek. His back was broad yet lean, rippling with muscle.

  I pretended I was sleeping so I could watch him.

  He did a spin, faced me and, holy shitballs, his abs were absurd. Ripped. Hard. The baggy shorts hung down past his hips, revealed those sharp lines leading in a V down to his groin, and as he shook his hips to whatever music he was listening to, I could see his cock swaying against the front of the shorts, pushing and pressing.

  My thighs pressed together, and my belly tightened, and my core heated. Liquid heat pooled in my center, and my nipples ached. My breasts felt heavy, tight. The way he moved, the way he danced…god, I wanted to move with him. Press up against him, slide against his hard body, touch his bare skin, feel the muscles of his back shifting under his skin, slide my hand under the waist of his shorts and cup that hard ass, feel it move under my palm. Slide my touch around and grasp him…

  I closed my eyes and turned over, as if rolling over in my sleep.

  Need pounded in me.

  He was right there.

  I couldn’t.

  NO.

  But my fingers slid down and dipped into the front of my sleep shorts. I touched my clit. I lay on my side, knees drawn up, feigning sleep, keeping my breathing steady. Hoping his earbuds would block out whatever sounds I made. Hoping he was cooking bacon and not watching me.

  Because I was feeling just reckless and careless and achy enough to do this. Now. No matter what.

  I desperately needed the release.

  I moved my upper leg away, just enough to allow my fingers access. As I touched myself I had that image of Rhys down at his desk, his huge thick cock in his hand, hunched over himself, head bowed, fist moving hard and fast.

  I’d wanted to go to him and take care of things for him. Show him how it should be—soft and slow and gentle. Not rough and hard and almost angry.

  I let my mind wander, to a fantasy of being in bed with him. Waking up to a slow warm yellow dawn. Feeling his erection, taking it in my hand. Stroking him. Making him come. Or, maybe taking him inside me. Making love to him. Holding him as I came. I’d come every time with him, and each time would be more incredible than the last. He’d probably be eager to taste me. I fantasized about that, him kneeling between my thighs, his tongue lashing me, tasting me, and that, oh god that made me wild. I had to hold my breath and grit my teeth to keep from crying out, and the very thought of his tongue on my clit was enough to send me reeling over the edge, and I tensed all over, my breath caught in my teeth, the orgasm pounding through me.

  I couldn’t believe I was doing this—masturbating with Rhys mere feet away, possibly even watching me. It made me come all the harder, for some reason.

  I wondered if he knew. If he was watching.

  I dared not look.

  I felt the waves crash through me, my finger slipping in quick deft circles, coming and coming, needing to cry out, to gasp, to whimper, and not daring to make a single sound, and I came so hard I was seeing stars.

  I had to let out my breath, and then tried like hell to slow my panting breath.

  When it finally faded, I was limp and delirious, yet still fraught with a need for Rhys as hot and wild and deep as it had ever been.

  Dammit.

  Even so, I waited a couple more minutes, and then rolled over. Yawned, stretched. Glanced at Rhys—who was facing the stove, flipping bacon and wiggling his butt.

  Maybe I’d gotten away with it. I hoped so.

  He turned, the plate of bacon in his hand, tongs in the other, and glanced at me. “Oh, hey. You’re awake. Just in time—I made bacon.”

  “The smell is what woke me up.” I inhaled deeply. “That, and the coffee.”

  He held up a finger, set the plate and tongs down. Grabbed a mug, poured coffee into it, and brought it over to me.

  I sat up and inhaled the glorious scent. “I think you just fulfilled an item on my bucket list I forgot to include: have someone bring me coffee in bed.”

  He grinned at me. “Well, I’m at your service.”

  His eyes flicked over me—met my gaze, explored my face, slid down my throat to the front of my shirt. I had a serious case of headlights going: still being turned on and flushed from the orgasm, my always-prominent nipples were standing on end and hard as points of a diamond; Leighton said I had a case of permanent pokies, since I almost never wore a bra. His eyes remained there a beat too long—just long enough for him to be obviously and blatantly checking me out, but not quite long enough to be a come-on.

  “I also, uh…made some scrambled eggs.” He seemed distracted. He stood up, turned away abruptly. “So, whenever you’re ready, we can eat.”

  I took a sip of coffee—scalding hot, strong as hell, and black as night, the way I liked it. “I’m coming now.”

  Was it me, or did his shoulders tense at the word “coming?”

  Probably just me. Maybe it meant he’d heard or seen me.

  I slid out of bed and moved to the table, wondering how I felt about the idea of him having seen or heard me masturbating. Would I be upset? Freaked out? Embarrassed? Turned on?

  I mean, I’d seen him doing the same thing. I’d stood on the bottom step of the stairs, door propped open against my shoulder, and I’d watched him jerking off, watched his fist roughly pump his cock. I’d watched him hunch over himself, growling curses under his breath…and I’d watched him come. Watched him catch his cum into a wad of toilet paper. And my only thought, in the moment? Wishing he’d just let his cum spurt all over the place. That’d have been hotter. Wayyy hotter.

  So, the point being…if he had seen me, did I care? Did it…turn me on even more? Seemed that way, if I was any judge of my own emotions.

  I was blushing, I knew it. God, I had to get it under control. What was wrong with me?

  I’d never been like this. Even when weeks went by without Max and I meeting to fool around, and I was pent up from having only had my own fingers and vibrators to get me off, I was never this horny. Not this desperate. Rhys had done something to me. Ignited something, and it wouldn’t be doused or quenched.

  “So, you sleep well?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Sure did. You?”

  He shrugged, nodded. “Eventually, yeah.” Rhys sat down with me, pointing to the plate of bacon and a big ceramic bowl full of scrambled eggs, and gestured. “You’re a lady and a guest, so you first.”

  “Such manners,” I said, smirking at him.

  He laughed. “Had it drilled into me by Mom. She’d take me grocery shopping with her when I was a little tyke, and she’d make me open the door for her, carry the bags, let her go in or out first. ‘Treat a woman right,’ she’d tell me. ‘You treat a woman right, she’ll appreciate it, and be more likely to treat you just as good in turn. Plus, it’s just the right thing to do.’” He sighed. “I don’t even know how many times I heard her say those words.”

  “Well, you have retained the lessons. You’re very polite.”

  A shrug. “It’s easy enough to be polite. Doesn’t cost nothin’, doesn’t take nothin’ extra from me. And it makes the world a better place. Plus, like Mama sai
d, being polite does serve me pretty well, too, I’ve noticed.”

  “Well, I do appreciate it.” We ate in silence a while, and then I asked a question that had been percolating since last night. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  “Why do you want to make a million dollars by forty? Why that number? Why that age?”

  A sigh, and then a long silence—he ate, washed it down with coffee, and then sat back, one hand on the mug, fingers wrapped through the handle and around the mug itself. “I’ve told you, I grew up pretty damn poor. Don’t mean to overstate things, but…we were well below the poverty line. Never had nothin’ growing up. What I had, I worked for. I’ve been struggling to make ends meet since I was a preteen. I’m carrying a pretty sizeable amount of debt from the loan to buy this place, plus the loan to help front the overhead to get the business itself going. I want to be debt free. More than that, I want to be…it’s not about being rich, exactly. Just…not having to worry. Knowing the bills will get paid and I’ll have plenty of money left over. My whole life, I’ve always had way too much month left at the end of my money. I’m sick of it. I want to get ahead. I’m working my ass to the bone, twelve-hour days most days and sometimes more. And I put eighty percent of my income, after taxes and bills, into paying down my debt. Save maybe a grand or so each month, and that’s about it, usually less. That’s why I want to get into real estate. I’ve got enough saved that I could invest in some kind of property. Flip it, maybe. That’s what I’m thinking. Get my license to sell real estate, buy a house, fix it up, and sell it. It’s why I’m working the construction job, so I can learn how to do all that shit.”

  “Wow, you’ve really got this all thought out, huh?”

  He nodded. “I’m a planner.”

  We’d finished all the food, and were now working on our second cup of coffee.

  “So,” I said. “The road trip.”

  He grinned. “You’re packed already.” He gestured to a big duffel bag near the stairs. “I am too. I just gotta lock up and we can head out. I’ve got a route planned out. Figure I’ll take first shot at the wheel, and then when we stop for lunch you can drive a bit, if you like.”

  I sat forward, leveled a look at him. “Rhys, I want to reiterate that I can make my own way to Alaska. If you’re doing this for any reason other than simply wanting to go on a fun road trip with me, please just opt out. I’ll be fine. I don’t need your help. Not anymore. You’ve done more than I could ever have asked, and then some, and I’ll be forever grateful to you. So just—”

  “Torie, I’ve explained it more than once. I don’t do charity. I’m not doing anything out of some weird sense of obligation or chivalry. I need a break. I need to get out of this town for a bit, see some country. Take the top off the CJ and get some wind in my hair and miles behind me. And I mean this with every last ounce of honesty I’ve got—Torie, I would like nothing more than to do it with you.” He blinked, stammered. “I mean, it, meaning the road trip.”

  I felt a flush creep over me yet again. God, he made me blush faster and more easily than I ever had in my life. It was stupid, and embarrassing.

  “I knew what you meant,” I said, my voice low.

  “Yeah, I…yeah.” He laughed, rubbed the back of his neck. “Although that’s true enough any way you want to mean it.”

  I choked on a surprised laugh. “Rhys!”

  He shrugged. “Ain’t gonna pull no punches, Torie.”

  I finished my coffee, stood up, took Rhys’s empty mug from him, and all the plates. Brought the pile of dishes to the sink and washed them all—it felt way too familiar and comfortable and easy and…domestic, eating and doing dishes with Rhys.

  Like we’d always done things together. Like we always would.

  I think he sensed it, too: he stood up abruptly and headed for the stairs. “Gonna lock up down there. We can go out the side door. Just double check you’ve got everything. You don’t want to leave anything behind, you know?”

  And then he was gone.

  Thank god…I’d had to pee since before breakfast but couldn’t think of a good way to ask him to leave his own home so I could. I put the dishes on the drying rack and used the bathroom, dressed in clean jeans and a T-shirt, put on my socks and boots. Checked through my bag, made sure I had everything. I stripped the pull-out and gave the bathroom a quick going-over.

  Time to go.

  It was weird how fast I’d come to feel like this loft was home. What, two days? With a guy I’d known for the same length of time?

  Was I absolutely insane for doing this?

  Yeah. I was.

  I took my bag and outside and, sitting on the steps, I called Leighton.

  It rang twice and she answered. “It’s not nine yet, dingus.”

  “I know. But I need you to give me a bad idea rating. Rhys has some time off, and he’s going to drive me part of the way to Alaska. Like a road trip. How far, I don’t know.”

  She hummed a low, musing note. “Wow, that’s a tough one, actually. On the face of it, it’s a ten out of ten horrible idea. You barely know the guy. If he decides to show his wacko in the middle of BFE, you’re seriously screwed.” She paused, thinking. “But you’ve slept in his bed, alone, for two nights. He hasn’t made any inappropriate moves on you that felt creepy, or you’d have said so. You’d have booked it, more to the point. He’s respected your space and hasn’t tried to get into your pants. So, if he’s hiding secret serial killer slash rapist wacko tendencies, he’s hiding them pretty damn well.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get any feelings like that from him at all. He seems to be a genuinely good person. A good man. He’s polite. He’s kind. He’s caring.” I swallowed. “He’s hot as hell. He likes me.”

  “He likes you, huh?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, there’s chemistry there. A lot of it, actually.”

  “Which makes this road trip an even better idea. Takes it more to the other end of the good idea bad idea rating scale—into the good idea territory. He likes you, you like him. He’s hot, he’s good, what do you have to lose?”

  I was silent a moment. I heard him inside, reached up, opened the door, peeked in at him, gestured at the phone and held up a finger. He nodded, shooting me a thumbs up.

  “Well, what I have to lose is getting hurt. Because…Ley, I really like him.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “He turns me on like nobody else ever has. I…I freaking want him, Ley. But…I’m scared to let anything happen. Because I’m going to Alaska, and the more time goes by, the more I feel like you and Jillie were right, that I’m probably not coming back to Connecticut. Which sucks because I love you guys and I’ll miss you like crazy. And…I just know myself well enough to know that for my first time, I’m just not capable of making it a one-time thing. A hookup. It doesn’t have to be, like, love, just…somewhere in the realm of meaningful.”

  “I know, hon,” Leighton said, her voice uncharacteristically tender. “My advice, and this is advice I don’t give lightly, is to just take things as they happen with him. I got a good feeling from talking to him. I agree, I think he’s a good guy, and you for sure lucked out in him being the dude who picked you up. So, you could do a hell of a lot worse for your first time than him, if he’s genuinely as good and decent as he seems.” She hesitated. “Has anything…happened…with the two of you?”

  I sighed. Laughed. “Sort of. His place is a loft, all open. Even the bathroom. Totally a bachelor pad for one guy. Which is cool for him, being a single guy. But anyway. I was changing, had my shirt off, about to put it on, and he walked in. And I just…froze. Totally topless. And he…he wasn’t in a hurry to look away.”

  “Well, who would be? You’ve got fantastic tits.”

  I laughed. “Why thank you, Leighton. Coming from someone with epic boobs herself, that means a lot.”

  “I wouldn’t call them epic. They hang almost to my damn belly, and I’m not even twenty-one.”

  “Because they’re f
reaking enormous, hon.”

  She laughed. “Why are we talking about our boobs? To the point—what happened then?”

  “Not much. He apologized, and left. Apologized again later, and it was kind of awkward.”

  “And that was it? He saw you topless, nothing else?”

  I laughed hesitantly. “Well? Not quite. He washed my clothes, right? Put them in the dryer later that night and went to bed. I woke up early, thought he’d still be asleep. The washer and dryer are downstairs, the loft is upstairs. So I went down, thinking I’d grab my clothes and change before he woke up.”

  “And you saw something you weren’t supposed to.”

  “Um, yeah, you could say that. I walked in on him jerking off.”

  “No. No! You did not.”

  “Wait, it gets better. Or worse, not sure which.” I giggled. Caught my breath and finished the story. “I literally watched him finish. And…he was watching this video of a girl in a wet T-shirt. Who was kinda thin, with long black hair.”

  “Um.”

  “And guess what? The day he picked me up, we came back to his place and I took off my hoodie. And being soaked to the bone as I was, my shirt was see-through soaked. So that clearly must have turned him on, because he was watching a video of a girl who looked a hell of a lot like me in a wet T-shirt.” I paused for effect. “Ready for the most OMG part? He admitted he’d been thinking about me. Trying not to, he said, thus the video, but the video was as close to me as you could get.”

  “You caught him jerking off while thinking about you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Torie. How the hell are you still a virgin? You’re alone in the home of a ridiculously hot man who clearly wants you seriously fucking bad. He’s seen your tits. You’ve seen his cock. All that’s left is to just get it on already.” A pause. “Wait. What’s his cock like?”

  “Horrifyingly, beautifully, incredibly enormous. I mean, just massive.”

  “Porn star big?”

  “Porn star big.”

  “Bigger than Max?”

  Max, my best friend with sort of benefits, possessed an improbably large member, considering he was a skinny goth anime nerd and computer programmer.