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I’ve got you.
We lay like that for mere moments and a lifetime, our lungs filling with air, my atoms reforming into some semblance of who I was.
Gage Buchanan. Most Likely to Succeed. Ivy League. Mr. Perfect.
So why didn’t any of those titles feel like they fit suddenly?
God. It was just great sex but…wow. It had turned me inside out.
She rubbed her cheek slowly against mine. “I like you with scruff,” she whispered, turning slightly so her lips dragged across my chin. Scruff, she liked my scruff. I’d spent so much time with her, I needed a shave. And Jesus but the way she was peppering small kisses along my jaw was turning me on again.
“What’d you slip into those crab cakes, anyway?” she asked.
I laughed, leaning up, realizing that in my fervor, I’d scooted us across the table so that her head was practically in one of the pockets. “What did you slip into—”
Loud banging sounded at the front door and we both jumped, me slipping out of her as I practically toppled off the table, landing on my feet, but just barely. A deep voice called Rory’s name from the other side of the door.
“Oh, shit!” she said, hopping down from the table too. “That’s my uncle! He’ll kill me! And you!” For a few seconds we just stood there, utterly naked except for my—obviously used—red condom, staring at each other in alarm before both moving at the same time, bending to pick up a piece of clothing, our heads colliding.
“Oof,” we said in tandem, staggering back as we both rubbed our heads.
“He has a key,” she hissed as we began picking up clothing items and pulling them on as quickly as possible.
The sounds of a key being inserted into the lock made Rory let out a small squeak, both of us bending to pull on our socks and shoes as the door banged open. “Rory!” the deep, gruff voice called.
“Uh, over here,” she called back breathlessly, giving me a wide-eyed stare as I looked up at her from where I was tying my shoe. There was really nowhere to hide and if she hadn’t answered him, he would see us in a few more steps anyway. She jerked her chin and I stood just as a very large man came around the corner sporting a trimmed black beard and an eyepatch.
A pirate. Her uncle was a pirate. He stopped short, his gaze flying from her to me and back to her. My God the man was huge, not just in height, but in breadth. His arms were the size of my thighs and he could probably crush me if he wanted to. Or make me scrub a deck. Or walk a plank. And by the way he was staring at me, one icy blue eye narrowed and suspicious, he was definitely considering doing all of those things, and much worse.
“What’s this?” he barked.
“Why are you wearing an eye patch?” Rory asked.
He reached up and removed the patch, squinting the eye that had been covered. “I took a rope to the eye last night. I’ll ask you again,” he growled. “Who’s this?”
“Him?” she asked, sweeping her arm in my direction as if her uncle might have been asking about some ghost or other invisible person in the room. “He’s uh…he was servicing the…uh…”
“Pool table,” I cut in, forcing myself not to grimace. Nice save, Buchanan. Apparently my brain cells were still scrambled from the sex.
Her uncle’s eyes narrowed further, his hand curling into a fist. “What kind of service does a pool table need?” he asked, his voice low and measured in a way that was scarier than the way he’d first yelled.
I glanced over my shoulder at the table, my eyes widening when I saw the clear ass imprint in the felt. I shifted my body, hoping to hide the evidence. “Uh, the pockets have to be…calibrated,” I said.
The giant pirate’s eyes narrowed to slits. The room brightened another degree, morning asserting herself over the dawn.
“And the balls,” Rory said. “He was checking the balls.” She tilted her head. “Balls should have a certain feel in the palm.” She raised her hand and massaged the air. “Isn’t that what you were about to show me?” She gave me a wide-eyed innocent look and batted her lashes.
The pirate growled.
“Uh…” My eyes locked with Rory’s. The corner of her mouth trembled though her eyes looked just a little sad. I realized what she was doing. She was saying goodbye. She was going to end this as it’d began. With barely suppressed laughter and good-natured teasing. And as far as endings went, it wasn’t a bad one. So why did I feel equal parts alarmed by the giant, and regretful that I was about to walk away from this woman?
I heard shouts from the front door and the sounds of palms slapping the glass. My friends. They were calling my name. Had it really been hours since I’d left them sleeping? It felt like mere moments. Their calls got louder.
And yet I couldn’t look away from Rory. We’d both known it was temporary. Just a chance encounter. Reality that would soon seem like nothing more than a fantasy. A fever dream.
“Those are, ah, my calibration experts and…but, I think we’re done here,” I told the big man who looked like he was seconds away from hanging me on the coat rack. I turned to Rory and reached for her hand. Our palms met, my fingers wrapping around hers. “Cakes…”
“Ivy League.” She inclined her head toward the door. “You better go before they break it down.” I paused, somehow not able to let go.
