No.
“Yup,” I lied.
I wasn’t actually nervous about religious specters coming to drag me to Hell. I wasn’t even anxious about meeting more of his friends.
Okay, not super anxious. I’d already met some of the brothers. We’d been together twelve hours before, looking at the glowing penises at Rye. It wouldn’t be just that small circle there, though.
And the unknown always set me on edge.
Like he knew, Rhys squeezed my thigh—something I no longer misinterpreted and loathed. “It’ll be fun.”
“That’s probably what they say at the beginning of the horror movie.”
Rhys was correct.
After an overwhelming blur of introductions, itwasfun.
My view might’ve been clouded by the fact it was, indeed, the best meal I’d ever had. Ever. And since Piper and Jake were in attendance—with some of the other Hyde men and their women—the delicious dinner included a wild spread of desserts. But it was more than that.
There’d been a lot of storytelling. Motorcycle talk. Drunken tales that, oddly, involved Mrs. Butterworth. Family talk—mostly from the men. Sex jokes—mostly from the women. It was people from all walks of life, with a variety of ages, looks, and personalities.
And it waseasy. Just good friends hanging out without it needing to be a special occasion.
That said, they celebrated like it was a birthday, anniversary, and reunion party all rolled into one.
And probably a bachelorette party, too, since I’d seen Texas’s bare ass.
The best part of the already fun night had been Rhys.
I saw him overworked at Rye. Stressed about all the things that could—and often did—go wrong. Annoyed at me. Pissed at the penises.
But for the first time, I’d seen him relaxed.
Relaxedandhappy.
We had to keep up our roles since not everyone knew who I actually was, but I’d planned to ease back on my torment. I wasn’t ready to give up completely. He deserved me pushing his buttons as payback. But I would’ve given him the night to just be.
I should’ve known I was courting my own bout of karma with my antics.
Because the worst part of the night?
Also Rhys.
He hadn’t eased back.
Nope.
The tables had turned.
All night, he’d touched me. Kissed me. Pulled me into his arms or onto his lap. He would wrap his large hand around my thigh each time he leaned over to whisper some back story or information I needed to follow a story, and then he would leave it there for a while. His fingers tracing random designs that shot tremors down my spine to jolt directly to my clit until I was shifting in my chair to ease the pressure.
If his focus was on someone else, he would absentmindedly play with my hair.
I didn’t know that could be an erotic thing.
It very much sowas.
If that all wasn’t enough, I’d quickly realized that even with all he’d said and done at Rye, he’d been holding back for some semblance of professionalism.
