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Chapter Twelve
The restof the weekend flies by.
Tristen takes Wes and Denielle home after lunch on Saturday, and both return Sunday afternoon. We hang out in Rhys's room. The boys sit at the foot of the mattress, playing video games, and Den and I are just...us. We lounge on the bed—me mostly on my stomach—when she announces that she is thinking about surprising Charlie during spring break. He's been distant, missing their usual video chats, and she hopes that some quality time together will help. Rhys and Wes exchange a glance I can't interpret, but neither comments on Den's plans. I'm not used to seeing my best friend anything but confident. She's the one with the I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude. Something is up with her, but I also don't want to put her on the spot in front of the guys.
I avoid every phone and computer in the house—except the burner—needing a break from the social media drama and news articles. Rhys confirms that there are a handful of news reports covering the attack at school. Surprisingly, though, most of them are factual. They describe how four female students attacked me, and a fifth was charged as an accomplice. Since no one (officially) knows about Katherine's involvement, the conclusion is that the girls wanted revenge for their own personal gain—the same B.S. they served the cops.
Rhys barely leaves my side. He makes sure I have everything I need, including letting me sleep on top of him, as that's the only bearable position. The dark circles under his eyes are proof of him forfeiting his rest for mine, and a pang of guilt hits me.
Monday morning, I wake up before the alarm goes off. Rhys is going back to school today; I'm excused until after spring break. Though, I’ve been playing with the idea of online classes and the possibility of graduating early. I have the credits due to the summer classes I took over the last few years, and after this coming Thursday—my eighteenth birthday—I’ll have the financial means to support myself if Heather and Tristen had any issues with that plan.
The sensation of getting the skin shaved off my back at every move has also lessened. It still hurts—a lot—but it's manageable. I prop myself on my elbows, taking in the sleeping boy next to me. His long lashes fan over his cheekbones, and his hair has grown out over the last few weeks, the slight waves standing up all over his head. His eyes flicker under his closed lids, and his mouth presses into a thin line. He's dreaming, and from the looks of it, it's not a good one. The need to stop whatever is going on in his brain makes me lean in. With a flutter in my chest, a sensation I experience every time we touch anywhere, I gently press my mouth to his. Home. Rhys’s tense features soften, and I sweep my tongue over his bottom lip ever so slightly.
A hum rumbles in his chest, and my butterflies morph into their hornet form. Eyes still closed, Rhys's hands slide up my arms, and he caresses my biceps with his thumbs as he returns the kiss. He doesn't wrap his arms around my back like he usually would, which tells me he is awake and aware of his actions. I part my lips, and his warm tongue instantly invades my mouth. I can't stop the moan escaping my throat, nor do I want to.
Thank goodness the door is closed.
I move until I'm completely on top of him, and he grinds his hips against me in response, never breaking the contact to my mouth. Feeling his hard length against my core makes heat shoot through my body, and I inwardly curse my injuries. I want him so bad, his hands all over me, him inside of me. But my limited movements make it impossible. Not impossible, but it definitely wouldn't be the most enjoyable experience for either of us. Despite not breaking the kiss, Rhys isn’t oblivious to my inner battle of desire, anger, and frustration.
"Stop thinking, babe," he murmurs against my mouth.
I grin against his lips; he always knows. "I want you so bad." To drive my point home, I push my hips forward and create more torturous friction for both of us.
Moooore, my insides whine.
He pulls back, and our gazes meet. "Trust me?"
There is a gleam in his eyes that instantly put me on guard. What's he planning? He'd never do anything to cause me (more) pain, so my answer is the only obvious one. "I do."
Rhys shifts until we’re both on our sides, facing each other. He scans me carefully, and I smile. "I’m okay."
Slowly, never looking away, he leans back in and starts a gentle assault of my mouth with his. I love the feel of his tongue against mine, and a tingling sensation spreads through my entire body. Why can't it always be like this?
Suddenly, the waistband of my sleep shorts is pulled away, and Rhys's hand dives under the fabric. I jerk at the unexpected contact and latch onto his arm with my hand to not fall backward. The heel of his palm presses against my sensitive spot, and he enters me with one finger.
Yesss.
My eyes flutter closed, and a whimper escapes me. I part my thighs, draping one leg over his, to give him better access. I deepen the kiss and press my throbbing clit against him.
"Already so wet, Cal?" He smirks against my mouth.
"More." The word comes out in a breathy moan, and Rhys chuckles. I'm so turned on that I can't bring myself to care if he laughs at or with me.
"You know I never say no to you." And with that, another finger joins the first.
Fuck me—literally.
I nip on his bottom lip and most definitely leave claw marks on his arms, but I can't stop myself. Rhys changes his angle, and now his two fingers pump in and out as his thumb circles my clit.
"Ahhh. Rhys, I..." I want to tell him that I'm about to come, but he speeds up his movement, and I lose all train of thought.
"Shhh...just let go."
And that's what I do. I completely fall apart. I clench around his fingers deep inside of me, Rhys not stopping until the last shiver has wracked through my body.
I slowly peel my eyelids back and gaze at him in my post-orgasm fog. He pulls his hand out of my shorts and does the last thing I'd ever expect. He licks his fingers with a devilish grin on his face. "Mhmmm."
My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, and I cover my face with my hand that had been holding onto him.
