Page 17

17

T he fact that I can’t sleep in this luxurious cloud-like bed is nothing but infuriating. It smells like Ringo. He’s everywhere in here, his scent clinging to the sheets, which usually brings me peace, but instead, is teasing the ache between my thighs, making me beyond restless.

“Ugh!” I practically yell, kicking off the sheet and lurching out of bed with way too much energy.

I start pacing, back and forth. Again and again. Needing something I don’t know how to get.

Stopping mid-step, I bite my lip as I eye the bedside drawer. I barely give myself a chance to think better before I’m there, opening it to find Ringo’s sex toy. The thing that looks like a flashlight, only the top is a silicone vagina.

I snort a laugh, then immediately moan as an image of Ringo sliding his dick inside this… thing, flashes through my mind .

I’ve already tried three times to touch myself tonight. Each time I do, I feel absolutely nothing. It’s like my body won’t cooperate, and I have a feeling that even if I used a vibrator, my body would have the same response.

I’d still go cold. Numb.

Because it’s not him.

Shit.

Dropping the sex toy back into the drawer, I decide that maybe I just need to go for a walk. Maybe if I find Ringo and just be near him, the intensity of the ache will soften. And, honestly, I’m lonely in this big room all by myself.

I search through my backpack, looking for pants or shorts to put on, but then I catch sight of myself in the huge gold framed mirror propped against the wall.

I’m wearing one of Ringo’s t-shirts. It’s huge on me. The neckline hangs wide, slipping off one shoulder, and the hem stops mid-thigh.

Turning from side to side, I study my reflection. Do I look ridiculous or… not?

My hair is pulled into a messy pile on my head, stray wisps of hair softening around my face, the look making my exposed neck seem longer.

With the way the t-shirt falls, you can only see my bump when the fabric clings in the right spot. My boobs, which are so much bigger now, kind of create a tent with the fabric.

I’m only wearing undies underneath. Or, as Ringo likes to call them, panties .

Do I still appeal to him now that he knows I’m pregnant?

He did kiss my stomach this morning .

God, was that really this morning? It feels like today has gone on forever.

Glancing at the digital clock on the bedside table, I note it’s a little after 11pm.

I guess it’s nearly Saturday.

Taking one last look in the mirror, I shrug at myself.

“Stuff it,” I mutter.

I’m going to find Ringo as I am, and if he doesn’t like it, well… I don’t know but he’ll like it, right?

Ugh. Why am I so insecure?

Oh I don’t know, Abbey. Maybe because you grew up in a household full of coercive control and had an arsehole ex who got off on raping you and passing you around like a toy to his rapey friends.

Okay. I think I have cabin fever. I need to get out of this room and my own thoughts for a bit.

Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I slip out of Ringo’s room and pad through the house quietly, noting only a few dim lights are on downstairs.

I don’t come across anyone as I creep quietly, until I step outside and hear laughter coming from the direction of the barn.

My heart sinks a little at the lack of invitation to whatever it is. Not that I deserve one, but I miss friendship. Being at the top of someone’s list of invitations. Someone thinking, hey, I really want to hang out with Abbey today.

I miss the laughter and feeling of lightness you get from being around people you feel so comfortable with, you don’t have to worry about being someone you’re not. Having deep conversations about the important stuff, as well as the less important things that you enjoy and love .

Like One Direction.

That makes me smile.

Ringo hated me playing their songs on his phone. I actually think he was pretending but I liked that he gave me shit for worshipping a boy band. It was light and carefree and reminded me of the banter I used to have with my friends.

Following the sounds of chatter, the closer I get the more I’m able to make out that JD, Millie and Alana are sitting around a fire, music playing in the background as they sip on some drinks. But Ringo is nowhere in sight.

I hesitate, not really wanting to get into it with his sisters again. I get that they are protective, and I’m still a stranger, but it doesn’t mean I have to expose myself to their judgement.

What would Lexi say?

That’s a them problem.

I grin, wishing she was here with me.

“Oh hey, Abbey,” JD calls, spotting me in the shadows.

Dammit.

I give him an awkward wave and approach as Alana and Millie glance over their shoulders to see me.

“Hey. I’m just looking for Ringo.” I offer a half smile, my gaze locking on JD, waiting for him to respond, but it’s Lani who speaks.

“He’s in the barn. He’s a bit mopey so I’m sure he could use the company.”

I blink a few times at Lani’s tone. It’s… nice. Warm. Dare I say, friendly?

“He’s mopey?” I ask, and JD scoffs.

“Probably stressed about tomorrow.”

I frown. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“Oh… uhhh.” JD sh ifts, sitting taller as he cups the back of his neck, giving it a squeeze. “The club is coming to visit.”

My brows shoot up.

“They are?”

He’d mentioned earlier that Ringo would see Smitty tomorrow, but I didn’t think it meant here .

JD nods. “Yeah. I think Ringo was hoping to get a break from them.”

I’m confused. Not by JD’s words, but by the flicker of something else in his expression before he masks it. Like he’s not telling me everything.

Nodding, I jut my thumb towards the barn door. “Guess I’ll go find Mr Mopey.”

Alana and JD laugh, but Millie doesn’t. Her eyes follow me until I reach the barn door.

Stepping inside quietly, a deep male voice sings through the speakers, the music soulful. Almost sultry.

Taking in a breath of courage, I snip the latch on the door, locking myself in, and step into the room.

Scanning the space, my heart thrums with anticipation, and then stops for a beat as my eyes land on him.

Longish dark hair. A dark beard to match, threaded with a few flecks of lighter brown. Eyes just as dark, staring into the glass of what looks like whiskey on the table, one thick finger lazily circling the rim.

He’s lost in thought, brows puckering in the centre like a war is waging inside his head.

A moment later, he lifts the glass and takes a long sip, his lids fluttering closed like he’s savouring the taste, or perhaps the burn as it goes down. When he lowers the glass back to the table, his lids part again as he resumes staring into his drink.

“I thought you said you don’t drink alcohol.”

Ringo’s gaze snaps up, instantly locking on mine as I hover near the doorway, suddenly wondering if I’ve made a mistake by coming here.

“Normally, I don’t. But since I’m off the clock, I decided to have one.”

His voice.

Damn.

There’s no other voice on this Earth that can induce such a visceral reaction in me. I feel it, like sound waves rippling over my skin, soaking into my blood, and shooting adrenaline through my veins.

Not just adrenaline… but something else, too.

Red. Hot. Lava.

I nod, feeling the weight of his stare, suddenly hyper-aware that I’m only wearing his t-shirt, one shoulder exposed to him and the cool air.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, stepping slowly into the room, lazily dragging my finger along the edge of a table as I pass by it, glancing around the place to see that it doesn’t resemble a barn at all.

It’s more like a bar. Or a clubhouse. Something way cooler than a barn.

Something so him .

“My bed not comfy enough?” He smirks, and I shake my head.

“Your bed is heaven.”

“Then why can’t you sleep?” he presses, before sipping his drink again .

As I step closer, only a few feet from his table, I shrug and change the conversation.

“I like this song. What is it?”

“Tennessee Whiskey.” He smirks and my brows shoot up as my hands grip the back of the chair across from him.

“I didn’t take you as a country guy.”

“I’ve got eclectic taste. I’m a mood listener.” He shrugs.

“Oh… so that means you’re like…” I trail off, my cheeks flushing as they tend to do when I get embarrassed.

“Like what, Angel?”

I shake my head, waving my hand to brush it off, but he leans forward on his chair, gaze pinning me in place, his tone deep and expectant.

“Answer me.”

Biting my lip, I consider why I came here.

If I can’t say the words then how the hell am I going to… what? Seduce him? Ask him to touch me?

Am I really that bold?

The way he leans back in his chair, relaxed but watching, one hand wrapped around his glass, his other hand coming to rest on his thigh as he stares up at me… it sends a pulse of heat straight to my core.

I want him.

Wetting my lips, his eyes track the motion, dark and locked in like he’s just as affected by me as I am by him. It sends a flare of power straight to my heart.

“Are you horny?” My voice is husky, and my bold question has his brows shooting high, clearly not expecting those words to fall from my lips.

“Am I horny?” he repeats, amused. “You think this song is a horny song?”

I grin. “No. But it’s sexy.” I shrug before I somehow find some huge lady balls and start swaying my hips to the music. “Don’t you think it’s sexy?”

He sits taller.

“I didn’t until now.” The look he gives me sets me on fire. “Is that why you couldn’t sleep, Angel? You feeling horny?”

I try not to blush at his words, but it’s a battle I’ll never win when it comes to this man and the way my body responds to him.

“Maybe,” I say, letting my lids fall closed as I move to the music, trying to channel every bit of sensuality I’ve ever seen in movies.

God, I hope I don’t look ridiculous.

What if I look hilariou—

“Come here, Angel.” His rasp is gravelly yet demanding, interrupting my insecurities, and my eyes snap open to meet his. “I want to see how horny you are.”

A swarm of butterflies rush through my chest and into my stomach at his words.

He wants to see how horny I am… like actually see ?

I should probably be questioning my sanity at this point, yet my body, having its own agenda, moves with the music as I round the table. My heart is hammering as he shifts his chair back, angling himself to face me as I near, his gaze hungry, devouring me with every step.

“Did you try touching yourself?”

I nod, biting my lip, eyes dropping to his boots as my swaying slows, and I wait to see what he’ll do.

“Eyes up.”

Ohhh. His tone. The demand in it hits me hard, need pooling between my legs.

“What happened when you touched yourself?”

I shrug. “Not much. I feel nothing when I do it.”

“Do you want me to touch you, Angel?”

“Please.” It’s practically a beg, the word leaving me so fast I never had a hope of stopping it. I ache for his touch so much that I don’t even feel ashamed, especially when his lips kick up in a wicked grin.

“Are you wearing panties?” he asks, and I nod. “Take them off.”

My heart slams against my ribs at his demand, my fingers obeying him as they slip beneath the hem of the t-shirt. Without a second thought, I hook the fabric of the panties and shimmy them down, letting them pool on the floor.

After tossing back the last of his whiskey and discarding his glass on the floor, he leans forward, scooping up my panties and brings them to his nose.

Then he drags in a deep sniff.

He moans and I whimper, my whole body shuddering with need just watching him.

How can he make me feel so cherished when he hasn’t even touched me yet?

“Fuuuck, Angel,” he growls. “I really want to taste you again.”

I’m not sure where Abbey Delaney went, because this person standing here with her legs trembling and heart ready to explode, has way bigger lady balls than I ever thought she did. Especially when I reach between my thighs, sliding my hand under the fabric of his t-shirt until I find the wet heat waiting for me.

His eyes flare as he watches, his head tipping to the side to hone in on my fingers as I graze them through my slickness.

His expression is something I’ve never seen before, and it hits me that he’s never actually seen me down there.

He’s touched me. But not seen me.

The thought of exposing my bare flesh to him…

Oh, Jesus, more heat pools inside my core at the thought, and I find myself lifting the fabric of the tee with my free hand, baring myself to him.

“Fuuuck, Angel.” His tone is rough and sexy as all hell. “You’re letting me see now?”

His dark gaze flicks up to mine, and I nod, sliding my fingers free from between my legs, holding the two digits up, wet and glistening.

“Taste me.”

I can hardly believe the words come from my mouth, but I don’t have to say them twice. Ringo’s gaze turns drunk, almost feral, as he leans forward in his chair.

“Put them in, Angel,” he rasps, parting his lips, and I lean in, my eyes zeroed in on his open mouth and slide them in.

Oh… there’s something wickedly intimate about the wet feel of his tongue as it curls around my digits, licking, tasting, then sucking like he’s starving for me.

I whimper, another wave of heat rolling through me, and his hands snap to my hips, dragging me closer, and my fingers make a popping sound as he releases them from his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine .

“Do I have permission to touch you tonight, or would you rather I do it like last time?”

Last time… he let me use his hand. I was the one in control, guiding his fingers where I needed them.

It was on my terms. It was thoughtful. And I felt safe.

But… I don’t need that tonight.

Not with him.

Ringo won’t hurt me. I trust him.

If I ask him to stop, he will. No shaming. No guilt.

“I don’t want to do it that way,” I whisper, my gaze dropping to his lips. “I want you to touch me how you want to.”

A low growl reverberates in his chest, his fingers digging into my hips, almost bruisingly.

“No, Angel. Not yet. Don’t give me that much freedom. Until you’re truly ready, I need you to be more specific. I don’t want to risk triggering something.”

“Specific how?” I ask, feeling my stupid cheeks flush.

“Well…” he starts, voice thick and low as he urges me a little closer to stand between his manspread legs. “Do you want me to touch you just on the outside, or would you like my fingers inside you this time?”

My knees almost give out at the thought. That image, his big fingers, deep inside me, sends a surge of hunger I didn’t expect.

“Both,” I whisper, my chest rising and falling with so much anticipation that I fear the moment he touches me, I’ll come apart and it’ll be all over.

With another wicked smirk, his eyes darken, and his voice drops another octave.

“How about my tongue, Angel? Can I lick you? Fuck you with it? ”

Another needy whimper escapes me, and there’s no hiding the plea in my eyes, or my voice.

“Yes. Yes to all of that.”

A low growl vibrates through him again as he leans forward. “Are you ready to get naked for me yet?”

Am I?

I consider that, but shake my head quickly, already knowing that tonight, I’m not quite there yet, not quite ready for that vulnerability.

He nods. There’s no disappointment. Just understanding and respect, and I know there’s no other man on this Earth that I trust more than the one before me.

“Widen your stance, Angel,” he demands, and like his willing puppet, I obey. “Any moment you don’t like what’s happening, you say stop. Or red. Okay?”

I nod, shifting my legs further apart as he slides his chair closer.

“Let’s fix that ache for you, beautiful.”

I nod a little too eagerly, desperate for his touch, yet I still flinch the second his hand starts gliding up my inner thigh.

“This okay?” he asks, and I nod, heat rushing up my neck, embarrassed that I flinched. “Are you sure? You’re trembling, Angel.”

“Ignore that,” I rush out. “I’ll tell you if I need to stop.”

“Alright,” he rasps right before his fingers brush over my folds.

I jolt again, my hands flying to grip his shoulders for balance, as his fingers begin to explore me.

“You’re soaked, Abs. You should’ve come to me sooner.”

“Sorry, I…” My voice trails off as he finds my clit, and a moan bubbles up my throat.

“You what?” he growls, circling me, spreading my slickness over my nub.

“I was nervous,” I admit in a whisper, my trembling legs starting to relax as heat licks over my skin.

“You never have to be nervous coming to me for anything, Angel.” His gaze is piercing as we lock eyes. “Now, I want to kiss you. Maybe touch those fucking perfect tits over the top of the shirt. Is that alright with you?”

I whimper, leaning my pelvis into his touch as I nod desperately.

“Yes. Please.”

Cupping the back of my head, his touch gentle, he presses his lips to mine, and the moment we connect, I relax even more.

At first his lips nibble mine, the tickle of his facial hair adding to the heightened sensation. Then, he deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding into my mouth, making me picture it between my legs, and I swear I stop thinking. The only thing that matters is where his lips, hands and fingers are.

I buck against him as he works over my clit, little whimpers flowing from my mouth and into his before his digits slip between my folds, and I hold my breath.

“Relax, Angel,” he groans into my mouth as I tense, but I don’t pull away.

Instead, I widen my stance. I want to feel him. His fingers inside me. Desperate to rewrite the memory of what the pain felt like when…

No. Don’t go there.

Those thoughts don’t belong here .

His finger teases my entrance, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, fueling the fire in my veins as he starts to ease his digit in.

It’s thick. Thicker than…

No.

It doesn’t matter, it’s just thick and it’s his, gentle and skilled and… I cry out as he hooks his finger inside me, pressing against my inner wall.

“Fuck, Angel. You’re dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m sorry,” I pant, and he chuckles against my lips.

“Don’t ever apologise for that. That’s my reward. It means I’m doing everything right.”

The heel of his palm grinds against my clit, the friction so addictive that I know I could easily become an addict when it comes to this man. And as if to reinforce that thought, he eases his finger out before adding a second and sinking them both in, giving me the most intoxicating stretch that has me gasping.

“Fuck my hand, Angel. Take what you need.”

His words spur me on, my lids fluttering open as he releases my head to palm my breast over the t-shirt.

Tipping my head back, I arch into his touch, his thumb easily finding my already pebbled nipple as he rolls it between his fingers.

I moan, I whimper, I mule, my legs trembling again, but this time for another reason.

“That’s it.” He groans as his fingers work faster inside me. “Come for me, Abbey. Come all over my fingers. Fucking drench me. ”

It’s the dirty talk combined with his curling fingers, his palm grinding against my clit, and the pinch of my nipple that sends me careening over the edge in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

My lips part as I scream, yet there’s no sound as I shoot straight to oblivion in a ripple of spasms that feel like they last an eternity.

It’s endless. Blinding. And euphoric.

I ride out each wave until they float away, and I realise he’s lifting me, my feet no longer on the floor.

Before my axis can make sense of what’s happening, my back meets the surface of a table.

“W-what are you doing?” I pant, blinking through my lusty daze as his strong hands pry my knees apart.

“I want fucking dessert.”

My breath catches, my brain not processing fast enough to understand before his head disappears between my legs and his hot tongue glides over my slick folds.

I cry out, my back arching as my hands shoot to his head to push him away, but the moment his tongue finds my clit, I’m a goner.

My fingers delve into his hair, anchoring him in place like my body refuses to let him go.

He laps at me, gentle yet deliberate, then sucks my clit into his mouth, while simultaneously using his tongue to flick it.

Ohhh, he’s going to ruin me.

And I want him to. Completely.

I don’t even realise it’s coming until I’m in the thick of it, and another orgasm rips through me, fast and brutal. I scream as my body explodes again, so intense it borders on euphoric pain.

If I died in this moment, I’m certain the power of that orgasm would resurrect me.

“Fuck, Angel,” Ringo pants, coming up for air.

I should feel embarrassed, laid out with my coochie on full display, but right now, I really don’t care.

“Marry me?”

I snort lazily at his words, a half smile lifting my lips as my body melts into the table like I’ve been drugged.

The drug is him.

“Sure,” I coo lazily, barely able to form the words as I slur. “I’ll be Mrs Abbey Musgrove.”

Before I can even register the shift in the air, I’m scooped up into Ringo’s arms, and he cradles me to his chest as he starts walking.

“In that case, Angel, you need to get some sleep before your big wedding day tomorrow.”

I giggle again, my lids heavy as I nuzzle into his neck, my lips brushing over the hot skin there.

“Sure. Tomorrow,” I mutter against him. His scent and the rhythmic motion of him walking sends me into a deep, dreamless sleep.