Page 112 of Pets in Space 10
“Great!” he confirms, his face breaking into a wide grin. A tiny part of me is happy I make him smile like that. “Sunshine. Fresh air. People who aren’t talking about budgets. Think of it as… atmospheric therapy.”
My brain screams No! Go home! Wallow! It also screams Get back to work!
You have appointments! Don’t give them an excuse to fire you!
But the thought of my office, the stares of my colleagues, or the echoing silence in my room, the judgmental creaks of the old house, or the inevitable third degree from Demi…
Overpriced vegetables sound a lot better.
Escape. Even a temporary one.
I can leave. What are they going to do? Fire me?
Ha. Shit. I am screwed.
Turn that frown upside down, Rosa.
“Okay. Therapy. Something I know all too well. But if anyone tries to sell me artisanal goat cheese, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
He chuckles, a genuine sound that eases the tension in my shoulders. “Deal. Goat cheese is on me.”
The walk down to the riverfront market is quiet, but it feels different from the awkwardness after our first encounter. This is… processing. Me processing the potential implosion of my career, him probably processing my sudden mood swings. Raimei trotting along at my feet says nothing.
The market buzzes with a vibrant energy opposite to the sterile I.A.
corridors. Canvas stalls overflow with pyramids of gleaming fruit, fragrant herbs, and vegetables in an array of colors.
Laughter mingles with the calls of vendors and the strumming of a lone guitarist near the water’s edge.
It smells like damp earth, ripe peaches, and grilling corn.
Rhys buys a bag of sweet and smoky nuts, still warm in the bag. “Here. Eat these as we walk.” I take them and pop them in my mouth, one by one. Mmmm, okay. That was a good purchase.
Comforted by the snack, we wander along. I inhale and bring the air down into my belly, letting it all out slowly. I already feel better.
Rhys steers me towards a stall piled high with glistening red peppers. “Look at these. Perfect for roasting.”
“What would you pair them with?” I ask, shoving aside more of the corporate dread.
“Red onions and chicken?” He bumps my shoulder. “I saw you taking the deep breath. Feeling better?”
Yeah. I do. A crack has appeared in the icy dread coating my insides.
I watch Rhys haggle with a farmer over the price of sun-ripened tomatoes, his effortless charm drawing a smile from the gruff-looking woman.
Next, he buys a small basket of assorted fruit, handing me a peach.
It bursts in my mouth, warm and sweet, tasting like pure sunshine.
Okay. Maybe this isn’t the worst idea.
We wander, sampling sweet strawberries, sniffing pungent bunches of basil.
Rhys points out a dog that looks like a walking dust mop, making Raimei snort.
He tells me about a disastrous attempt he made at pickling cucumbers.
(“Let’s just say the jars achieved sentience and tried to escape.
There was pickle juice everywhere.”) I tell him about the time my dad tried to “fix” the leaky roof with experimental sealant and ended up gluing three squirrels to the shingles.
Laughter bubbles up, surprising me. It feels good.
Real. For a little while, wandering between stalls laden with delicious things, the I.A.
and its soul-crushing budget cuts seem very far away.
Rhys’s presence beside me is solid and comforting.
His eyes, when they meet mine, hold a warmth that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
The spark is still there, flickering brighter with every shared laugh, every casual touch.
Walking back to the main street as the market winds down, a pleasant quiet settles between us again. But my earlier anxieties, momentarily suppressed by sunshine and strawberries, resurface.
Any time soon. The official word.
The potential end of everything I’ve worked for.
I stop, the basket of fruit heavy in my hand. Rhys stops too, watching me, his expression patient.
Escape. I need more than a market stroll. I need… oblivion. A complete system shutdown. A way to silence the frantic hamster wheel in my brain.
My gaze flickers to Rhys. His calm smile, the way the sun catches the curve of his jaw, the memory of that kiss in the pavilion… Heat stirs low in my belly, fueled by desperation as much as desire.
Screw it.
“Hey,” I say, my voice sounding breathless, even to my own ears. “This whole ‘de-stressing’ thing… I think I need the advanced level.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Advanced level?”
“Yeah.” I meet his gaze, injecting a boldness I haven’t had in a while. “Your place? Is it far?”
“No. Now?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Now.” The implication hangs in the air, undeniable. Forget the farmer’s market. Forget the I.A. Forget everything.
Just… this. Him. Now.
Is this insane? Inviting myself over to the place of the man who vanished without a trace? My therapist's brain flashes red warning signs. Trust isn’t built overnight, especially after being burned the first time. He could disappear again the second things get real.
But… he did apologize. He showed up for tea, for Stars Above.
He listened. He’s kept his word this time, even when I’ve been prickly and stressed.
And right now, the thought of going home to face worried sisters or a meddling father, or sitting alone stewing about the I.A.
, is unbearable. This is a gamble, a desperate move fueled by panic, not perfect faith.
But he’s here. And I need an out.
Surprise flickers across his face, followed by something hotter, darker. Understanding. He doesn’t question it, doesn’t hesitate. He nods, a slow, deliberate movement, his eyes holding mine. “Okay. Advanced level it is.”
“I’m going to head home,” Raimei says, and I startle at the sound. I had almost forgotten he was there. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Wait. Do whatever.” He chuckles as he saunters off.
True to his word, Rhys’s apartment isn’t far. Small, tidy, filled with plants and the faint scent of sandalwood. Minimalist furniture, stacks of books and business plans on the kitchen table, a yoga mat rolled neatly in the corner.
It’s calm. Centered. Like him.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, the nervous energy, the desperate need for distraction, consumes me. I drop the basket on a small table, turn, and he’s already reaching for me.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me close. His mouth finds mine, hungry, demanding, mirroring the urgency coursing through me. This isn’t the tentative exploration of our previous kisses. This is raw need. A desperate clinging. A frantic attempt to replace fear with sensation.
Clothes become obstacles, shed quickly, impatiently.
His hands are everywhere, learning the curves of my body, igniting fires wherever they touch.
My skin tingles, hypersensitive. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, down the column of my throat, finding the sensitive spot below my ear that makes me gasp.
He pushes me against the wall, his mouth capturing mine in a searing kiss that steals my breath.
His hands roam over my body, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they harden under his touch.
I gasp as he lowers his head, taking one sensitive peak between his teeth, the gentle nip sending electric shocks straight to my core.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice steeped with lust. His hands slide down, palming the curve of my ass, pulling me tighter against him. He is rock hard through the thin fabric still between us.
“I want to feel all of you,” he whispers, his fingers tracing around to the front, dipping between my thighs where I’m already embarrassingly wet for him. His touch is hot and insistent, drawing a moan from deep in my throat.
“God, Rosa,” he groans as his fingers explore. “You’re so ready for me. How did that happen?” His grin makes me groan.
“Please,” I gasp, my hips rocking against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of him.
“You want the release?” His fingers enter me, push up and forward. A keening wail erupts from my throat. “Will you come more than once?”
My forehead comes down to his shoulder, and I roll my lips to the side to meet his ear. “It’s been nothing but a vibrator and stolen moments at home for three years.” I kiss the space below his ear as his fingers massage my clit. Fuck me. “I will come more than once. I promise.”
His fingers work with expert precision, finding that perfect spot that makes my brain short circuit. The pressure builds, a coiling tension low in my belly that threatens to snap. My head falls back, eyes fluttering closed as his rhythm increases.
“Let go, Rosa,” he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “I’ve got you.”
The tension breaks, pleasure crashing over me. Yes, yes, yes. The release leaves me trembling and breathless. My legs nearly buckle as the intensity of it washes through me, but his strong arm around my waist holds me steady. I cry out, not caring who might hear, lost in the sensation.
I slump against him, my breathing ragged, my body humming with lingering pleasure. He presses his forehead to mine, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
“That’s just the beginning,” he promises. “I want to see you come apart again and again.”
He sweeps me up, carrying me the few steps to his bedroom. The room is simple, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun filtering through the blinds. He lays me on the bed, his eyes dark and intense.
“Rosa,” he murmurs, his voice thick, questioning, making sure.
“Yes,” I whisper back, pulling him down to me. No more words. Just touch, taste, sensation.