Page 18 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)
Bryce doesn’t like cats, so Mr. Darcy has had to stay at the store overnight.
He doesn’t mind, but I do. I’d like Darcy to live at home with me, but it’s a battle I gave up long ago since Bryce threw down the “you’d sacrifice my health” card with his allergies.
So, Darcy stays here while I dutifully refill air purifiers at home for my cat-phobic husband.
The two men could not be more different.
If not in personality, then certainly in physicality.
Bryce has the look of an academic. Like he hasn’t seen the sun in twelve years and dresses as if he’s Indiana Jones—the classroom version.
And Ian… Well, Ian looks like he could actually get himself out of the Temple of Doom.
“While you’re here,” I start, turning to retrieve a book from our special-order shelf and hold it out to him. “Jasper’s book came in.”
Ian accepts The Glass Castle . “Kid never stops reading.”
Jasper was in last week, asking for recommendations on memoirs. It’s rare Ian’s eldest child and I speak, but if we do, it’s always about books. “One thing we have in common.”
“Give me something to read,” Ian says, and I’m taken aback.
“You want a book?”
“Yeah. I want to read something you like.” He gestures to my tattoo. “That book. I want to read that one.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” He straightens himself from where he was leaning against the counter. “I want to know what you love.”
I bite into my lip to keep from grinning too broadly and head to our classics section to find it.
When he has it in his hand, he examines the small hardback, part of the series I ordered with cute and colorful covers.
The kinds of books that would look great on a shelf or coffee table, even if they remained unread.
A tragedy, for sure, but still cute. This Austen is pale blue with rows of magenta flowers on the cover.
“ Sense and Sensibility ,” he says with a nod, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll take it.”
He tries to pay for it, but I remind him that he gifted me my tattoo.
So this is my repayment. He shakes his head, eyes narrowed, a silent message that I will pay for this one way or another as I slip his and Jasper’s book into a small paper bag along with the little square ads I print myself, listing the upcoming events, including poetry night and Drag Queen Story Hour.
When Ian points that one out, I wince. “Yeah, I got some complaints about that event. They want me to cancel.”
“Are you going to?” he asks, brows drawn.
“No, but I’m nervous for the safety of the performers and our store.”
“You’re worried someone’s going to fuck with the store?”
I shrug. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.
Don’t feed the trolls , as Aunt Sue always said.
“A few comments have been left on the Facebook event. Overall, our customers love the idea. They’re excited, but I’m worried about people who are not our customers, who aren’t even involved… getting involved.”
He makes a noise I can’t interpret as he stares down at the little sheet like he’s trying to incinerate it before meeting my gaze again. “Anything you need help with, I’m here.”
Ian has constantly extended his hand when a person needed it, but for the first time, I’m not afraid to ask for it. I suppose I should finally give up the ghost on attempting to do everything myself and accept the help when it’s offered.
“Thank you,” I say, and he nods, looking toward the door.
“I’ve got to go. I have an appointment.”
I always thought people winking were cheesy, but when Ian does it, it feels like a secret. Because he never winks with a smile. It’s more like a promise.
And when he winks at me now, my panties are in danger of being incinerated. I’m left staring after him like a lovestruck Regency lady ready to swoon at any moment.
I almost do when he texts me a few hours later while I’m in bed with the latest Kristin Hannah.
It’s a photo of himself, angled so his naked lower torso and upper legs are in frame.
He’s wearing black boxer briefs with the book strategically placed in the middle, but even without seeing what I know is an impressive length, there’s already too much to take in.
The thick muscle of his thighs, sprinkled with hair and tattoos, including a cobra coiling around his right leg.
His stomach is bulky with muscle yet defined by lines.
He’s naturally tanned, as if he spends time outside without a shirt.
Of course, there are more tattoos, including what appears to be a bust of one of those old-school pinup girls with a naval hat, and the words Hello, Sailor in script on ribbon bracketing her above and below.
It’s really cute and kind of on-brand for him.
But as a whole, he’s hot. The muscles, the tattoos, the perfect amount of hair, he’s quite literally mouthwatering.
And he’s reading my book.
I hope you love it.
Ian
I’m sure I will.
Ian
But you know what I would love even more?
I think I already know yet ask anyway.
What?
Ian
A photo.
Ian
Show me what you’re doing right now.
The same thing you are.
Ian
Show me.
I attempt to take a good picture, one that rivals his for sexiness, but with my plain cotton pajamas, I don’t have much to work with. Even with my knee propped up and my shirt artfully rumpled to expose some skin of my stomach.
He responds to my photo immediately.
Ian
You know what I would be doing if I were there?
What?
Ian
Not letting you read.
Ian
That’s for damn sure.
I think of how Bryce and I have slept next to each other in this bed every night, but I’ve never been as excited lying here as I am now. Because of a text. Although, I don’t like the idea of Bryce in this space, even if it’s virtual, so I shove him out of my mind and text Ian back.
What else?
Ian
You want to know what I would do if I were there with you right now? Put your hand in your shorts to touch yourself, and maybe I’ll tell you. Send me another picture to show me you can follow directions.
I toss my book aside and do as he instructs, snapping a photo to send.
Ian
Tell me what your pussy feels like.
I’ve never sexted before, but I have no time to be self-conscious about it when I need to respond to him.
Wet.
Ian
Are you still sensitive from this afternoon?
Very.
Ian
Pet your pussy for me. Pretend it’s my fingers.
Ian
Circle your clit nice and easy.
Ian
Bet you’re making those sweet little sounds of yours, aren’t you, baby?
I am, yeah. I can’t help it. I need to come. But of course, he knows.
Ian
Now stop.
Ian
Hand out of your shorts and take a picture to show me.
So I do. Whimpering to an empty room.
Ian
You’re such a good girl.
Ian
And good girls get rewarded.
Ian
Now, read your book, and you can tell me about it tomorrow morning. I want a full book report.
I bite into my lower lip, already making plans to follow his orders to the letter. He wants a book report? I’ll type one up and deliver it to his mailbox.
Yes, sir.