Page 24 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

She carefully plucks one of the beanbags from the ground, moving kind of funny, as if she’s worried I’m going to power on the vibrator.

“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “We won’t play until later.”

With that, she takes a breath, swings her arm back, and tosses. Missing by a mile. “I told you. I’m terrible.”

I wave her off. “You’re still warming up. You’ll get better. Just keep your arm in, closer to your body. You’re swinging across. That’s why it landed over here.”

I throw my beanbag, sinking it, and she takes a sip of her sangria, snarking, “Show-off.”

I laugh. “Try again.”

She tosses and misses, and that’s how it goes for the next five turns. So I move behind her. “Let’s get you scoring some points here. Loosen up.” I place my hands on her hips, wiggling them back and forth, earning a swat. “You’re all rigid.”

“Because I’m nervous.”

“Of what?”

She doesn’t have to say. The crinkle at the corner of her eyes and lips rolled over her teeth are enough. She’s nervous people will find out about us.

I try to reassure her. “We’re simply two people playing a game. That’s all.”

But that’s not the truth and she knows it, so instead of lying to her or myself anymore, I wrap my hand around hers then guide her arm back behind us both. With a smooth swing forward, we release the beanbag. It doesn’t go in the hole, but it does land on the board.

“That’s one,” I say, gratified, and she tilts her head back to meet my gaze.

“My only point.”

“So? We’re having fun.”

“Fun for whom? You’re scoring all the points.”

With a squeeze to her hip, I cross back to my place at the other side. “And you’re the one who’s going to reap all the rewards. So, you better concentrate, huh?”

As the game goes on, her throws become more confident, but her aim doesn’t improve much.

Even as I try to extend the game and change the rules, she only scores two points by the time Taryn and Dante want to take over, their own apparent bet in place.

But I am not interested in learning what the wager is.

I can only assume it’s something that will gross me out about my sister from the way Dante is warming up his legs with lunges while he grins lasciviously at her.

I hold out my arm to Nicole for a completely friendly side-hug. Or at least I thought so until June pops up out of nowhere. “You’re a hugger now, Dad?”

I’ve never wanted to put a FREE sign around her neck and leave her out by the trash more than at that moment. But instead of doing so, I crush her to me, reminding her that, yes, I do give hugs.

To a very select few.

June laughs and fights my hold, eventually squirming away from me, only to stumble in Nicole’s direction. She fixes her hair then turns to the woman who has my heart in her fist, covering her growing smile.

“Careful of that one,” June says to Nicole, pointing at me. “He’s got a wicked grip. Once he’s got you, it’s almost impossible to get away.”

It’s an innocuous sentiment from my daughter, and yet it is absolutely true.

I don’t want to let Nicole go.

And from the way she’s blinking repeatedly with her hands behind her back, probably clenched together in anxiety, she knows.

I’m just not sure if she wants me to let her go or not.

“Come on,” June says, breaking the growing tension between Nicole and me, tugging on her arm. “Andi’s gonna play.”

My daughter pulls Nicole to the chairs fanned out around my brother’s woman, strumming chords on her guitar, cowboy boots tapping to keep time.

Andi is a songwriter and spent a few years in LA before moving here, but she still makes trips out to California to work on whatever album she’s attached to.

Although, it’s become common practice for her to pull out her guitar when we’re all together like this.

I’m not sure who started it, but we often throw out songs to see if we can stump her.

Her repertoire is pretty big so it’s not often she doesn’t know how to play a song, but if she doesn’t, she makes it her personal mission to learn it.

Like the one I called out last time, “Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover.”

“This one’s for the guy who loves and respects all the great ’90s female singers.” Andi aims the neck of her guitar at me with a dimpled grin. “Like every man rightfully should.”

She plays the hit by Sophie B. Hawkins, and Clara raises her arms in the air, waving back and forth until a few more people join in, and suddenly, it’s a concert. No one really knows the words until the chorus, and then everybody—even the kids—is singing.

Nicole drops her head back, laughing, free and completely unencumbered from worry about what people will think. She’s simply having fun, singing off-key, and clapping along as she dances in her seat.

Andi moves on to other songs that I’m not familiar with, something with a Southern twang, and then a new pop song that Gracie, Griffin’s daughter, joins her on.

By the time they finish, it’s dusk, and someone has pulled out a small speaker, playing music on there.

Andi sets down her guitar to drag Logan out to the driveway to dance.

Griffin and Gracie follow. Then Clara and Marianne.

Taryn and Dante. And soon, the whole party has moved out to the street, singing, dancing, and passing out sparklers.

Nicole accepts a lit one from Jaybird, twirling it in front of her, drawing shapes that I imagine are our initials in a heart.

Wishful thinking.

Until she turns like she knows I’m watching and hits me with a smile so sweet, I feel dizzy.

Maybe I have it wrong. She is the one who has me wrapped up.

I am completely at her mercy.

Willing and ready to do whatever she wants.

For however long she wants.

As much as I want to control her, ultimately, I have to follow her lead. The only hope I have of keeping my heart intact is if she would choose me.

Love me.

Because all I have now is the ability to make her see stars.

Fireworks go off in the distance, and I open the app on my cell phone to activate the vibrator. Nicole jumps slightly but otherwise carries on as normal. I keep it on low for a while, allowing her to become used to the feeling before turning it up.

She leans back as if needing something to support herself and reaches out her hand for the mailbox. Even from here, I can see her white-knuckled grip when I hit it even higher, making it pulse. Her stance is tense, but no one would know she’s close to coming.

The song on the speaker changes to Hozier, her favorite, but she can’t even appreciate it with her chin down, eyes closed, and I smile to myself.

She’s trying so hard not to look like she has a vibrator in her pussy that she’s starting to look like she does, so I change the setting one last time, hoping to push her over the edge.

She gives in to a small buck of her hips that could possibly pass as a dance move as she goes red all over.

I turn off the vibrator and wait until she catches her breath, slanting her head in my direction. I hold up my index finger, mouthing, “That’s one.”

Her lips form a small O, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths, the left strap of her dress drooping off her shoulder.

When I recall it tonight while I’m in bed and my hand is around my cock, I’ll think about how I could rip that pretty little dress off her.

I’m not sure if she can translate my thoughts, but she glances down to the limp strap on her shoulder and pointedly leaves it there. Then she smiles at me.

Like the brat she is.

So I hit the power button again, turning the vibrator back on.

This time, she’s expecting it and doesn’t move.

Even as I change the speed. She holds my gaze, twenty or so yards between us, but it might as well be zero.

I can practically feel her breath on my neck, the coiling of her muscles.

She licks her lips, and I taste them on my tongue.

“Almost there,” I mouth, and she nods. “Eyes on me.”

She keeps her eyes open the whole time, those blue pools expanding to an ocean as she comes again, her neck and back arching toward me, and I suddenly hate that we’re here.

I wanted her at this picnic so she could enjoy herself, be with friends, but this fun little game is self-inflicted pain. Too many people and sounds—and not enough time to do all the things I’d like.

I need her alone.

And soon.

I shut off the vibrator and pocket my phone, holding up two fingers. She eventually rights her dress and fixes her ponytail, fanning herself.

Again, no one would know why.

She could be sweating from the summer heat.

But Nicole and I know better.

Our little secret.