Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

Tessa

I was a little sad to leave the clubhouse; I won’t lie. It wasn’t the clubhouse itself. Or even the people. It was the whole having something of my own thing.

It was really the first time in my whole life where I had a space all to myself. No one came into the room. No one told me what to do in there.

It was freedom like I’d never known.

That said, it was never meant to last. I was always meant to move in with Rook, to share his space, to be under his thumb.

I knew he said he didn’t have any rules, that he was easy-going to get along with.

Experience told me that, over time, I would rub on his nerves. He would get annoyed with me, would put me in my place.

I needed not to get so comfortable that I overstepped.

Or, of course, to believe Rook and all of his assurances about how he would treat me.

I had to be careful. I needed to play this right. My future and safety depended on it.

“You’re quiet,” Rook observed as we moved away from the dining table and headed to the freight elevator.

“Am I?” I asked, knowing I was. I was lost in my swirling thoughts.

“If you hated dinner, you can tell me,” he said, shooting me a smirk. “I promise I won’t tell Detroit.”

“How could I hate penne vodka?” I asked, my hand going to my stomach, which was painfully full since there was no one at the table to monitor what I was eating or make comments about me gaining weight if I didn’t watch what I was eating.

“Sick of our company?” he pressed.

“No. I was just… making a list of things I want to make sure I remember to bring. My glasses, for example.” It was only partly a lie.

“Glasses, huh?” Rook asked, moving in front of me to inspect my face. “I’d like to see that.”

“I wear them at night and in the morning mostly. Before and after taking my contacts in and out.”

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“You wear contacts instead of glasses?”

“Oh. I was teased mercilessly about my glasses as a kid.” And a teen. And young adult. I had such a complex about it that I tried to never let anyone see me with my glasses on anymore.

“Kids are dicks.”

So were adults.

“Yeah. Oh, I forgot. Can you grab that delivery box downstairs? I need somewhere to put the stuff that came in the gift basket.”

“Yep, no problem. I’ll be right back.”

I probably had enough room in my bags for those items—especially since I ate all my snacks—but I just needed a second without Rook watching me with those intense eyes of his.

I was surprised how much I was struggling to keep a mask up around him. I’d spent my entire life trying to hide any of my true emotions, knowing how much some people around me would enjoy taking advantage of them, using them against me, teasing me about them. I’d been a master masker.

Maybe it was just because I’d been on my own for so many weeks now. I was out of practice. The skill would come back. I still needed it.

I set my mind to packing up all my clothes, then everything in the bathroom.

When Rook came back, we put my blanket, stuffed animal, and various other items inside.

“Is this everything?” Rook asked when we made it down to my car and I popped the trunk to reveal a mostly empty interior.

“Yeah.”

I was lucky to have been able to grab as much as I had. What I did bring, I’d shoved into a bag without paying attention. So I had something like six pajama pants but only two bras. And no socks. Not a single pair. And I only had the shoes that had been on my feet at the time.

Everything else—from my toothbrush and bath products to my pillows and various essentials and more clothes and shoes—had been purchased on the road. With precious money I really needed not to spend. But I also had to have contact solution, hair ties, and a brush.

I was actually impressed with how much I’d managed to accumulate on my own. On the road. Sleeping in my car.

That said, from an outsider’s perspective, yeah, it was pretty bare bones. No personal items at all.

That said, Rook’s place was lacking character too.

“It’s just essentials,” Rook observed. “No books, keepsakes…”

“Says the guy with completely empty bookshelves.”

“Hey, we don’t disrespect Johnny 5 like that.”

“Do you like building stuff like that?” I asked as we climbed in the car.

“I never really got to as a kid. Those building sets were expensive as fuck. We never had the money for bills, let alone toys that you can only use once. That one was a gift from Dell for Christmas, since she heard me talking about loving the movie as a kid.”

“That’s sweet. You’re really lucky to have people in your life who pay attention like that.”

“Trust me, I know,” Rook said, voice intense. “But, yeah, when I went away, there was no one around to save my shit. I imagine most of it got sold or tossed. Then spending time inside, where you can’t have anything, I guess not accumulating stuff became habit.”

“Doesn’t help that you know that anything you do get will be touched and scrutinized by Nancy.”

“Yeah, that’s a factor. A lot of the stuff I had that I liked was shit for my desk setup: chair, lighting, storage systems for keyboards. But I can’t have any of that now.”

“I get it. Though, maybe if we are going to really try to sell this serious relationship thing, we should pick up some art or picture frames… just anything to make it seem like we are settling in together.”

“Should probably take some pictures together too. Spend a day going around to different places, snapping a picture, changing, taking more.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I agreed, parking right on the street outside of the studio. That was the perk of such a small town—you never had to worry about parking spots. Except maybe on a Friday or Saturday night when the bar and pool hall were bustling.

We moved in comfortable silence, unpacking the car, sorting my items, and moving them into the appropriate places. Including my silly little mermaid mug in the cabinet next to his that featured a computer circuit grid.

“Nancy didn’t have something to say about this?” I asked him.

“I don’t think she knows what it is,” he said with a shrug.

“Wait, no. Those should be on the couch,” I called when he took my blanket and stuffed animal toward the bed.

“No. You’re taking the bed. I’ll be on the couch.”

“What? No. You won’t even fit on the couch.”

That wasn’t even to mention how damn uncomfortable the thing was. I’d sat with him on it for all of five minutes, and my butt had been sore.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Rook, come on. I’m smaller; I should be on the couch.”

My body was already accustomed to sleeping in uncomfortable spaces. I’d been sleeping with a seatbelt buckle jabbing me in the hip for weeks. I could handle an overly firm couch.

“Babe, we’re not arguing over this. You get the bed.” As if to emphasize his point, he spread the blanket over said bed and put the stuffed animal at the top by the pillows.

Maybe I should have offered to share the bed. But it was only a full. And I didn’t want him getting any sort of ideas.

The last thing we needed was anything complicating our arrangement. I was really looking forward to a place to stay. And not to mention the money he was paying me to “put my life on hold.” If he only knew how little of a life I had…

“We could compromise. Every other night,” I suggested. To that, Rook shot me the best long-suffering look I’d seen on someone who wasn’t a parent. “Fine. I will sleep in the bed. But I reserve the right to bring this up again when you throw out your back on that couch and can’t stand upright.”

That got his lips curving up.

“Noted,” he agreed. “But I can’t imagine it’s gonna be any worse than the paper-thin mattress I had in prison.”

Finished with putting my things away, Rook made us coffee, and we both moved to the couch to wind down and watch a show while engaging in our fake text history. That didn’t feel quite as fake as we were sitting close on the couch. With my legs cross-crossed, my knee was pressed up against the side of his thigh, thanks to his manspreading situation.

The not-so-fake conversation went from casual ‘Want to go get some dinner after work?’ texts to something else entirely suddenly.

The text came through with a little ding.

And I nearly dropped my damn phone.

Been thinking about your sweet pussy all day .

My eyes must have bugged—even as my sex tightened, but we weren’t going to acknowledge that—because Rook looked over.

“If we were really dating, there’d have to be some sexy texts in there on occasion.”

“True,” I agreed, looking back down at the text, knowing that I had to respond.

“Gonna top mine off,” Rook said, lifting his mug. “Want more?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

It was his absence that allowed me to think straight again. Then my fingers were moving across the keys.

I’ve been wet since I left your place this morning.

In the kitchen, Rook’s phone buzzed, then a strange, strangled sound escaped him.

I watched as he sucked in a deep breath before his fingers moved across his screen.

Don’t worry. I can take care of that for you. You can ride my face until your thighs are trembling and your throat hurts from crying out.

My face felt flushed as Rook casually walked back to the couch like nothing happened, like my sex wasn’t suddenly aching.

I shifted my position, cocking my legs to the side, my thighs pressed tightly together to ease the ache growing between.

Then I reached for my phone.

Mmm. And then what?

I kept my gaze on the TV, pretending to be as casual as possible— no throbbing pussy here —but I saw in my periphery as Rook glanced in my direction.

Then his fingers were moving again.

Then you can move down and take my cock deep inside you.

I clenched my thighs as my imagination went wild with that text.

At least I wasn’t the only one affected. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rook reaching down to try to discreetly adjust himself.

What if I want you to be on top?

Rook paused for just a second before he tapped out his reply.

Well, if you’re a good girl and come around my cock while you’re riding me, I will toss you onto your back and fuck you until you’re screaming.

I was pretty sure a little throaty sound escaped me in response to that one, but I hoped it was quiet enough that Rook didn’t hear.

I needed to get a grip. This was getting out of control. Or, rather, my hormones were.

This time, when I typed out a message, I felt my lips curving up at how jarring sexy texts were when butted up against normal, everyday conversations.

I’m leaving work now. See you in a few.

The conversation died then. The effects of it lingered, though. It didn’t seem to matter how much time passed as we sat there; my sex was still aching.

Eventually, I excused myself and went into the bathroom, scrubbed the tub, then filled it and climbed inside.

Then I went ahead and let my hand slide between my thighs, ignoring all the pesky thoughts about how this might be blurring a line, how I needed to keep my walls up so this whole situation didn’t blow up in my face.

All that mattered was easing the clawing need between my thighs, so I didn’t do something even more stupid and walk out of the bathroom and climb on Rook.

The last thing we needed was for our fake relationship to get messy with real-life feelings and complications.

That said, there was no one else I wanted to imagine as I started to tease myself with my fingers, driving myself effortlessly up.

It wasn’t long before I was needing to press my lips tightly together to quiet the little whimpers and moans that started to escape me.

But when the orgasm coursed through me, I was pretty sure there was, you know, a little sound that escaped. As well as water sloshing over the side of the tub.

“Shit,” I said, coming back down quickly and hitting the drain, then quickly drying off so I could sop up the water all over the floor.

Great start to living with the guy. Practically flooding his bathroom.

My belly twisted, old worries manifesting without warning, as I made sure there wasn’t a drop of water left anywhere, no chance for mold or discovery that the mishap happened at all.

Only then did I brush my hair and teeth, get dressed, and creep out of the bathroom.

Rook was already all set up on the couch, an arm thrown over his face, the TV still on, but the volume lower than before.

I was thankful for the sound. I would never be able to sleep in complete silence. I would be awake with each creak or blow of wind.

I tiptoed past him and into the little nook where the bedroom was located.

Feeling no small amount of guilt, I climbed into the bed, letting out a little sigh as I pulled up the covers and grabbed my stuffed animal.

Unfortunately for me, even with the TV on, I was hyperaware of how much Rook tossed and turned and grumbled as he tried to sleep on the too-hard couch.

I made a deal with myself that, whether he liked it or not, we were going to alternate with the bed.

And on that thought, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.