Page 3 of Ruthless Desires, Vol. Two (Ruthless Desires Series Extended Editions #2)

Rhett

Ever since Wren stepped into the kitchen back home, Elliot has practically been drooling over her. He loves when we wear his favorite color, so I’m not even surprised. Hell, I practically expected this, which is why I made plans to drag Oliver off to the bathroom. Elliot tries to protest, and I act annoyed even though I’m not. He’s cute when he’s flustered.

This is supposed to be a date with all four of us, yes. But I don’t mind giving Elliot and Wren a quick moment alone. We won’t be gone for long.

In the bathroom, I stalk toward Oliver. He gives me a quizzical look, but it’s quickly replaced with realization when I back him into the sink. I place my hands on the counter on either side of him, effectively caging him in.

“I swear you wore these jeans just to tease me,” I mutter.

“It crossed my mind.”

We stare at each other for a second. A challenge sparks in Oliver’s eyes, a silent Are you going to do anything about it?

And fuck.

Yeah, I think I will.

Our mouths crash together as I press my body against his. His dick is already hard, just from me cornering him in the bathroom. I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not.

When Oliver licks across my bottom lip, I open my mouth just enough for him to get a taste of me. Then I slide my tongue inside his mouth, reminding him who’s in charge. He groans, rolling his hips into mine.

“You never did have any patience, did you, O?”

Pulling away, I spin Oliver around so he’s facing away from me. I undo his pants and shove them down with his boxers. Not all the way—just enough that his cock springs free.

“Spit on my hand.”

He does, and I do too before reaching around him and spreading the saliva on his dick. With an expert grip, I stroke up and down, watching Oliver’s reaction in the mirror. He’s trying not to make any noise, holding onto the counter for balance.

“Rhett, anyone could walk in,”

he protests halfheartedly.

“Mmm, and they’d find you in such a compromising position, wouldn’t they?”

I squeeze gently at his tip before making my way back down.

“Shit,”

he hisses, gripping the counter more tightly.

He knows I’m right. He’s the one with his dick out in a public bathroom, not me. Not that I’d care either way—I stopped caring about other people’s opinions years ago. Oliver has come a long way in doing the same, but apparently he needs another lesson.

“Look at me,”

I murmur softly.

He meets my gaze in the mirror.

“You don’t have to hide parts of yourself from her.”

He grunts as I lightly squeeze the head of his cock again before moving back down, falling into a pattern.

“Are we really having this conversation right now?”

“There’s no better time.”

My lips brush up his neck until they’re right next to his ear.

“You’re always more obedient when you want to come.”

Oliver lets out a low whine, and it’s one of the most delicious sounds I’ve ever heard. He moves his hips in time with my hand, and I can’t help but smirk at him.

“So desperate, aren’t you?”

“Rhett—fuck.”

“Are you going to listen to me?”

Oliver is giving me a look that’s half lust and half irritation. But he pants out, “Fine. Yes. I’ll listen.”

“Good boy,”

I say lowly.

He melts. Fucking putty in my hands.

“She’s not going to judge you.”

“I—I know.”

“And self-expression is nothing to be ashamed of.”

It takes him a second to catch his breath before he says, “I know, I promise.”

“Then why? Why did I have to haul you back upstairs?”

“Because—fuck, god, Rhett. Shit.”

He breaks our gaze, staring at my hand as I work his cock.

“Spit on my hand again.”

He does immediately.

“See? So obedient.”

“Damn you, Rhett.”

“Pretty sure you’d rather fuck me.”

He groans in response, pumping his hips forward.

“Why do you always do this to me?”

My smirk widens.

“Because I love you.”

Oliver’s eyes snap upward again, locking with mine, an almost panicked look on his face. I’ve been saying it more lately—at least I think I have been. It’s not enough, but it’s what I can give.

I’m trying.

“Rhett,” he pants.

I promise I’m trying.

“Why are you hiding parts of yourself if you know you don’t have to?”

I say, switching the subject before the intimacy of the moment makes me feel like my skin is on fire.

“I’m just in my head,”

he forces out.

“I know we can trust her.”

With a sigh, I press my face into his neck. That’s not something I can help with. All I can do is be here and try to be supportive. And dammit, I hate it. If I could take all his problems away and bear the weight of them by myself, I would.

“I love you, too,”

he says quietly.

“I know,”

I murmur against his hot skin.

After that, I continue moving my hand up and down his dick until he’s nothing more than goo. When he finishes, he’s barely able to keep quiet. His cum covers my hand, and I make him lick it all off. He does so with no protest.

“Such a good boy,”

I say, shoving my fingers into his mouth.

He sucks them greedily. I love when he’s like this. Compliant and cum happy. He’d probably do anything I asked him to. Not that I have anything in mind—we need to get back.

I know from multiple fuck-ups that Oliver needs affection after sex. When we were younger, I left him alone right after because it’s what I needed, so I assumed it’s what he needed, too. Instead, it made him feel used and unloved, which was the exact opposite of what I was trying to accomplish.

We had to find different types of aftercare that worked for both of us. Cuddling after that much intimacy is hard on me, so we found other things that work. Lazy conversations, showering together, touches here and there or with enough distractions, et cetera. We make it work.

But now, my attention is about to be divided between him, Elliot, and Wren, and I don’t want him feeling un-prioritized. So after I wash my hands, I keep an arm around him as we walk back. It doesn’t have the best effect on me, but I can manage.

Or so I think. But my father’s voice invades my thoughts much more quickly than I anticipated.

You don’t deserve my forgiveness.

Nothing good in you.

Oliver slides my arm off his shoulders. “Stop.”

“I want to.”

Say it back, boy.

“No.”

Oliver shies away when I try to pull him close again.

“I don’t like where you go when you force yourself into it like this. It’s like I lose you for a few minutes.”

Now get up and give me a hug.

My chest tightens.

That’s better. No more bullshit, all right? You’re old enough to know better.

Fuck. I’m slipping. I shouldn’t’ve tried. I shouldn’t’ve—

“Hey.”

Oliver’s voice keeps me tethered to the present. Out of habit, he moves to grab my hand, but he pulls back at the last moment.

The action cracks my heart in two. I crave his touch and the comfort it brings, but I know it’ll be anything but soothing. It’ll throw me further into moments where I had no control. My body will seize up, my heart will beat too fast, and I’ll end up shoving him away.

“Look at me.”

Oliver’s voice is soft, like he’s talking to a scared kitten. He hovers close without touching me.

“Stay with me.”

With a gulp, I focus on his eyes. I used to dream about getting lost in them when we were younger. There’s so much to them. Like how they soften and somehow pull me in whenever he looks at me, or how they sparkle when he gets that stupid grin on his face. There’s so much depth, so much care, just in this one part of him.

Fuck. This man can put me in a goddamn chokehold just by looking at me. No touch required.

“I’m here,”

I whisper, and I am. My father’s voice always fades when I can focus on something else.

“Good. And I feel fine, okay? Promise.”

He smiles at me.

“I just didn’t want you to think I don’t care,”

I mumble.

“I didn’t want you to feel used.”

“I know you care. And I know your limits.”

“But—”

“Uh uh, no. I’m not asking you to give me something when I know doing so will hurt you.”

His smile is gone, replaced with a seriousness that makes my heart skip a beat.

I blow out a short, frustrated breath.

How is he so understanding?

“You always do your best,”

Oliver continues.

“That’s what matters, Rhett.”

“Okay,” I mutter.

He still looks worried, but he doesn’t address it any further. Instead he nods in the direction of where we left Wren and Elliot.

“Let’s get back. I want you focused on something else.”

The tightness in my chest loosens as he gives me a reassuring smile. It’s the kind that makes his eyes crinkle, which means it’s real.

“C’mon,”

he says, and I realize he’s taken a few steps while I haven’t moved.

“Right. Yeah, coming.”

He smells good—that vanilla and woodiness that’s always had a calming effect on me. It’s like hugging him without touching him, which is the best I can give myself right now.

Inhaling deeply, I follow him, hoping he’s right. My childhood has haunted me for all my life, but Elliot and Oliver—and now Wren—have always been able to chase away my ghosts.

I just have to let them.

***

After I lose my bet to Oliver, the four of us look through a couple more exhibits. We stop to admire the museum’s collection of Chinese architecture, as well as a Japanese ceremonial teahouse. Before we know it, it’s been multiple hours, and we need to start heading home.

On our way in, we immediately started with a side room, so we missed the large one most people walk into first. I was hoping to avoid it, but Wren is heading in that direction, following signs for the Archway of Love installment.

The problem is, Wren seeing it is a horrible, horrible idea.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think we should go that way.”

“But the Archway sounds so cool,”

she says, spinning around to look at me and walking backward.

“I want to know what could’ve possibly inspired a name like that.”

“Wren…”

Fuck.

We enter the room, and the piece comes into view.

“Shit,”

Elliot mutters.

“What?”

Wren finally turns around, only to stop dead in her tracks. Her body goes rigid as Oliver exchanges a worried glance with me.

“Oh.”

Her voice is high-pitched and squeaky. She lets out a nervous laugh.

“That’s… that’s a lot of water.”

The ceiling in here is high—three stories, if not more. And in the center of the room is a massive copper heart archway. With water falling from it. Directly into a large, square pool.

“Right,”

Wren whispers. She takes a step back, bumping into me.

“It’s a water sculpture.”

“We can go around it,”

Elliot says, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“There are other ways to get back to the main lobby.”

Slowly, Wren nods. But she doesn’t move. Then, finally, “No. I want to go closer.”

Elliot’s frown deepens.

“Love, after earlier—”

“I have to get over the fear,”

she says firmly. Well, as firmly as someone who’s so terrified she’s beginning to shake can say anything.

The three of us glance at each other before we look back to Wren. She’s pushing herself too hard. It’s barely been a week. But none of us want to get in the way of her healing, either.

Elliot looks like he’s about to say no, but Oliver speaks first.

“Fine. But if you start to panic, we’re pulling you out of here. No protesting, princess. Got it?”

She nods, her eyes glued to the falling water.

Taking her hand, Oliver pulls her forward. She rolls her shoulders back, walking toward the fountain with as much courage as she can muster. They stop a couple of feet away with me and Ell right behind them.

“It’s pretty,”

Wren says, gazing at the skylight above the fountain.

“I wonder if it creates rainbows on sunny days.”

“I bet it does.”

Oliver squeezes Wren’s hand, watching her carefully. When she tries to take another step toward the water, he tugs her back.

“No. This is close enough.”

“I’m fi-”

“You’re not fine. Stop lying to us and stop lying to yourself.”

I raise my eyebrows. I know that tone—the one Oliver is doing his best to hide. There’s a hint of impatience that he’s stowed away just enough that Wren doesn’t notice, but I do. Of course I do. I bet Ell picked up on it, too.

The past couple days, we’ve watched as Wren has tested her limits and gone too far with herself. Elliot finding her in the kitchen earlier is a perfect example. She’s refusing to give herself space to not be okay.

I used to do it all the time—a side effect of my childhood, I suppose. It took a lot of relearning and a lot of self-acceptance to let myself feel things I always thought I wasn’t allowed to feel. While I struggled through it, Elliot and Oliver had to as well. They had to watch me pretend to be okay when all I wanted to do was die, even though they assured me repeatedly that I didn’t have to perform around them.

So it’s no surprise that Oliver is trying to get Wren to pace herself. He doesn’t want to see her put herself through what I did.

Oliver slides an arm around Wren’s waist, anchoring her in place. For the next couple minutes, we gaze at the fountain, watching the water fall and splash into the pool. Wren doesn’t try to get closer, and her hands stop trembling at some point. Elliot notices at the same time I do, and we share a look of relief.

“I think I’m good,”

Wren says after a while. She hasn’t taken her eyes off the water at all, almost like she’s afraid it’ll rise up and attack her if she looks away.

Oliver plants a kiss on her temple.

“Then let’s get you home.”