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thirty-one

RHETT

I slide through the balcony door, not even bothering to close it behind me as I carry her through. The city hums down below, but here—nineteen floors up—it’s just her and me in the night.

I toss the blanket onto the couch, then lift her gently and lay her down on top of it..

My knees hit the ground, and I settle between her legs, looking up at her.

She watches me. Doesn’t move. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip like she’s trying to stop herself from saying something—or everything.

My gaze falls to her thighs. I run my hands up them before my fingers grip them—digging in, because it’s the only thing holding me back. I rock on my heels, looking up at her, a question in my eyes. The question.

She bites her lip hard. And then—just the slightest nod. It’s quiet. But it’s everything.

Permission.

I part her thighs and lower my mouth to her—tasting her like I’ve craved to for years. One slow swipe of my tongue and I’m gone.

“Fuck,” I breathe, dizzy. “I’ve thought about this since that goddamn plane ride.” I press another kiss to her, slower this time, more deliberate. “You taste like honey, Cub.”

She moans, and I shrug off my jacket, needing nothing between us. I dive back in, devouring her like I’m starving, like I might never get another chance. Her thighs tremble around my shoulders, her breathing ragged. When I glance up, she’s staring at me, wide-eyed.

“What is it?” I ask, panting.

“I just never saw myself in this situation,” she mutters, breathless, disarmed.

I smile, soft but real. “Cub, I’ve been on my knees for you for years. Only difference now is that you don’t have to pretend you don’t like it.”

Her mouth opens—surely to argue—but I press my hand gently to her stomach, easing her back down.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur. “Just let go.”

Two fingers slide into her slick heat as my mouth returns to her. She gasps, arching up as I press deeper, anchoring her with my hand.

“That’s it, angel.”

I keep working her open with my mouth and fingers, tasting every part of her, savoring the way her body trembles beneath my hands. She’s soaked—my fingers glide in and out so easily, and every time my tongue grazes her, she gasps like it surprises her.

“You still hate me?” I whisper against her.

“Yes,” she breathes, but her voice cracks, the word already unraveling.

“Show me.”

She doesn’t. She just keeps moving, her hips starting to roll with each flick of my tongue like she’s chasing something she doesn’t want to admit she wants from me.

Then, suddenly—frustration flashes across her face. She sits up, chest heaving, and reaches for my belt. Fingers shaky but determined, she undoes the buckle. Lowers the zipper. Her hand slips inside, and when she wraps it around me and gives one slow stroke, I hiss through my teeth.

“Easy,” I grit, grabbing her wrist and gently pushing her back against the couch. I lean over her, eyes locked.

“Tell me,” I whisper.

Her brows pinch. “Tell you what?”

I guide myself between her slick heat, dragging my tip slowly through her wetness without pushing in. She moans, her body already trembling again.

“Tell me who made you this wet. Tell me who’s got you dripping all over this seven-thousand-dollar couch.”

She scoffs, but it’s breathy, barely holding on. “What kind of idiot spends that much on a couch?”

“The idiot you’re never gonna forget,” I say as I drag myself through her again, teasing her, torturing us both.

I lean in. Her head turns away, so I kiss down the column of her neck, letting my lips linger, soaking her in.

Then I lower, tugging the neckline of her dress down to expose her breast. I wrap my mouth around her nipple, sucking slowly, while my hand finds the other, rolling it gently between my fingers.

She arches toward me. “Rhett!”

“That’s right, baby,” I murmur. “Now, say it.”

Her eyes are glassy. “Say what?”

Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and something about it hits me deep in my chest.

“Say please,” I whisper. “If you want to come.”

“Not a chance,” she says, defiant.

So I stop. Pull back. Her body bucks in frustration .

“Dammit, Rhett,” she growls. Then finally—“Please.”

That one word lights me up. I reach between us, rub slow circles over her clit with the pad of my thumb, and she comes undone almost instantly. Her hips jerk. Back arches. Then her cry cuts through the night air—my name on her lips like a curse and a prayer.

As her breathing slows, I press a kiss to her temple. “That all you can take tonight?”

She lets out a ragged laugh. “Not even close.”

“You want more?” I ask, my voice low. “You want me to give it to you?”

She turns her head to the side, trying to catch her breath, and I crawl over her, brushing hair from her face.

“You okay?”

She doesn’t answer. She just grabs me, strong and sudden, flipping us until she’s straddling me. Her eyes locked on mine, wild and determined. She spits in her palm, runs it between her legs, and strokes me once, slow and deliberate.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, head falling back.

She keeps going, working me up, pushing me to the edge and pulling me back like she’s in complete control.

“Who’s in control now?” she asks, voice low and smug.

You.

My heart is pounding.

It’s always been you.

She positions herself over me, and I grab her hips, grounding myself.

“Look at me,” I tell her.

She lifts her chin, meets my eyes. There’s a glimmer of something soft in her expression—a ghost of a smile.

Then she sinks down.

I swear I see stars.

She moves slowly at first, unhurried and in control, every roll of her hips deliberate.

Her moans are soft, steady as she unabashedly chases the high—and God, it undoes me.

I push up on my elbows, needing to see her, needing to watch every expression flicker across her face.

When I can’t hold myself back anymore, I sit up and cradle her cheek, leaning in.

When she tilts her head back at the last moment, my lips press against her neck.

She lets out the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

I kiss along her throat, trailing up and down, then guide her face back to mine. I hover, just for a second, then whisper, “Kiss me?”

It’s not a command. It’s a question. A real, vulnerable request.

She hears it. And she answers with a single, quiet word.

“No.”

My chest tightens. She looks away, starts to move again—but I stop her, gently rolling us over until I’m on top.

“Why not?” I ask, voice rasping.

Her brows pull together, and for a second, I think she might tell me everything I want to hear. But then she just shakes her head.

“Because… that’s not what this is.”

The pause that follows is long. It stretches between us like a fault line. My heart isn’t beating right anymore. It’s doing something else entirely. Sinking. Splintering.

“Why not?” I ask again, softer this time.

She doesn’t answer.

“Why can’t it be?”

She squirms against me, and when I don’t move, she lets out a sharp breath.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” she snaps.

I stare down at her, and something in me just… stops.

“No,” I say quietly. “Not like this.”

Her expression twists .

“Are you being serious?”

I nod once.

She stares at me for a long beat before suddenly letting out a bitter laugh.

“I knew it.”

She pushes me off of her and storms back inside, grabbing her dress on the way.

“You knew what?” I call, already following her.

“That this was all a game to you.”

My chest tightens. “What?”

“No, I get it. Really. I mean, I expected it. But wow, did you commit?—”

“What are you talking about?” I demand, heat rising under my skin.

She spins around. “Pine after me for years. Harass me every day. Pull me into the chaos of your orbit. Then get close. Grind me down. Make me feel something I didn’t want to feel. And just when I give in, just when I let go, you pull the plug. That was the play, right?”

“No. That’s not?—”

“I always knew you were trouble, Rhett,” she snaps. “But no. You’re diabolical.”

“I don’t want to just fuck you, okay?” I blurt.

She freezes. Slowly turns around.

“I fuck people I don’t care about. People I don’t plan on seeing again.” I step toward her, heart thudding like it’s trying to break through my ribs. “You’re not that. You’ve never been that.”

She looks at me, unreadable. Runs a hand through her hair, trying to settle the tremble I can see building under her skin.

“Look,” she sighs. “I get it. This is complicated. I’m not one of your usual one-night stands. I’m sure you’re thinking about our arrangement. About my dad?— ”

“I promise you, the last thing on my mind right now is your dad.”

“My point is… even if I’d never admit it outside of these four walls…” She hesitates. “Kelly wasn’t wrong at the gala. There has been something building here. For years. And now, with this whole situation—us living together—it was bound to… combust.”

I stare at her. “I’m… sorry?”

“It’s my fault,” she says, brushing past me. “I started it. On the plane. So why don’t we just do it? Bite the bullet. Get it out of our systems.”

“Bite the bullet?” I echo.

She nods. “Then we move on. You’ll have another blonde hanging off you by tomorrow night. I’ll finally be able to think straight. And this”—she gestures between us—“this can be over. We’ll forget it ever happened.”

I cross my arms, studying her. “What if I don’t want to forget it?”

She blinks. “What?”

“What if I want it to happen again? What if I want…” I pause, breath catching. “What if I want you?”

She stares at me like I’ve spoken a different language. “Want… me?”

“You’ve never been a game to me, Caroline. No matter how many times you try to convince yourself otherwise.” I shake my head. “After years of pining after you, I’d think that would be obvious. But in case it’s not—let me be clear.”

I step in, lower my voice.

“I am never not interested in you. There is no shelf I’d dare put you on and forget.

This isn’t about blowing off steam. It’s not about some conquest. It’s not about screwing my coach’s daughter.

It’s you. It’s always been you. And I care about you—more than I know how to say.

What’s happening between us? It matters. At least to me.”

She breathes out slowly. Her voice is quieter now. “We don’t have a relationship.”

“You’re my wife.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I can stop saying it. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“You don’t want me,” she mutters. “You might think you do. But you won’t. Not after long. Not once you have me.”

I take a step closer, jaw tight. “Why do you get to decide that for me?”

Her gaze drops.

“You told me before you’d give me anything I wanted,” she says. “Anything I asked for. Was that true?”

Even now… Even after all this…

“Yes.”

She meets my eyes.

“Then stop,” she whispers.

“Stop what?”

“Caring about me.”

Silence stretches between us.

“Is that really what you want?” I finally ask.

She nods. Her voice barely makes it out. “It’s better for both of us.”

I stare at her, stunned, mouth open like there’s more I should say—but nothing comes.

“Wow,” is all I mutter, a bitter laugh behind the word. “For someone who claims to hate games… you sure know how to play.”

I turn and walk away, each step heavier than the last.

But I can’t help it. I glance back once, and she’s still standing there. Frozen in place.

I shake my head, voice barely a whisper.

“Who the hell could ever forget you?”