“No worrying that someone will find out we’re together.” He pulls back, cocking one brow. “I don’t have to pretend I’m not crazy about you here, do I?”
Instead of answering, I lift up to kiss him, my hands sneaking inside his leather jacket and under his t-shirt, gliding over the warm muscles of his back. I pursue the kiss, deepening it, making promises with my lips and tongue that my body longs to make good on. He squeezes my butt, brushes his fingertips across my breast, caresses my neck, rediscovering what’s his as I rediscover what’s mine.
The sound of Aunt Ruthie entering from downstairs and closing the door slows our kiss, little by little until we’re just brushing lips and holding on. Rhyson pulls back, sucking in air, bracing his hands on my shoulders and caressing my throat with his thumbs.
“I’m gonna sleep on the couch.” His eyes slip over the simple button down shirt clinging at my breasts and the curve of my hips in my jeans. “It feels like forever since that night in Berlin, and as I’m sure you noticed my dick is quite hard, but yeah. The couch. I may not share Aunt Ruthie’s beliefs, but I don’t want to disrespect them under her roof.”
Just when I think I couldn’t love him anymore, he goes and does or says something to prove I have no idea how much this guy holds my heart.
“Yeah. OK.” I grab his hand and lead him over to the bed where I slept growing up. “Just lie down with me for a little while. Talk to me for a bit while I fall sleep.”
He peers down at me, and I know he’s searching my face for signs of exhaustion. He’ll find them. The lines around my mouth. The smudges under my eyes. The heavy eyelids fatigue keeps dragging downward.
“Please.”
I pull him to the bed with me, squeezing against his broad chest.
“I used to listen to your music in here every night before I’d fall asleep,” I whisper.
“So in a way, I was with you back then.” He smiles against my cheek.
“In a way, yeah.”
“I want to be with you every step of the way.” I can almost hear his hesitation. A pause that says so much before he voices it. “Kai, it doesn’t have to be tonight, but we need to talk about your contract with Malcolm.”
I knew this would come, but was hoping it wouldn’t be day one.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m with him for two years.”
“But what are the terms?” he presses. “I’d buy your contract out. You know I would. I’ve wanted you on Prodigy for a long time. Malcolm mismanaging you on your first tour, compromising your health—”
“No one knew I was sick, Rhys. I didn’t even know how much.”
“Yeah, but—”
A light rap on the open door stops whatever he would have said. Aunt Ruthie stands at the entrance, her eyes moving between the two of us facing each other on the bed.
“You guys okay in here?” She leans into the doorjamb, one fist on her hip. “Ya hungry?”
Rhyson sits up, looking back and pushing a chunk of hair behind my ear, traces my eyebrows with his thumb.
“I think we’re just tired.” He smiles, some of the irritation from our contract discussion clearing from his face. “Especially this one.”
“Well, get some rest.” Aunt Ruthie turns to go.
“Could I get some sheets and a blanket for the couch?” Rhyson walks over to where Aunt Ruthie stands. Surprise flits across her face before she looks back at me on my bed.
“Sure,” she says. “Oh. Kai, I know you’re just getting back, but Mr. McClausky wanted to cook chicken in the pot for you tomorrow. He’s the only one I told about you coming home.”
“Chicken in the pot?” Rhyson looks between the two of us. “Is this a thing?”
“It’s my favorite thing.” My lips are almost too tired to grin, but I manage. “And, yeah, Aunt Ruthie, I’d love that. You can invite a few other folks you know won’t talk about us being here or make a big fuss. I’d love to see everybody who was here for Christmas dinner.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Aunt Ruthie smacks her hands together, eyes bright despite the lateness of the hour. “I’ll call ‘em all in. They’ll love seeing you. Well, I’m gonna turn in.”
She blows me an air kiss.
“See you in the morning. Sleep as late as you want.”
Aunt Ruthie leaves, and as much as I love Rhyson considering her beliefs, which were once mine, I want him crawling under the covers with me. Not to do anything other than hold me all night, but I can tell it’s important to him that Aunt Ruthie knows he’s behaving. I have no idea why, but I love him for it.
He digs into my suitcase until he finds one of my vintage nightshirts, tossing it to me.
“Put that on and go straight to sleep. Dr. Wells won’t be blaming me for your relapse.”
A wicked, wanton imp possesses me for one last hurrah before I surrender to the sleep dragging at my consciousness. I slip one button and then another loose on my shirt until the lacy edge of my pink bra peeks out.
“Why don’t you come put it on for me?” My raspy, barely-there voice sounds even huskier in the confines of my childhood bedroom.