Whipped (Hitched #2)(35)

We sit on the sand and watch the sun set, and I toss rocks into the ocean. "Is this where you brought all your boyfriends?" I ask, jokingly.

Instead of laughing, Vi frowns. "One. Pete. He was kind of like you."

"No one's like me."

She rolls her eyes. "No, of course not. I just mean, he wasn't a sub. All my friends had a crush on him."

Not all guys can handle talking about exes. I don't mind. It lets me learn more about Vi. I can tell this guy affected her. "Not that I'm complaining, but what happened?"

She tosses a stone into the water. "I crashed my car. I had a black eye the size of a pinecone." She sounds casual. The crash must have been minor. "The next week, we all went to an amusement park. I couldn't go on most of the rides. Pete could. That weekend, I caught him and my best friend making out in his car."

I wrap my arm around her. I'm starting to see why she had trouble with me taking control. "That's horrible. And stupid. What kind of guy chooses a roller coaster over you?"

"I know. Fucking bastard."

"And with your friend…"

"Yep. She's the reason I have a hard time with female friends. And you'd think that because I know that, it'd be easier, but it's not." Vi tosses another stone. It falls with a big wet thud.

She leans against my shoulder. "I'm glad I found you."

I kiss the top of her head. "For the record, if you can't ride a roller coaster, you can always ride me."





CHAPTER 21





VI


I do ride him. On my double bed in my old room with Patrick Swayze staring at us from his Dirty Dancing poster still hanging on my wall. What can I say? I guess I've always had a thing for dancers.

We try to be quiet. And fail. The bed squeaks as I rise and fall on his cock. And I can't help but giggle and lean over, my breasts brushing against his mouth as we balance between erotic and comical. I feel like I'm in high school again, and any minute my parents will come in and send my boyfriend packing. They're liberal, but not that liberal. At least not when their daughter was sixteen.

When my giggles get the best of me, Lach flips me over with an expert move and uses his whole body to make me forget about parents or my red comforter or my old journal still stuck between the bars under my bed. All of those thoughts disappear as he makes love to me, holding me, caressing me, making my body feel every touch, every sensation, every shudder of pleasure.

It feels like we just fell asleep when the sound of my mother singing downstairs wakes us up.

Lach rolls to face me, his eyes slits in his handsome face as he tries to focus through the haze of sleep. "What is that?"

"Country music," I say. "My mom must be making pancakes. She always sings country when making pancakes."

"I will pay her a million dollars to stop and let us sleep for just a few more hours."

Snuggling closer to him under the covers, our naked bodies fitting so nicely together, I don't entirely disagree… but… "We have to get up. You can't come all the way to Belmont Shores and not have her pancakes. She makes the best pancakes the world has ever known."

"So you didn't get your cooking skills from your mother, I take it." He's smiling, and I smack his arm.

"Shush, you," I say with mock ferocity, though I'm smiling too. "I have other skills. Now get moving."

He pulls me back into his arms as I try to escape the bed. "Oh, I'm fully acquainted with those skills. In fact…" his hands dip between my legs and rub against my clit, "I think we should explore those skills more fully in the light of day. If 6am can rightfully be called day."

It's hard. So very hard. But I pull away and stand, shrugging into clothes before he can lure me back into the den of temptation and warmth. "Nice try, lover boy. But you'll soon thank me for dragging your tired ass out of bed."

He follows me begrudgingly downstairs, and the smell of fried batter and cinnamon and sugar greet us. My mom hands us each a cup of coffee and points Lachlan to the cream and sugar. "Didn't know how you like it, so feel free to spice it up. Breakfast will be ready soon."

She flips a pancake in her pan and starts up again with another country song. I sigh and smile and sip my coffee. She remembers how I like it. Being home is strange, in a wonderful kind of way. I have so many memories of this place, but they all seem so long ago. Everything feels smaller, and I know it's not just the size, because honestly I'm not really any bigger than I was in high school. It's the scope. The world has opened up before me and the possibilities are now mine to create. This home sheltered me, gave me a safe haven, a nest to grow in. But then I left and everything felt scarier, bigger, more dangerous. But also more exciting.

Still, it's nice to be back and visit your safety nest once in a while. To remember that you're not alone and someone has your back somewhere. My parents are always that for me.

I glance at Lachlan, who's staring at me as he drinks his coffee. I wonder what he's thinking. If he's comparing our childhoods. Our families. Our lives. He doesn't have that safety nest. That feel-good memory of home and hearth. That place to go back to when life gets a little too big. My heart cracks a little for him, and I hope that on some level he can adopt my family, my home, to be a safe place for him.