Page 75 of How Dare You
Thick, gravelly, sand crunches under my feet, the brisk morning air that wraps my arms and legs becoming more of a relief with every step I take. I should be mentally running through what I need to do at work today, rehearsing what I’ll say in my next client pitch, brainstorming networking opportunities, but all I can focus on is Rhett. His hands on me, his tongue licking the salt from my skin, what position he’ll take me in. Why did I decide to run this morning? I outpace my usual run and make it back in twenty-seven and a half minutes.
Rhett’s leaning against the outside of the teak shower stall, waiting for me in sweatpants slung even lower than usual, looking hot as sin. He draws me in for a kiss as wild with need as I feel. He spins me around, so my back is against the wall, and runs his tongue in a slow glide down my neck.
“Rhett,” his name comes out between a giggle and moan. “We’re supposed to get in the shower.”
He licks and nibbles along my collar bones as his hands start to tear away at my clothes. “No. I’m going to taste you before you rinse everything away.”
Somehow, I was not expecting that, and the brief insecurity I feel is replaced with arousal once he’s discarded all my clothes and drops to his knees in the sand in front of me. He dives between my legs, licking and sucking with even more urgency than he has before, his hands roaming up and down my legs. When I gasp his name, his responding groan vibrates in my core. He is relentless, and it feels like a mere moment before my legs go weak, collapsing against the wall and bracing myself on his shoulders as I ride my pleasure out to completion.
He presses a hand firmly against my stomach, holding me steady as he comes to standing and drops his pants, revealing tan muscles and his fully erect cock. I’m unabashedly staring when he takes my hand in his, pulling me around the wall into the shower. “Now we can wash off.”
Still reeling, I stumble along behind him.
He points to a water bottle, dripping with condensation on the bench that’s built into one of the shower walls. “You need to hydrate.”
When I don’t immediately comply, his voice drops to the commanding tone I can’t refuse, face going stern. “I said, drink.”
“Yes, daddy.” I flash him a playful smile and pick up the water bottle, grateful for the cold refreshment after my workout. Some of the cold water spills around my mouth as I down half of it and look to him for approval.
He nods, and a turn of his hand sends warm water spraying down around us. Rhett, who I’m pretty sure is my boyfriend at this point, wastes no time picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. “Close your eyes,” he whispers and walks over to soak us both in the water stream before backing me against the wall.
His lashes are clumped with water, body soaked, and I’m transported to the first night we met, when my legs were wrapped around him in a pool. “Been a minute since you had me like this,” I breathe.
“Actually, I’ve never had you like this,” he says, propping one hand on the wall behind me and pressing into me hard with his chest. “But I’ve been thinking about it ever since I lost the chance that first night.” He pulls back just enough to line us up, and I reach down and guide him inside me.
My muscles still sing from the combination of exercise and an earth-shattering climax, and I cry out as he sinks fully to the hilt in one powerful stroke. Water sprays around us, his hands supporting me underneath my legs, my hands exploring the dripping planes of his back. I’m pressed tightly between his glistening, muscled chest and the rough material of the wooden wall behind me.
Water rinses away the dust and sweat from my run, leaving me covered in nothing but his protective hold. Every thrust brings me closer to climax, until I’m gasping for air and pulsing around his cock with another riotous finish. His face presses into my shoulder as his thrusting grows deeper still and he finds his release in time with mine.
After we’ve caught our breath, and I’ve found my feet we even manage to clean our bodies between kisses and tender touches. By the time I make it into my car, I am a little late for work, and I can’t bring myself to care. Rhett’s left a breakfast burrito wrapped in foil and cup of coffee in the car for me, taking care of me in every way before I face another day of trying to rescue my business.
A text from a name I never see buzzes my phone when I’m closing the gate.
Caleb Blake: Please call your mother. She’s really worried about you.
Mom deserves a phone call, and if she has my dad texting me, she must be unusually concerned. But things have only gotten worse since the blog came out, and I don’t have any good news to share yet. Maybe you should give her a chance to love you through this. I roll Rhett’s words over. Mom and I don’t have a scheduled time, but I have a thirty-minute drive ahead of me and I cannot put off talking to her forever.
She picks up before the first ring is even finished, her voice coming through the speakers in my car, “Sweetie, so relieved to hear from you. I was about ready to buy a plane ticket and come down there to make sure you’re okay. Are you okay? Alice said you are, but that cannot be true.”
The sound of her voice, even as frantic as it is right now, is a warm comfort. “Not sure how we’re defining okay, but I am working hard to fix this.”
Mom tsks, “I have no doubt how hard you’re working. But are you getting enough sleep? Are you eating? Exercising?”
Picking up the breakfast burrito, I peel back the foil and take my first bite. “I am eating breakfast right now, and I already went for a run this morning.” Fortunately, she can’t see my blush through the phone when I remember the aftermath of my run.
“Are you getting any rest?”
I was, before this all happened. “Not so much. It’s hard to stop stressing and planning and shut up the cycle of words in my brain long enough to sleep. This is so overwhelming.” My voice threatens to crack on the last word, and I take a centering breath. “Wait, mom. How do you know what happened in the first place?”
A laugh bubbles out of her. “What kind of mother doesn’t have google alerts set up on their children?”
So, she got an email with a link to this blog. How mortifying. “I bet Zach and Noah love that.”
“They haven’t figured it out yet,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. I make a mental note to text them a warning when we get off the phone. “Anyway,” she continues, “I saw the article, absolute garbage by the way. Your dad thought so too.” Dad is a sports journalist, so not at all the same thing as a lifestyle blogger. My heart warms the tiniest bit to hear that he read it too. “It will be a wonder if anyone believes it. But I know how much your reputation means to you sweetie. It must have broken your heart to see that.”
I hum in the affirmative.
“Has anything negative come from it?” she hedges.