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God, if this is restrained, I don’t even want to think what out of control looks like.
A dark look crosses Rayne’s face. “Sweet girl, I need you to eat and stop looking at me like I’m the meal you want to devour before I lose control and take you right here and now.”
I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. It’s like he’s stolen my thoughts, and all that is left is him. His face, his body, his scent, his possessiveness. It’s all I can see, all I can think about.
“I like rendering you speechless.” Rayne chuckles as he scoops up some pasta and shovels it into his mouth.
I scoff but don’t say anything, instead following his lead. The flavors explode on my tongue and I moan as I take my bite. Oh my god, it’s the best pasta I’ve ever had and it takes me another three mouthfuls to notice I’ve attracted an audience. Rayne stares at me with such pure intensity that my skin heats under his gaze, the pure lust in his dark eyes makes me forget my pasta all together.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
His eyes flicker to mine, torn from my mouth. “Fine,” he grits out before turning his attention back to his food, his entire body tense.
I shrug before taking another heavenly mouthful of my food. Jesus, either I’ve forgotten what food is meant to taste like, or this is some really fucking good pasta.
By the time I take the last bite, making sure I scrape up every single bit of sauce in the bowl, I feel full and relaxed. When was the last time I took a few hours off to eat good food? Before Brad probably, back when I had disposable income and could actually afford to not work eighteen hours a day.
“Watching you eat that pasta was a fucking religious experience,” Rayne mutters as he takes our bowls to the kitchen. It’s such a domestic task for him to do, and he looks out of place doing it. Especially seeing as he’s shirtless, a fact I’m trying my very best not to focus on.
His corded muscles ripple as he walks, and the longer I stare, the more impressive they get. His scent envelops me as I hug his shirt closer. I should be annoyed that he ordered me only to wear his shirts to bed, that he told me my only other option is to sleep naked, but god, it’s a turn on. Does that make me fucked up? Probably. But the thing is, for the first time in my life, something feels right. It doesn’t feel temporary, I’m not already looking for an escape route, I’m not even preparing myself for the day he decides I’m too much trouble and leaves. I’m living in the here and the now, and I’m going to let myself enjoy the ride, even if it inevitably ends, at least I would have let myself embrace it while I could.
14
Rayne
Emerson tests me at every turn, even when she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.
Watching her eat had me hard as a fucking rock, the sounds she made as she ate were the most erotic sounds I’ve ever heard in my life, and I’m honestly wondering if I can feed her nothing but that pasta for the rest of her life to keep hearing them.
Realistically I could, it is from one of Frost Industries restaurants, but something tells me Emerson isn’t going to let me control the food she eats every day. The idea has merit though.
When I turn away from the sink, she’s staring at me, her eyes explore my bare chest hungrily. I need her to stop looking at me like that because I need to let her rest, but god-fucking-damn is she making it hard.
“Thank you for lunch.” Emerson smiles sweetly.
“You’re welcome, sweet girl. Why don’t you hop into bed and have a nap for a few hours,” I suggest. I’m hoping she’s not going to argue because while I pose it as a suggestion, it’s really not one.
She draws her lip between her teeth as her eyes dart to where her textbook is discarded on a nearby table. “I can’t really sleep during the day, and I really need to get some studying done.”
“Are you tired?” I ask, prowling toward the couch.
Emerson nods once.
“Then you need to get some sleep.” I scoop her up without waiting for permission and start toward the room she disappeared into to change. She feels so fucking tiny in my arms, but she also feels right, like her body was made to fit mine, made for me to carry, made for me. The thought should terrify the eternal bachelor in me, but it doesn’t. The deep need I have to claim her, to protect her is overwhelming.
“Rayne, I really can’t. If I sleep now, I won’t be able to sleep tonight, and then the whole cycle will start again,” she protests. She’s wound so tight I’m pretty sure she’s ready to snap like an overstretched rubber band.
I sigh as I place her down on the edge of the bed and crouch down in front of her. The motion feels strange because I’ve never been a man to kneel for a woman, always preferring to see them at my feet, but Emerson is different. If she needs me on my knees, that’s where I’ll be, no matter how unnatural it feels to me. “When was the last time you slept for more than a few hours at a time?”
Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth again as she thinks about her answer. I reach up and tug the soft pillow, only barely containing the groan that rises to the surface at the sight. “I don’t know,” Emerson admits.
I take a deep breath to calm myself, knowing that if I allow myself to think about it too much, I’ll probably go back to that asshat of an ex of hers and beat the life out of him for doing this to her. “How many hours do you normally sleep at a time?”
“It depends. Some nights only an hour or two, just enough to get through the day, other nights not at all, and if I’m lucky and we finish up at the club early, or if I only have a shift at the diner, and I don’t have any assignments, maybe four or five hours?” It’s the fact that she poses it as a question that has me growling.
The words are falling from my lips before I can think better of it. “Why do you work at the diner and the club when your passion is obviously the Center and you’re studying as well?” I know the answer, and I’m not sure how I’m going to broach the subject if she lies to me, but it’s a bridge I’ll cross if we come to it.
Emerson stares down at where our hands are tangled together in her lap for long moments, so long I’m not sure if she’s going to reply or not, but when she opens her mouth, I know she’s about to respond. “I owe a lot of money. My ex, that guy from yesterday, he…” She takes a deep breath and I almost expect her to stop the story there, but instead she looks up at me, the brokenness within the emerald pools almost too much for me to handle. “He opened a bunch of lines of credit in my name, and I didn’t find out until he’d spent every cent of it. When I found out, I went crazy, like I’m surprised I didn’t fucking kill him, but then after I had my meltdown, I knew I’d worked too hard to let him take it all away. So I moved out of my nice apartment, sold my car, and then I started working at the diner and the club. At first it wasn’t so bad because I was on holidays for school, but as soon as my coursework started to pile up, I started to lose a lot of sleep. All I’ve ever wanted is to be a counselor for the Center. I want to help those kids because no one else will. I want to give them every chance to have a safe, happy life. And I can’t do that if I give up.” Her honest words shake as they fall from her mouth. “If I can’t go back to Russo’s club, I’ll have to find a similar job. The tips are too good to pass up.”
