Unbearable (the TORQUED trilogy Book 2) (17 page)

Glancing up, I wonder if anyone notices.

Tyler cuts his eyes to mine and smiles, then glances at Red.

I don’t get up. I leave the egg nog on my plate and act like it didn’t happen because the last thing I want is the attention moving to me.

Jude, my cousin, let’s out a laugh at something Rawley says and quickly everyone is paying attention to the two hoodlums at the end of the table making jokes.

Watchful of Tyler’s every action across the table from me, I thought, hoped, my feelings would have changed in the last three weeks. But they haven’t, and in that moment I realize they probably never will. Drunk or not, they remain.

He’s watching me but I can’t look at him directly. I won’t. If I do, I’ll smile and everyone will see right through me. Sure, they know, but it’s not that I want everyone here to see what Tyler does to me.

It’s then, when no one is looking, he attempts to make me squirm. Something Tyler can do with a wink.

Which he does by slowly sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, but then he takes it a step further, slouching to one side and picking up his knife to cut his turkey. Only he lets it slide slowly out of his hand much like he did with the wrench in his kitchen. I’m immediately reminded of being laid out on his kitchen table while he uses a wrench to get me off.

That son of a bitch and his talented hands!

My cheeks flush to the point where the heat is making me sweat and there’s a sudden urge to squeeze my thighs together.

“Raven, are you feeling okay?” Mom asks, and then laughs when she notices Tyler sit up straighter in his chair and clear his throat.

“I’m fine.” I shoot Tyler a glare only to have him watch with me that same intensity he did when I fell apart in his hands. “I think the whiskey’s getting to me.”

AFTER DINNER, I help Mom and Lenny clean up along with my aunts but I spill cranberry sauce all over myself with my shaky hands.

“Fuck,” I curse, staring at Mom and then my white sweater. Not sure why I chose to wear a white sweater today but it’s obviously a stupid idea. “Do you have stain remover?”

“Yeah,” she shakes her head at me smiling at Lenny. They both know why I’m so jittery. But my mom also knows if there’s a stain on my shirt, I have to change it. “It’s in the laundry room above the washing machine in the cabinet.”

With the heaviest of sighs, I walk down the hall passing by the family room where the guys are gathered watching the football game.

Searching through the cupboard, I find the stain remover and spray it directly on my sweater, never bothering to take it off.

His presence is known before my breath can catch up with the rapid beating of my heart. It makes me gasp, the way his body makes mine react instantaneously. “Did you miss me?”

His voice sends a jump through me, physically and mentally. He’s right behind me as I close my eyes and inhale, not wanting him to see the reaction he has on my heart.

“I did,” I breathe out, his body pressing into mine as his hands rest on the washing machine trapping me in his embrace.

He steps around me so he’s standing beside me, his arm brushing mine, fingers dancing over mine. “And that means?”

He’s acting like this should be casual and I’ll tell you right now, Tyler and I have
never
ever been casual. We’re undefined and undecided.

When I don’t say anything, he leans in and whispers in my ear repeating his question, “What does it mean?”

His words are no longer a question, they’re a statement, maybe even an observation he’s found a weakness, because I can’t tell him what it means. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

He blows out a long breath and tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “I might not ask.”

Might. It’s a big might and potentially a lie. I think.

The wetness of the stain remover soaks through my shirt. “I have to change my shirt.” Stepping around him, I separate myself from his heat and retrieve a shirt from my room.

Taking the shirt to the bathroom, I change and I’m stepping out of the bathroom when Tyler’s leans outside of it, waiting.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he turns and blocks me from coming out.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He takes a step and I back up into the bathroom where he closes the door behind him.

Shit. I’m trapped.

“Tyler….” I sigh. I know where this is heading.

Our gaze catches. “What?”

I reach out to him. I just can’t help myself, my hands on his jaw and the roughness of the sharp line.

“I miss you.”

I don’t say anything.

“Things have really gone to shit lately,” he mumbles, dejected and steps forward, a position much like moments ago in the laundry room as he cages me in.

“I wouldn’t know,” I tell him. “You haven’t texted me or called in three weeks. I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

He won’t look at me; instead, his gaze is on our touching bodies as he traps me against the counter. His body shifts into mine, contact I can’t ignore, a sensation of jitters buzzing through me. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

I want to cry, I do, but I’m not going to. Instead, I’m left wondering where he’s going with this and why after three weeks, he’s telling me this. My brain can’t wrap around the fact that he does miss me. He probably misses my vagina. That’s all. It has nothing to do with me.

This time he touches my chin and lifts my eyes to his. “Do you believe me?”

His fingers on me weaken the hold I’ve had on myself, the fear that I’ll give in and melt for him takes over and I swallow, hard. “I believe you missed my V.”

He presses his palm against the bathroom counter and leans into me until our chests are touching and he takes my breath from my lungs with the motion. “I don’t know what it is about you, Raven, but it’s not going away,” he confesses, his eyes cutting to mine and I hardly recognize them. Something inside of him has changed over the last three weeks.

“You act like it’s something bad.”

He sighs heavily, his chest expanding into mine. “For me it is.” His eyes drop to the floor creating a foot of space between us, his warmth dissipating and I want to shiver at the coolness surrounding me. I want his heat to return.

The look on his face sends a pang of guilt through me. I certainly don’t have anything to feel guilty about, but then again, maybe I do.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry I’m making this hard for you.” I don’t even know what I mean by that, but I say it anyway.

His eyes narrow, his breaths hard and fast and he swiftly grabs my face between his palms forcing me to look at him. The heat returns, scorching and uncontrollable as every other moment I have around him.

“Don’t ever be sorry,” he breathes out in a pained whisper, the smell of whiskey washing over me. He closes his eyes and exhales. He’s hurting. I can see that.

Sliding his hand past my hip, he wraps it around the backs of my legs, lifting me, pressing himself against me and the counter. His face moves to my neck, and one of his hands to my waist, squeezing. His grip on me reminds me of
why
I shouldn’t be in this room with him. My eyes dart to the door. He locked it. Shit. He came in here with an intention of not wanting to be interrupted. Now what do I do? I didn’t even notice he locked it.

“Damn it, Raven. What do I do?” he asks in a pained whisper.

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t know.” When I open them, he’s staring at me. Fuck if I knew what to do. If I did, I’d be doing it.

Leaning in, he pauses his mouth on my collarbone. I respond by pulling him closer, our bodies in line again and we’re frantic, pulling at one another as our mouths make contact.

“
Jesus Christ
, I can’t shake you.” His voice is pleading and warm against my skin.

A twinge, a clenching deep within my belly causes me to jump as his words whisper over my skin like a breeze on a summer’s day. I melt, never wanting to move, and open my legs to have him fill the space between them.

Tilting my chin, his lips brush the satiny curve where my neck meets my shoulders, his hands working on his belt buckle to free himself.

Well, fuck.
This isn’t going where I thought it would. I’m about to have sex in the bathroom in my parents’ home. Well, that’s certainly not a first but still….

“I don’t want the sex we had before,” he says, continuing his path up my neck. “I want this, right now.” With his hands on my hips, he slides me to the edge of the counter and pulls a condom out of his back pocket.

My heart thuds against my breast bone as his chest expands on a breath. “Okay….”

His mouth finds mine again, our lips and breath colliding as one. I don’t know how my pants come off or my shirt, but they both do and our eyes remain focused on one another as he moves inside of me, in and out.

“I missed you,” he repeats, the words washing over my mouth, bathing me in his scent. His hand lowers between our legs, placing pressure against me in the way I need. “I missed you so goddamn much.”

I have to believe his words. I do because they’re spoken with truth. I can see it in his eyes.

His mouth sliding over mine is pure bliss and I never want his lips to part from mine. They can’t. They just can’t.

There’s no denying what’s going on here because with every moan I give, he takes it, always louder, always rougher, always more in every way. Reaching to the wall, he flips the switch to the obnoxiously loud fan and I know why he does it. Though the bathroom is upstairs and not one most use, if someone was to walk by the door they could totally hear what’s happening in here.

His left hand moves from my hip to between my legs, my gaze follows. It’s when his thumb drags over the sensitive bundle of nerves that I sigh, my breath expelling from my chest. “Oh God, Tyler….”

“That’s it, honey.” He breathes into the curve of my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. “Show me how much you missed me, too.”

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I cling to him, my body speaking to him as he pushes his thumb down harder, a quick and focused movement only he seems to know. I’ve never had someone make me come like he does. He knows exactly what to do and when and how much.

“Jesus… you’re so fuckin’ beautiful when you come.” His tone is guttural as he tries to halt our movements for a second, his dick pulsing inside of me and I know he’s close but he wants me to get off first. As soon as those words leave his beautiful lips, I’m falling—falling hard as my orgasm ravages me, my hips rocking back and forth as I attempt to not fall off the counter in the process. His hands dig into my hips, bruising my skin, keeping me in place.

When he knows my need is met, his thrusts become thoroughly focused and I know he’s about to come by the way his chest shakes, his feet shifting, his belt buckle clanking, bracing himself for the onset of the pleasure coursing through him. I can tell he’s moments away from his release by the tense expression and lust-hooded eyes. That alone distracts me enough to focus my attention on him because, Christ Almighty, his
O
face is breathtaking.

“Holy shit,” he says, and then moans my name. Not wanting anyone to hear us, I take my panties from my ankle and shove them in his mouth.

It doesn’t even register with him as he thrusts deeper, his head falling back, the muscles in his neck straining, his hips jerking quickly and then stilling as he empties himself.

Yep, fucking breathtakingly beautiful. I lean forward and press my lips to the protruding veins in his neck, capturing the sensation of its sturdy thump with my breath.

When my mouth leaves his skin, he takes my panties from his mouth with a grin, and then he kisses me with burning urgency. I burn with the same urgency. It’s been weeks since we’ve been together
this
way, and I’m utterly incapable of stopping myself from kissing him.

Our mouths crash against one another in desperation, searching for meaning in the kiss. I know we are. Or at least I am.

Eventually we part, our eyes locked, now searching for meaning in what we just did. Where does this leave us now?

I’m not even sure why, but my eyes water and he notices.