Pink Bits (Awkward #1) Read online

  I clear my throat. “There you go. All done,” I tell her, removing my hands from her head and getting out of the way. I find a stack of towels on a shelf in the corner, grab one for her, then help her out of the tub. When I’m sure she’s stable, I release her and take a step away.

  Turning my back, I tug my sopping shirt over my head and drop it on the floor, then I remove my wet jeans and kick them into the corner with my shirt. I hear her sharp intake of breath behind me, and my cock stiffens. I grit my teeth and yank a towel from the rack, wrap it around my waist, then stalk out of the room because, God, do I want to turn around and devour her.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on the couch, flicking through Reagan’s Netflix list, when she emerges.

  “Guess we’re even now,” she says as she sits next to me but doesn’t get too close.

  My eyes slide across to her, and my cheek ticks as I smirk. “You didn’t need to go to all that trouble just to make us even, you know.”

  Her elbow shoots out and jabs me in the ribs. “You wish.”

  And just like that, we’re back to normal.

  Thank God, because I am not ready for whatever the fuck I was feeling in that bathroom.

  Our dinner arrives a few minutes later, and we settle in on her couch, watching some ridiculous British TV series about a fictional royal family while stuffing our faces with pizza.

  “Cyrus is a dodgy little prick,” Reagan says, bringing me up to speed on who is who and what is going on.

  I don’t really care, but the animated look she gets on her face as she watches makes it all worth it. I nod along as she rattles on about a second son and a secretly good bodyguard pretending to be an arsehole.

  I’m ashamed to say, by the third episode, I’m getting into it. It does help that Liz Hurley plays the queen. She is smokin’. But she’s got nothing on the girl curled into my side right now. Wait, when did that happen?

  At some point, Reagan ended up snuggled against me, her head resting against my chest, while my arm has found its way around her waist. My fingers trace up and down her side and she sighs, until I feel her body completely relax. Glancing down, I realise she’s fallen asleep.

  Hair falls across her face, and my fingers itch to touch it. So I do. I run the glossy blonde strands through my fingertips, then tuck some of it back behind her ear. Lifting her upper body, I try to slide out from beneath her, but she groans and locks her arms tightly around my chest and snuggles in deeper.

  My eyes drift over the couch; it’s wide enough for the both of us. Fuck it. I can’t believe I’m doing it, even as my legs rise up to the cushions. I shuffle my body down to lie beside her. Through it all, she remains asleep and wrapped around me.

  I close my eyes and inhale her scent; it’s as sweet as she is. And that’s my last thought as I drift off to sleep with Reagan in my arms.

  Something is poking me in the butt. Something hard. I wriggle, trying to dislodge whatever it is, but it’s no use.

  My eyes pop open when I register the warm, solid chest pressed against my back. Turning my head, I come face-to-chest with Rhett. Oh my God. My gaze roves down our tangled bodies and widens when I see that the towel he was wearing while we were watching TV has fallen off through the night.

  It’s his penis poking my butt. His huge, beautiful penis. I wriggle again on instinct. I want to be closer to it. Then, his name pops into my mind—Prince Everhard of the Netherlands—and I nearly lose it. My hand flies up to cover my mouth in an attempt to stifle my laughter as my body shudders with it.

  “Stop rubbing up on my cock, Reagan,” Rhett grumbles in a deliciously husky tone.

  It sends a shiver down my spine, and I squirm. “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “You will be if you don’t stay fucking still,” he says, all traces of sleep gone from his voice as his hands grip my hips. His fingertips dig into my flesh, and I love it.

  I know he’s telling me to stop, but I can’t help it. The combination of his stern words, his hard grip on me, and his throbbing cock pressed so close to where I want it is too much. My hips wriggle against his hold all on their own.

  “Reagan,” he growls.

  I’m so turned on right now it’s unbearable. “I’m sorry,” I say again, “I can’t help it. You feel so good.”

  His breath comes out hot, hard, and fast against the back of my neck, and I swallow as his hands squeeze my hips harder.

  “Fuck it,” he says, then his lips press to my neck, sucking as he pulls my hips back into his hard-on with so much force I moan.

  One of his hands snakes around to my centre, and he roughly shoves my underwear aside then slides his finger through my folds. My whole body shudders. “Oh God, yes.”

  “I tried, Reagan. I tried really fucking hard to keep my hands off you.”

  “I know,” I pant as his finger presses inside me. “I’m sorry,” I cry as my back arches into his touch.

  “Stop me, Reagan. Stop me right now, and I’ll go home and fuck my own fist until I come to thoughts of your sweet little pussy wrapped around my aching cock. Tell me to stop,” he pleads against my throat.

  But I can’t. I want it too much. I want him too much.

  His lips never leave my flesh for longer than a second. His finger pumps inside me in time with his hips pushing into me from behind, and my inner muscles tighten. One of my hands wraps around his wrist, keeping him in place, as my other glides up around his neck and locks in the hair at his nape.

  He moans, “Fuck, honey, so tight and wet for me.”

  All I can do is nod as I’m overtaken by sensation. It starts deep inside—a sweet tingle that emanates outward until I’m shuddering and convulsing in his arms. “Rhett,” I cry as my orgasm takes me away.

  I’m floating down from the best climax I’ve ever had when his hand slides out of my pants and tugs them down my legs. He lifts my thigh, spreading me, then thrusts forward.

  His knob touches my opening, and I shudder again. “Yes,” I breathe, suddenly desperate to have all of him inside me. I push my hips back.

  “Condom?” he asks.

  “My room,” I tell him.

  Then, he’s swooping me up in his strong arms and throwing me over his shoulder as he stalks towards my bedroom. I watch his gorgeous arse as he walks and grin like a fool with my knickers hanging around my ankles.

  I’m not thinking straight. I know I’m not, but how can I with her in my arms?

  The second I’m close enough, I drop her to her bed. She bounces once, then shimmies her way up the mattress, losing her panties as she goes, her eyes never leaving mine.

  “Top drawer,” she says, using her chin to gesture to her bedside.

  Yanking it open, I find a brand-new box and rip it apart. Her eyes sparkle as she watches me slide the condom down my shaft. She’s practically glowing under my gaze. Climbing over her, I slide my hands under the hem of her top, pushing it up her perfect breasts then over her head.

  My breath catches in my throat at the sight of the intricate vine tattooed around her torso. I hadn’t seen it when she changed her top in front of me that first day, and I didn’t take the time to examine it in the tub last night. But now, I’m mesmerised by it. Reaching out, I trace its path from her hip bone, up her ribs, around the underside of her breast, then to the point where it twists back and disappears at her side. Blue, purple, and yellow flowers sprout from the vine, some in bloom, some still just buds. It’s delicate and beautiful.

  “You like it?” she asks, drawing my attention back to her face.

  “I fucking love it.”

  Her smile is blinding, and I have to kiss her. Not like the other day. No. I need to kiss her properly. Dropping down to my elbows, I hover a mere inch from her mouth. “I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you standing in your doorway, clutching that hammer and wearing those frilly pink shorts.”

  “Really?” Her eyes shimmer with uncertainty.

  I nod. “And the more time I spend with you, the harde
r it is to stop myself. But I can’t stop this time, Reagan. I need to taste you like I need my next breath.”

  She swallows, then tips her chin up, offering me her mouth. I close the space, softly grazing my lips over hers once, twice, three times, then slide my tongue over her plump bottom lip. Her mouth parts on a breath, and I deepen the kiss.

  Her fingers glide up my biceps, over my shoulders, up my neck, and over my scalp. I groan when her hands tighten into fists in my hair. She squirms beneath me, and our bodies align perfectly. Parting her legs further, she invites me in. And I don’t hesitate, thrusting my hips forward until I’m buried balls deep in her warmth.

  She whimpers, and I still.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I should have gone slow,” I murmur against her cheek, feeling like an arsehole for taking her so fast. I’m big and I know better than to ram in like that.

  Surprising me, she shakes her head. “No, no, it’s good. So good. Don’t stop now.”

  I smile down at her. “You are somethin’ else, Reagan.”

  She grins back. “A good something or a bad something?” she asks, mimicking our conversation from earlier in the week.

  “Definitely a good something,” I assure her, then kiss the shit out of her.

  She comes twice more before I can no longer hold my own orgasm in check. I throw my head back as I come harder than I have in all my life. Dropping to her side, I tug her over to me, wrapping my arm around her as we catch our breath.

  “Did you know that coffee drinkers have sex more frequently than non-coffee drinkers?” she asks, her palm resting over my heart.

  I kiss the top of her head, smiling. “And there she is—the chick who can find a random fact to complement any situation.”

  She laughs and snuggles in more closely. “It’s a gift. Or a disability. I’m not sure which.”

  “A gift for sure, honey,” I tell her, then slap her bare arse. “Come on. I’ll help you shower, then we need to restock your fridge. There’s nothing in there for breakfast.”

  An hour later, we’ve showered and had sex in the shower, then I ducked home to get fresh clothes, and Reagan is waiting for me in front of the elevator. I wrap my arm around her neck and kiss the top of her head. She smells so damn good. Will I ever get sick of the way she smells?

  The elevator doors slide open, and I release her so she can hobble in on her crutches. “Where do you normally get your groceries?” she asks as we descend to the basement parking lot.

  I shrug. “Wherever’s closest when I realise I need them. Is there a particular store you want to go to?”

  “No, I don’t mind where we go. Seen one supermarket, seen them all.” She smiles at me.

  Nodding, I tell her, “I know of one a few blocks away; it’ll do.”

  Pulling into a parking spot, I jump out of my ute and grin when my eyes land on a disability shopping cart. I go get it and bring it around to her side of the truck, looking at her expectantly.

  She looks down at it and shakes her head. “Uh, no.”

  Frowning, I gesture to the padded seat in front of me. “Come on now, you don’t really want to try getting through the whole shop on those crutches. You need a lot of stuff. We’re going to be a while.”

  Her shoulders slump. “Fine,” she grumbles, then holds her arms out for me to help her.

  We’re in the fresh produce section when she pipes up. “I can see the advantage of this contraption now.”

  Glancing down at her, I raise a brow at the cheeky glint in her eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “I’m at eye level with Prince Everhard. He and I can have a conversation while you do the groceries.”

  I choke on air. “Ah, what? You’re insane, you know that?”

  Now she raises a brow at me. “You’re just figuring that out now? A little slow, aren’t you?”

  Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to the vegetables, then grab some baby broccoli and asparagus to go with our breakfast when we get home. Wait, home? Am I planning on going back to her place when we’re done?

  Umm, fuck yes, I am. And that thought should produce fear in me. But for some bizarre reason, it doesn’t. Having sex hasn’t changed anything between us. Reagan’s still her random self, and I don’t have the urge to run as far away as possible.

  Maybe we could work after all?

  “Hello, Earth to Reagan?” Rhett snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me startle.

  I glare at him. “What?”

  He shakes his head, smirking at me. “I was asking what kind of ice cream you like? You were spaced out, staring at my dick.”

  Heat blooms in my cheeks. “Oh, umm, cookies and cream.”

  I was totally staring at his penis. Well, not like, directly at it. I’d have to open his pants to do that, and I’m pretty sure the other shoppers would not appreciate that. Not the male ones anyway; I’ve seen more than a few of my fellow female shoppers running their greedy little eyes over Rhett’s magnificent assets.

  I don’t blame them. I used to look at him all the time when I’d pass him in the foyer of our building. Or when we’d share the elevator. I’m sure I looked like a total creeper, though, since discretion has never been my strong suit.

  “You’re doing it again,” he says.

  I roll my eyes. “So? What’s your point?”

  He snorts. “People are going to think you’re a bit special—your eyes all glazed over, staring at my crotch. And I think there’s a bit of drool just here,” he says, running his thumb over my bottom lip. Using his pointer fingers, he tilts my head back then bends down and presses a kiss to my lips. “Lucky for you, I kinda like your brand of special,” he whispers against my ear, then winks when he straightens and goes back to pushing the cart down the aisle.

  My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I’m a happy-go-lucky kind of person—I normally smile a lot—but this week I’ve broken a record. Why didn’t I just introduce myself to him when I moved into the building? Why?!

  After just one week, I’m already fully in like with him.

  I bite my lip. Slow down, Reagan. He made it clear where he stands on dating. You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.

  Reagan has been unusually quiet since we got back in the truck. It’s worrying me. “You okay? Your foot hurting?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m okay. Tired, maybe. We stayed up pretty late, then we rose crazy early this morning. Plus, the exercise. I’m not used to that much physical activity,” she says, smiling.

  This smile lacks the punch that usually accompanies her true smiles. Something is bothering her. Should I push her to tell me or let it go?

  Before I can decide, she says, “Did you know thirty thousand people are seriously injured from exercise equipment each year? True fact. Scary fact, if you ask me. That’s the reason I have never set foot in a gym. No, sir. Not this little blonde duck.”

  I frown. “Blonde duck?”

  She nods and shuffles around on the seat until her back’s pressed to the door and she’s facing me. “Yeah, you know the saying, ‘not this little black duck’? Well, I’m blonde, so duh.”

  “You’re a crack-up. Have you ever considered a career in stand-up comedy?” I think she’d rock it. All she’d have to do is get up there and be herself. She’d be a hit.

  Her nose scrunches adorably. “Umm, no. Have you seen the clothes those women wear? Not once have I seen a decently dressed stand-up act. Not once. If I even thought about wearing those kinds of clothes”—she pauses as a shudder runs over her—“Char would shoot me.”

  “That’s a bit rough.”

  Reagan widens her eyes at me. “It’s true. Think about it. Have you ever seen an attractive stand-up? It’s like a job requirement to be dowdy. Or maybe it’s what the job does to you? Like, they could have been perfectly good-looking, then they became comedians and boom.”

  I laugh at her antics. She’s being completely serious right now, and that makes it even funnier. “And why would your frien
d want to shoot you for becoming average-looking?”

  Her cheek lifts in a sneer. “That’s if I didn’t shoot myself first. I have standards, you know. And have you ever heard of Charlotte’s Closet? It’s the most popular fashion blog in the country. That’s my Charlotte.”

  Now that I think about it, I do remember my sister going on about something like that. “Yeah, I think Piper follows it. But I’m not exactly a fashionista, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Reagan’s eyes roam over me. And just like that, the punch that was missing from her smile before is right back again. “You do just fine. You could wear a paper bag and you’d still be sex on a stick.”

  I burst out laughing. “What does that even mean?”

  She grins. “I’ll show you when we get back to the apartment.”

  My foot presses down a little harder on the accelerator.

  The rest of Saturday was a blur of amazing sex, incredible orgasms, delicious food, and binge-watching Netflix. In other words, absolute perfection.

  I squint as the sunlight peeks through my curtains. It’s morning already? Lifting my hand, I rub the sleep from my eyes. It feels like we only just fell into bed. But as I focus on my alarm clock, I’m shocked that it’s eleven a.m.

  Reaching out, my hand slaps about on my bedside table until it comes into contact with my phone. Scooping it up, I swipe my finger across the screen when I see two missed calls from Char and a few texts from her and my dad, too.

  I shoot Dad a quick reply, then open the first message from Char that reads:

  CHARLOTTE ~Bitch where are you? I called! I never call!~

  It’s true; we aren’t the phone call types unless it’s an emergency—like my mini-meltdown earlier in the week. Her next message is a little more aggressive:

  CHARLOTTE ~Woman, you better be dead because I called TWICE!~

  And her third and most recent:

  CHARLOTTE ~Okay, I’ve had time to think it over, and I’ve decided you’re dead to me. That’s right. You just lost the best thing that ever happened to you. I hope you’re happy.~