Rend (Riven 2)

Mona’s laughter echoed in my head after I’d hung up the phone. I added the cheese to the pot and turned to the pasta. This I could do, no problem. When the pasta was cooked, I poured it into the cheese sauce. Mona had used the word enrobed to describe how the sauce should cling to the noodles. Fuck if I could tell whether those noodles were enrobed, but it looked fine to me. I poured the whole thing into the casserole dish I’d found under the sink, sprinkled more cheese on top, put it in the oven, and went to take a shower so I wasn’t covered in butter and flour when Rhys got home.

Under the hot water I recognized my flitting thoughts and the pit in my stomach for what they were: nerves. I was nervous about Rhys coming home. I’d been low-key nervous all day and I wasn’t sure why, when all I wanted was to see him.

The door slammed as I was pulling on my underwear and I flew downstairs, heart pounding.

Rhys was standing just inside the door, shabby duffel bag and worn guitar case at his feet. His hair looked longer, and he seemed taller somehow—bigger than I remembered.

When he saw me, those impossible blue eyes flared with light and he grinned. “Goddamn, I didn’t think I said the part about you being wet and nearly naked out loud, babe.”

I threw myself at him, and he held me, those strong arms squeezing me so tight I lifted my feet off the floor and wrapped my legs around his waist. Then I just clung to his shoulders, breathing him in. His smell. That was what I had missed the most.

“I missed you,” I mumbled into his neck. His lips found mine, and we kissed until Rhys sagged back against the door under my weight.

As our mouths parted, Rhys sniffed. “Are you cooking?”

“Oh, shit!” I pushed off Rhys’s chest and bolted for the oven. The back left corner had blackened on the top, but the rest of it looked okay.

Rhys was peering into the oven over my shoulder. “Huh. Guess that’s why one slice of the pizza always tastes burnt,” he mused.

I slid the casserole dish onto the stovetop and turned off the oven.

“Where’d you get that?” Rhys asked absently, paying far more attention to twining his fingers in my damp curls.

“Made it.”

“Wait, for real? What is it?”

“Baked mac and cheese. I uh. Your mom told me you used to like it.”

“No shit, you talked to my mom?” I nodded. “What’d she do, call to check in on you?”

I shook my head. “I called her. I wanted to know what your favorite food was. I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

“Aw, husband,” he said, leering at me even as his eyes went all soft. “Did she tell you this was my favorite?” My heart sped up at the word husband.

“No. The consensus seems to be you’ll put just about anything in your mouth.”

“Is that right,” he murmured. I sucked in a breath as he dropped to his knees in front of me, pushing me back into the counter. He dragged my underwear down my thighs and leaned in until I could feel his breath on my crotch. “Wouldn’t want to make my mom a liar.”

“Oh my Lord, don’t talk about your mom when you’re—fuck.”

He licked up my cock and grabbed my hips, going down on me like he was fucking starving. His mouth mapped every inch of my dick, my balls; his scruffy cheeks rubbed the insides of my thighs; and he held me against the counter so all I could do was clutch at his hair. I was hard and trembling for him almost instantly, and I let my mind go blank of everything except the feel of Rhys’s hands and mouth and hair.

In minutes I was a panting, shaking, gasping mess, screaming out my orgasm and coming in Rhys’s mouth before collapsing on the kitchen floor with my underwear around my ankles. Rhys loomed over me, looking very pleased with himself.

“So did you really cook for me?” he asked, like that simple act of domesticity got to him as much as sucking me off had.

I tried to talk and it came out “Ngha.” I reached for him, still shaky and uncoordinated, but Rhys understood what I was going for.

“You gonna jerk me off, baby? Or suck me?” I groaned, his words making me feel exposed, vulnerable. I nodded avidly, trying to say Whichever you want with my eyes and my body. Rhys shoved his jeans and boxers down and his erection sprang up, huge and ruddy. “Do you know how often I’ve thought of you like this?” Rhys’s voice was dark and velvet and made my heart pound.

“On the kitchen floor, with macaroni and cheese on the stove?” I rasped and winked at him. He got that look that meant I acknowledge you don’t know how to talk about how much I want you so you make stupid jokes. Then he leaned down and kissed me deeply. I could taste myself on his tongue and slid a hand around his neck. This, this with Rhys kissing me, the weight of him above me, was what I had missed most.