GIA
Past – Eighteen years old
New York, New York
Oh God. This is it. This is when he actually tells me that he loves me. I can see it in his eyes, sense it in his body. This is… what is that freaking noise?
I close my eyes and count in my head for my phone to stop ruining my life.
I know it’s crazy, but every time Rhys gets close to uttering those coveted words, my mom calls.
It’s unbelievable. I wait while the ringing continues, my breaths coming in short bursts, and I shudder, knowing that when I open my eyes, all we experienced moments ago will be lost. Gone, evaporated into thin air. I swallow, but my throat is dry. That was intense and scary. I took a big leap, and now the phone interrupts me like an annoying fucking hornet.
At last, the vibrating stops and I crack my eyes open and stare up at him. He’s grinning and I almost burst into tears. Maybe the moment isn’t lost.
“Trying to block her out?” He kisses my mouth, which has formed a stunned “O,” and reaches over me to grab my phone. He hands it to me. Excitement followed by fear fills me. Why is he handing me my phone? I’m not calling my mom. I’m already filled with guilt about lying to her and not coming home for Christmas.
Rhys and I are only now finding our way. He needs to know I’m one-hundred percent in. He comes first. If I leave, even to go visit my mom, that will leave him available to the numerous fucking women, and that’s not something I can risk.
My mom will have to understand. She was young and in love at one time, I think. I mean, she despises my dad now, but I’m sure at some point in their relationship she would do what I’m doing. At the end of the day, she will get over it. I’m definitely needed here more.
If only Axel would show up at least with a gift or something. I know he won’t. He probably isn’t even in town, and you can’t get ahold of him unless he wants you to, which bugs me. Why is it always my job to make sure Mom is not alone on holidays?
’Cause you always do.
Axel has no clue what’s going on. If I told him he needed to be there for Mom, he would, but that can’t happen either. I’ll call her tomorrow and tell her I had food poisoning. That I was so sick I didn’t even remember it was Christmas, and now I’m super busy and will check in soon.
I mean, that could happen.
The flick of the lighter brings me back to Rhys. He’s leaning back on the headboard smoking and watching me. It’s relaxed and my heart aches. I almost blurt I love you again, but that might be a bit much. He looks okay with me saying it. Actually, he looks happy I said it, so I’m gonna leave it at that.
I smile at him and sit up, bringing the white sheet with me. I have no idea why I do this. Rhys has seen every inch of my body and then some, if me sitting on his face this morning means anything.
“You need to call her, Gia.” He pulls me so close that his strong heartbeat vibrates through my back. His tan, tattooed arm holds me tight. He’s so hot, dominating, and nasty that it’s hard to breathe.
As if he can read my thoughts, he brings his cigarette to my lips. It’s such a simple thing to share a cigarette with someone, but with Rhys it’s like foreplay.
God, my face is getting hot. I’m mortified that I can’t seem to get enough of him. Sitting with him makes me want to climb on top of him and rub my clit on his giant, pierced penis.
I sigh as smoke escapes my mouth and deal with one thing at a time.
“I will tomorrow.” I cross my legs and look down at his dick. It’s hard again, and I’m ready to lean down and take him in my mouth.
“No. Call her now. Tell her we’ll be there for dinner.” He puts the cigarette in his mouth and swings his legs over the bed, reaching for his own phone.
“What?” I’m so stunned I sit motionless and stare at his back, focusing on the tattoo of a large black raven sitting on a guitar.
He turns and grins, causing my heart to flutter. “And Merry Christmas, Brat.” He stands and my eyes trail down his perfect body. Michelangelo would have begged to sculpt him. I need to shoot him naked.
“Call her. Have her set the table for three.” He turns, taking a long drag from the cigarette. Something has to be wrong with me. I’m losing it and staring at him like a complete idiot.