I march over to him, grabbing his hand as I pull him back toward my bedroom.
“Listen, I’ve waited a very long time for this so I am definitely in a hurry. I even trimmed up downstairs in anticipation so let’s get this show on the road, killer.”
Anders barks out a laugh, yanking my arm so that I’m pulled back into his chest full force.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Rebecca. I’m in charge here, not you.”
The feminist in me wants to argue with that, but let’s be honest, she left my body the moment my full name came out of his mouth. I’m known to be a little stubborn though, so I look up at him through narrowed eyes, moving to whisper in his ear, “Are you? Prove it.”
In one swift movement, Anders bends down and throws me over his shoulder, landing a loud smack against my ass with his other hand. “Do you know what happens to brats, Baby Bardot?”
On a gasp, I answer, “No, but dear God, I hope you’re going to show me.”
He shoves open my bedroom door before tossing me on the bed. I may be short, but I am not a tiny woman. I have hips and an ass, and I truly love my midsize body. I’ve never bought into the whole big man, pocket sized girl thing, but the fact that Anders just threw me around a little bit is doing things for me. Namely, between-the-legs things.
As if to torture me, Anders begins to leisurely stroll around my room, looking at pictures, picking up little trinkets. He finds a picture of me and my brothers from childhood, smiling as he looks down at it.
“I have always been envious of the relationship you all have with each other.” His words are quiet, and I want to be annoyed by the subject change but I also want to know Anders—what he thinks, how he feels, all the little things about him that he doesn’t show the world. I haven’t truly admitted that to myself because that would mean I want more than this little arrangement, but his words are a reminder that I can’t deny: I want to know this man.
“How so?” I hear myself asking, pushing up on my elbows.
He peeks back over his shoulder. “Has Gabe ever told you about my family?”
I scrunch up my nose as I try to think back. Usually any nugget of information Gabe shared about Anders was well cataloged by me, but now that I think about it, I can’t recall a single thing about Anders’ life before coming to Hawthorne, so I shake my head.
“You know, your brother is a giant pain in my ass, but he’s the most loyal friend I’ve ever had. It shouldn’t surprise me that he keeps my secrets tight lipped, but it does.”
Secrets? What secrets?
Anders sets the photo back down on my dresser and then comes and lays down beside me, tracing my lips with his finger. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. My childhood was nothing like yours. I did not grow up in a loving home, surrounded by siblings who cared for me, albeit the Bardot brothers sometimes have a fucked up way of showing it,” he says on a laugh. “Not at all saying you didn’t have your own trials.” He strokes my curls. “Your own wounds.” His hand comes to rest over my heart. “I would never make an assumption of what your life was like. But my parents were their own breed. Still are, actually.
“The day Gabe first brought me to Sunday dinner, I realized just how messed up my life had been. Unknowingly, you and your family changed my life, and I’ll forever be grateful for that.”
I turn and snuggle my face into his chest. This is not how I expected the first time having Anders in my bed to go, but the fact that he’s willing to share vulnerability with me is breaking down my defenses.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I mumble into his shirt. “You’re right, my childhood wasn’t perfect. I don’t think anyone’s is. But I have come to see just how special it was, and I’m sorry that you didn’t have the same experience.”
He lifts my chin up and presses his lips to mine. This kiss is gentle and tender. Gratefulness conveyed with soft touches. It feels meaningful, but quickly turns hungry.
“Alright, enough of that. Tell me, if I open that nightstand drawer, will I find anything useful in there?” he says with a wicked grin.
“Why don’t you open it and find out?”
And yes, it was extremely useful.
Bex walks out of the back hallway and into the living room, a layer of purple goop covering her face.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. I watch her dance to whatever music is playing in her headphones before I get up and tap her on the shoulder.
“What the fuuu—” she shouts, grabbing her face Home Alone style before realizing that the goop is still all over her face. “Ugh! What the hell, Anders! You scared the shit out of me!”
She’s really fucking cute when she’s angry.
Bex is really fucking cute when she’s angry. Does that make me a sadist? Jury’s still out on that one.
Also, how Bex is angry at me after a mindblowing orgasm makes no sense, but here we are.
“Anders!” she whines. “I want to have sex with you!” I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.