Page 63 of Second Best Again
That was why he'd stopped at the florist on the way back from his business trip, why he'd bought a lavish bouquet and a new book from the series Sage had been reading. When was the last time I bought her anything?he wondered as he drove, and the answer stung.
The house sat neatly with its large front garden, a handsome detached in a lovely street. He parked, clutching the flowers like a peace offering. The door was unlocked, and he didn't think twice about letting himself in.
He just hadn't expected the sounds that met him.
Soft, unmistakable sounds. Sage's moans, and an unfamiliar male baritone.
His chest clenched, heart stuttering painfully against his ribs. He stepped further into the hall, and the sight struck him with brutal clarity.
Sage straddling a man on the sofa. Her long hair was loose, rippling like a waterfall down her back, her head tipped back, her body moving sinuously as if to a rhythm only she could hear.
The flowers lay lax in his hand. His heart seized so sharply he had to brace against the wall, his throat closing, each sound from the living room like a knife twisting deeper.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He could only feel the weight of it crushing him as panic raced up his chest to clutch at his throat.
He turned, numb, and stumbled back through the door. Hands trembling, the flowers went into the first bin he passed.
He walked. And walked. Hours blurred together until his legs ached, the noise of the city dimming to a fog around him.
At last, he stopped at a small grocery store, staring blankly at rows of neatly stacked boxes. He bought donuts without knowing why—something to hold in his hands, something to distract him—and turned back towards the house.
This was his new reality. A brutal awakening of what he had brought upon himself with his careless cruelty.
It was all he deserved.
Chapter 45
Euan didn't come back that night, but for the first time, they sexted. She refused to send him a pic of her boobs, but Sage was flushed and giddy at the novelty of it, falling asleep with a silly smile.
The next morning, a knock at the door had her shuffling over in her fluffy robe and slippers, clutching her coffee. Ronin had come bright and early to collect David and had not met her eyes. Now, Euan stood at her doorstep, toolbox in hand. Without so much as a hello, he stepped in, crowded her against the door, and pulled her off her feet like a ragdoll to kiss her senseless with her mug trapped between them. When he finally pulled back, breathless, he said with a grin, "Time to fix that rickety back gate, aye?"
He got to work while she curled on the steps, mug in hand, watching him move with easy confidence. They didn't need words during times like these, when the pale sunlight and the steady rhythm of his hammer did all the filling.
By noon, after she had prioritised watching the play of muscles under his T-shirt over unpacking, she announced, "I'm going to make lunch."
The lasagna was barely in the oven when she sensed him behind her. She turned, catching that look she was beginning to recognize—the one that stripped her bare before he even touched her.
"You promised me shower sex," he said, already taking her hand and tugging her upstairs.
Steam curled in wispy spirals as Euan twisted the dial, the hiss of water filling the large shower cubicle. Then he was tugging at the knot of her robe with impatient fingers until it fell away.
"You're overdressed," he murmured, eyes dark and hungry.
She barely had time to laugh before he was peeling away the rest of her clothes, his mouth finding her collarbone, her shoulder, her throat in quick, greedy kisses. He shoved his shirt over his head, jeans following, and then he crowded her against the tiled wall and nudged her backwards under the spray.
Hot water streamed down her scalp as she threaded her fingers through his soaked hair, tugging, guiding his mouth back to hers. His hands slid lower, cupping her hips, then over the curve of her waist to pin her wrists flat against the slick tiles. Then one broad palm trailed down her soft belly, slow at first, then purposeful, until two fingers pressed inside her raising her to tiptoes. She gasped, head tipping back against the wall as he curled them just right, his thumb stroking her sensitive nub until her moans echoed against the shower glass.
"God, you're perfect like this," he growled in her ear.
When her legs started to tremble, he removed his fingers to catch her thigh, lift it high against his hip, and press forward with his hips. The blunt heat of him teased and probed, then he thrust in deep, filling her with a force that stole her breath.Water pounded against their shoulders as he drove into her, each thrust harder, faster, his body pinning hers to the wall.
Her cries rose with the slap of wet skin, her nails scraping against the tile before they dug into his shoulders for purchase. Every thrust pushed her higher until the world broke loose, pleasure ripping through her as she screamed his name, water and steam tangling with the sound.
He followed, hips jerking against hers in erratic bursts, a groan torn from his chest as he shuddered through his release. For a moment, they stayed locked together, forehead to forehead, steam curling around them like a cocoon.
When they could finally breathe again, he peeled off the condom that she didn't remember him donning, and, laughing softly, began soaping her up, rinsing her, and towelling her dry like she was something precious. She, however, was busy musing aloud, "Do they make biodegradable condoms? Do you think... Would they melt in the shower? How did you manage to keep it on?"
That earned her a bark of laughter and a playful swat with the towel. They were still arguing about the correct water temperature—Euan claiming her level was "just short of boiling me alive like a lobster"—while he steered her back to bed.
