That tattoo only reminded me of us and what could have happened if I stepped in sooner.
She sipped her drink, not noticing me only feet away. A cherry played at her lips as she sucked on it, and for all that was holy, it did something to my cock that hadn’t happened in a long time.
Instant stiffy.
The last time Felicity and I had sex was months ago.
Time could pass, I wouldn’t notice. Rebel was all that mattered, and after so many years, I’d forgotten her contagious smile. She had always put others’ happiness before her own, keeping them going while emptying her barely-there cup, and still sticking the tough shit out. I’d always admired her.
A guy walked up to her. Fuckboy grabbed her, sticking his slobber-infested tongue down her throat, swapping saliva and who knows what else.
I stood there gawking, ready to knock his lights out. Jealousy consumed me. The heat flared my skin, eating away at my sanity. Something was wrong with me. Rebel wasn’t mine.
Like the stalker I tried not to be, I got up, following her and fuckboy to a deserted corner of the club. “Really?” Gisabelle harrumphed. But I couldn’t stop my journey to my girl. When she told him to back off, and he didn’t, you better bet your ass I stepped in. Even if it wasn’t Rebel on the receiving end of this slimy fucker, I’d have stepped in. Women deserved to be treated with respect and dignity. This dude didn’t know the first thing about that.
Red was such a fucking deep shade, one that would blind you to the outside world and all coherent thoughts on the inside. It was the color I’d experienced in this moment while he took advantage of my innocent little doe. It was also what Conor called Rebel way too much.
That guy was lucky I didn’t beat the ever-loving shit out of him for pushing his rancid tongue down her throat. Not that I had any right to question her love life but she showed no interest in his assault. She deserved romance, tenderness, and love, not a sick bastard who would fuck in the back of a club, using her body for his own pleasure. I’d bet my left nut this dude was very capable of it too.
Hitting him brought satisfaction and pure joy into me, and I wished I didn’t stop.
Why do I care? She left me and chose Carl. She wasn’t mine to defend.
He deserved it and so much more. If her soft hand didn’t gently touch my shoulder, he’d be in a coma for putting his grubby palms where they didn’t belong.
Belle rolled her eyes and went in the direction of another man. This wasn’t right. I’d always been a man of honor, not ditching one woman for another.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow, I’d apologize for my atrocious behavior.
Rebel followed me onto the dance floor. The music blared, and you could feel the beat through yours shoes. Every time we touch, by Cascada played, and it brought back memories from prom.
She danced, grinding into me without realizing she made me thicken in my dress pants. I loved her sassy way of swaying to the beat, and the twinkle in her eyes when I’d watch her lips. If she was anyone else, I’d have fucked her into oblivion that night.
She didn’t even notice when I began to harden. It was nerve-wracking since she was naïve and new to sensations. I’d slept with girls before, but none I cared about like I did Rebel. She’d always been different—special and worth so much more to me.
Now, I pulled her supple body into mine with purpose. When her body met mine, it was sensational. The heat flickered across my skin, blazing me like a fire licking a marshmallow, the sweet burn as it slowly melted the insides to goo while keeping the outside a toasty brown. One little turn would be too far and the marshmallow would catch fire, that was what my flesh experienced as hers touched mine. Her body was so goddamn soft and smooth, and her lips looked fucking delectable.
“Coen,” she breathed, her face flushed and pink as a plumeria flower.
The music still buzzed, bouncing off the walls in a vibrating fashion but not as noticeable because of her presence.
“Yes, princess?” My voice croaked. What the fuck is going on with me? Rebel loved that endearment, and for years, all I wanted was to make her my queen. The heat tickled my spine, reminding me what real happiness felt like.
“I should go,” she began but stopped when my finger brushed her lips.
Shaking my head, I nearly begged, “Let me have this dance. Then you can go, I promise.”
My body heated, filling me with anxiety that she’d say no. After being so close, I wasn’t sure I could walk away again.
She gave a slight nod and a half smile, her ruby red lips damn near kissable. Placing her arms around my neck and positioning mine of her hips, I enjoyed the feeling of her beneath my touch.
For some odd reason, it seemed different for her.
She kept me at arm’s length as if she believed I had cooties. Her eyes never fully met mine, but her grin hinted to other emotions desperate to come out. I’d given in to mine. Now it was her turn.
A new song rang out, Your Body by Pretty Ricky.
Immediately, she changed course as if they’d put on “Your personal stripper,” song. Maybe she wanted to give into me for only a moment.
Rebel no longer tucked herself away beneath all the fear. She let go. Her polka dot dress twirled along as grinding ensued. Rebel Payne had changed in the past twelve years. She’d gained confidence, and it was the sexiest attribute she’d acquired over that time.
Her ass sidled against me, her arms flinging around my neck as she slinked down my rigid form. I held her, giving into the emotions that I swore to keep tuckered away. For years, I forced myself to forget her blue eyes, her perfect smile, the way she bit her lip when she was nervous or interested, and the way she lit up the room with her personality. It killed me to let those feelings slip into my heart at this very moment, to dream about something more and never experience it for myself.
I doubted she even realized what she was doing to me or how fucking hard she made me as she continued. I held onto her, mesmerizing every brush, stroke, and glide up my body.
“Fuck, you’ve got to stop,” I barely muttered, my voice strangled. The desperation I carried gave way, and I swallowed the big lump forming in my throat almost caused my knees to buckle. Weakened and lonely.
Rebel turned, finally meeting my gaze, “What’s wrong?”
Her eyebrows raised in question, and her lips turned down. The near-hurt on her face broke me. I didn’t want to tell her to stop or to go away, but I sure as hell didn’t want to feel how fucking wonderful she felt against my body.
She’s not mine.
“I’ve got to go.”
Before leaving, I kissed her cheek. Rebel smelled like sweet pea and sweat, and I couldn’t help to taste her somehow. She always confused me, bringing out memories that I forced away.
“I’m sorry.” The whisper escaped me as I turned away, leaving her alone, and feeling like a piece of shit. I shouldn’t have danced with her.
Making my way to my truck, I sent an IM to Belle to apologize for being a complete asshole. Hopefully she’d understand.
I hadn’t mean to hurt them both.
Rebel
As soon as Coen left, I practically ran outside and called Stace.
“Babe, what’s up?” her tender, all-knowing voice rang through.
My tears poured out, and so did my sorrow. The pain in my chest suffocated me.