My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)

I put my keys down on the bench. Blake is behind me, and he sits on the lounge.

It’s suddenly awkward, as if we both know this is a bad idea.

What was I thinking?

In my defense, he did say that he wanted to be here as my friend. But now that he’s inside, it feels decidedly like the end of a date.

“Do you want a cup of tea or something?” I ask as I walk around the corner into the kitchen.

“Sure.” He holds the remote up to the television. “What do you feel like watching?” he calls.

“A movie sounds good.”

“Any requests?”

“No, not really,” I call back.

Suddenly I’m panicked.

I take out my phone and go into my group chat. I text Juliet and Chloe. They think I went out with a new date. I left out the Blake part.

I have a situation.

I watch the dots bounce as a text comes back.

Such as?

I asked my date in for coffee after our date, what do I do now?

I wait for the reply, and I can see them both typing furiously.

You jump his bones, that’s what you do.

I begin to sweat, and I type my reply.

I don’t think I’m ready.

I wait for the answer.

Well, do you like him?

I think I do.

Then stop overthinking it.

You will never feel ready.

Only one way to get over this.

I begin to pace in the kitchen as I wait for the kettle to boil. The thing is, I know they’re right; I’ve always got an excuse . . . but this one means more.

Another text comes in.

Nobody is more ready than you.

Rip the band aid off and do it.

They’re right. I know they’re right.

I begin to slowly make our cups of tea, and as I peer into the living room, I see Blake is also on his phone messaging someone. I go back into the kitchen and keep messaging the girls.

Okay give me some pointers, and quick.

Blake

My eyes roam up to the kitchen to check that the coast is clear, and I text my group chat with Henley and Antony.

I’m at a girls house and she told me she wants to take it slow.

Define slow.

Antony is the first to reply.

Slow in my mind means making out with no sex.

Henley chimes in with his answer.

Slow for me means that she gets to come and you don’t.

I screw up my face in question, and I text back.

What do you mean she gets to come and I don’t?

So what . . . you go to third base with her and do everything except pull your cock out?

A laughing emoji comes in from Antony, and I can see the dots as Henley writes.

Basically . . . yes.

I text back.

So you think she wants to go to third base?

Antony replies.

She did invite you in after the date didn’t she?

True.

I think for a moment. Does that mean that she does want to make out?

Fuck me. I thought that I had this under control, but now it has come to my attention that I know absolutely nothing about how to act around a nice girl. I should have gone straight home after the kiss. What was I thinking?

Antony texts.

I think if she invited you in???

I think for a minute. Okay . . . let me get this straight. I can go to third base, and she can come, and I can’t. I frown. Why would anyone do that? And more importantly, why would they want to?

I text my reply.

What do you guys classify as third base?

My eyes roam to the kitchen as I wait for their reply.

I would think kissing and fucking her with your hand, maybe a bit of dry humping?

Fuck me, this is all too confusing. I reply.

If I have my hand down her pants and we’re making out and she orgasms.

We are fucking.

Another laughing emoji comes in from Antony.

Rebecca walks out into the living room with a cup of tea, and I guiltily put my phone to the side.

“Here we go.” She puts it down onto the coffee table in front of me.

My eyes linger on the beautiful woman standing in front of me, and honestly, I have no idea what to do next.

I glance down and notice that there’s only one cup of tea. “You’re not having one with me?”

“I thought I might have a quick shower and take my makeup off.” She shrugs, as if not knowing what to say. “Get into my pajamas.”

“Good idea.” My eyes drop to her toes and back up to her face in that dress.

Or just stay naked.

She disappears up the stairs, and I quickly text again.

She’s gone upstairs to have a shower and slip into something more comfortable.

Antony replies.

You’re in.

Henley then sends fire emojis.

Get up there and sort her out.

I stand and begin to pace back and forth. I run my two hands through my hair as panic runs through me.

Do I go upstairs, or do I sit here like a fucking dweeb and wait for her to come back down?

I should go upstairs; surely I should go upstairs.

Taking a shower is code for Come fuck me . . . everyone knows that.

But does Rebecca?

It’s now becoming clearly apparent why I like bad girls. There are no mind games, no innuendos about what I should and should not be doing.

I know what to do. I know exactly what to fucking do.

Every damn time.

Before I can stop myself, I slowly go up the stairs, and as I walk down the hallway, I can hear the shower running in the bathroom.

I imagine Rebecca standing naked under the hot water. I get a vision of myself holding her up against the tiles, her legs around my waist.

My body buried deep inside hers.

She’d be wet and tight, and fuck me . . . I feel my cock throb just thinking about it.

I put my hand on the bathroom doorknob to go in . . . but then I hesitate.

I want to take it slow. Her words come back to me.

She always says that I push the boundaries and that I don’t listen to her. Perhaps this is one of those times that I really should use the brain in my head instead of the one in my dick.

Maybe it’s a test?

I imagine me opening the door and seeing her naked and then her going postal and screaming and shouting and ordering me out of the house . . . I mean, it’s no secret that she can be overdramatic when she wants to be.

If I get this wrong, it could be catastrophic.

No, I can’t go in.

I sneak down the hallway, quietly tiptoe back down the stairs, and slink onto the couch; I lean back and rearrange the erection in my pants. I’m so hard, it’s becoming painful. Adrenaline is screaming through my veins.

This is an actual nightmare.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the stairs creak and look up to see Rebecca walking down in a cream silk nightdress. It’s fitted with spaghetti straps, and I can see every curve on that sweet body. Her hair is wet, and she smells of soap and shampoo and every sin known to man.

I let out a low whistle as my eyes drop hungrily down her body.

Now we’re talking.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump . . . goes my cock.

I stand before I can stop myself, and as she gets to the bottom step, her eyes search mine.

“Wow,” I whisper. “You look . . .” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Overdressed?” she whispers, as if worried.

“Perfect.” I readjust the spaghetti strap on her shoulder as she looks up at me. “Bec . . .”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what take it slow means.”

Her eyes hold mine.

“You’re going to have to spell it out for me because . . .” I widen my eyes. “I’m hanging on to my control by a thread here.”

“I . . .” She looks around, as if for divine guidance. “I don’t actually know either.”

“What do you know?”

“That I didn’t want to say good night yet.”

I dust my thumb over her bottom lip as I stare into her big, beautiful eyes. “Am I”—I lean down and kiss her; my lips gently brush over hers—“allowed to do this?”

Her eyes close as the heat from our kiss steals my breath.

Holy fuck, she’s on fire.

She nods softly.

“Yes?” I ask for clarification. “This is okay?”

I kiss her again, and she smiles. “Yes,” she breathes.

Our breath is ragged and echoing around the room. A million thoughts are screaming around me, but as her lips touch mine, they evaporate into nothing.

A peaceful abyss.

We kiss again, this time deeper, and I begin to lose control as I grab her behind and drag her onto me.

She whimpers against my lips, and the feel of her satin nightdress up against me starts a fire that I have no hope of controlling.

I fall back onto the couch and drag her down to straddle me. Our kiss turns frantic, and with my hands on her hip bones, I drag her over my hard cock.

Ring, ring.

Ring, ring.

Her phone rings and pulls us out of the moment, and she scrambles off my lap.

She walks backward from me as if she’s seen a ghost.

Ring, ring . . . ring, ring . . . She picks up her phone and fumbles to decline the call. Her haunted eyes come back to mine.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“Nothing.” She begins to pace as she drags her hand through her hair. “I just . . .”

She gestures down to my dick that’s tenting my jeans.

“This is a problem for you?” I frown.

“I just . . .” Her eyes dart around the room.

She’s scared.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head; this is not how this was supposed to go. “I’ll go.”

“No,” she stammers. “I don’t want you to go.”

I stare at her in confusion.

“Can we watch a movie?” she whispers in a panic.

“Babe.” I gesture to my crotch. “I’m in no state to lie beside you and watch a movie. I don’t have that kind of control. It’s okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I get up and step toward the door.

She swallows the lump in her throat, and the look on her face nearly breaks my heart.

She’s scared of me leaving in this state.

I fucking hate him.

“What if . . .” I shrug. This is insanity. “What if . . . I had a shower upstairs . . . alone.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “And I took care of business.”

Her eyes search mine.

“And then I could come down and we could watch a movie . . . together.” I try to think of the right thing to say. “Without”—I gesture to my crotch again—“any of this getting in the way.”

“I just . . .” Her eyes well with tears.

“It’s okay, Bec.”

“It’s not.”

“Yeah.” I pull her into a hug and kiss her forehead. “It is.”

She stands in my arms for an extended time, and I can feel the regret oozing out of her. “It’s not your fault that you’re too sexy for your own good,” I whisper into her hair.

I feel her smile into my neck.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

She nods and steps back from me, and I slowly walk up the stairs and into the bathroom. I close the door and stare into the mirror at my reflection, wondering if I’m man enough to handle this crap.

Her cuts are deep.

She’s got the baggage of a 747.

How must it feel to have your heart broken so bad that it still affects you physically over twelve months later?

I can’t imagine ever having a love so deep. Maybe I’m in way over my head here? Maybe I should just run for the hills?

But we all know I won’t.

Because it’s her . . . and because she’s the only one who makes me feel like this.

And whether that’s a good or bad thing, I just don’t know.

I take my time and turn the shower on, undress, and step in under the hot water.

My cock’s still throbbing, begging to be milked . . . but the shine has gone from the apple. It’s not as tempting as it was twenty minutes ago.

I don’t want to jerk off alone in the shower. I want to be with her.

I stand under the water for a long time, my body excited. The rest of me, not so much . . . I begin to soap up, and the door slowly opens. I look up and frown as Rebecca walks in.

Her eyes drop down my body and linger on my erection before rising up to meet mine.

“Can I watch?”