Page 192 of Unleashed

I pull my head back to look at Rhonda’s face. Our eyes drop to each other’s lips before her hands go to my head. But she doesn’t need to coax me. Rhonda kisses me with an urgency that makes last night feel like low-rated porn in comparison.

The thing is, I kiss her back with an equal amount of need to forget it all. I run my hands through her loose hair as more tears fall from my eyes. Will I always remain this motherfucking broken, figuring out love? Christ. If I end up alone, I deserve it.

I urge her backward to the bed. As we move, my sunglasses fall to the floor, and Rhonda stops our kiss more than once, like she wants to say something. But my impatient lips change her mind each time. After the third pause, Rhonda ditches her reservations and tongues me, and it drives my dick to the brink of breaking my zipper.

We hit the edge of the bed, and I hope Rhonda works with me. We don’t have a lot of time before Amos searches for us.

My brain tells me we can’t and shouldn’t do more, while my numb heart doesn’t say jackshit. The rest of my body doesn’t give a flying fuck about either. Hell, even my hungover liver wants more of everything.

I lean against her so she has to sit on the bed and then lie back. I pull down her pants as far as I can go before I must ditch our kiss. In a hurried rush, I squat to yank one shoe and one pant leg off her.

Standing in front of Ronnie, who is almost half-naked on a naked bed, I pop the button of my jeans. When I lean over her, I can’t help but kiss her again. Shocking the hell out of me as I tongue her mouth, Rhonda’s hands go to my fly. The zigzag whir over my hard-on makes me gasp into Rhonda’s lips.

I shove down my jeans and underwear and before they hit the floor, I push her legs open and sweep my dick into her hair. We don’t talk about repercussions, what happens next, or about a rubber I don’t have with me. But none of it matters right now. At least I can’t knock her up.

I pull away from her mouth and swallow before whispering, “Goddamn, I want you, Ronnie.”

She closes her eyes, bites her swollen bottom lip, and says, “I don’t want to be your biggest regret or embarrassing secret.”

I clutch her face and stare into her eyes. “Never. I promise you.” I’m able to restrain more tears, so I don’t look like a weeping pussy.

Rhonda pushes up my T-shirt and runs her hands over my chest as I reach down and drag her shirt upward, pushing her bra with it. Her tits are small, but they don’t remind me of...others. I cup her right one as I reach between us and swirl my thumb over her clit. Rhonda whisper-pleads, “Greg, make me feel. One last time.”

I move my hand to Rhonda’s naked hip as I push into her. I groan because my throat is as tight as her pussy, and I can’t speak. Rhonda moans and I notice more tears sliding down her cheeks and into her hair. I stop thrusting, but she shakes her head and clutches my shoulders. “Don’t stop,” she says, her voice hoarse.

What the hell am I doing? Christ, I’m dragging Ronnie into my messed-up shitshow. It’s just that if I don’t, I fear the numbness will wear off, and the pain will destroy me.

I watch Rhonda’s face but can’t keep eye contact with her. Neverthefuckingless, I have to make this...whatever we’re doing...good for her, at least. I wish I knew how, but my limited sexual history shows.

I bow my head over her stomach, rocking her hips with my solid thrusts. Her cloud of hair smashes against my groin as I push my dick further into her wet eagerness. Rhonda lifts her hips some as she holds onto me, fucking me with matching fervor.

Needing to hurry this but not wanting it to end and return to my lonely despair, I pause and, taking her hand, I move it to her clit. However, Rhonda widens her eyes and freezes. It absolutely wasn’t her in the room with me at Brandon’s party. Showing her how to do it seems sexy. What the fuck do I know about sexy?

I release her hand, and she fingers herself. Moving past my shock, I focus on her getting herself off to finish me off. “Yeah, so hot. My God, I’m gonna come hard, watching you.” But only one thing lives rent free in my head, making me a bigger bastard for screwing a beautiful, sweet woman while allowing my mind to wander into the quagmire of agony I’ve stumbled into this week.

My wet vision blurs Rhonda’s face. I’m an asshole for being so fucking selfish, needing this rush more than goddamn life. I’m not looking for another relationship, a fuck buddy, or a distraction. Nope. I’m lower than that. Because of her so-called crush on me, I’m using Rhonda to convince myself that I’m not an unlovable freak, worthless of the air I breathe. Yeah. I said it was low. But if I suffocated, I wouldn’t care, either.

Regardless of my torment, I find relief in letting go. The sharp jolt of my orgasm brings me short-lived euphoria. It may allow me to be semi-functional for a couple of hours. I moan, “Fuck...” toward the wall.

She wails, “Greg!” I’ve never heard her yell before. Small aftershocks jerk me more, and I pant from the combination of pleasure and pain.

We stop moving and watch each other wipe our eyes. We sniff simultaneously and let our tears flow. But we’re crying for different reasons. God. Rhonda is one of the last people I want to hurt, but I have more than twice.

Rhonda reaches up and wipes my cheeks with a sob. “What did we do? This was so wrong last night. But now, booze isn’t an excuse.”

“This wasn’t wrong.” I shake my head, needing so fucking much to convince myself I’m not spiraling into a dark abyss of loneliness and despair and that I’m okay. I’ll never be okay.

Her voice shakes. “You don’t have feelings for me.”

“Yeah, I do. We’re friends,” I say, knowing it’s not enough for her. I don’t know if I could date a friend again. Or anyone. I sniff and tell her most of the truth. “You don’t have to leave because of Rhodes.”

She sighs, and I slide my thumb over her tears. “Yeah, I do,” she echoes what I said. Her eyes leave my face, and she whispers, “It’s too hard to live here.”

I frown and wipe my nose on the back of my hand, and pull my softening dick out of her. It drips on the carpet, still on tour, spreading my seed everywhere this week.

I offer Rhonda my hand so she can sit up. We fix our pants and as I pick up my sunglasses from the floor and perch them on top of my head, she puts on her shoe. Rhonda then looks up at me with new tears, and I whisper, “Ronnie...”

When she turns away to cry, I grab her shoulder and pull her to me. Rhonda sobs against my shirt, and I cling to every shred of willpower I have to not break all the way down in front of her. She lets go of me, and I tip her chin up. Her teary eyes and quivering lips twist my numb heart, jerking it awake to tease the jagged pain waiting for me. To circumvent it, for now, I bend to kiss her. Rhonda clutches my T-shirt as our kiss deepens. I groan, but it’s because I’m losing every fucking thing in my life because of me. My friendship with Rhonda will never be the same after this. All because I acted like a prick and ruined what I had never had with any woman.

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