Page 27 of One Rule

Pair dark denim jeans with a rip on the left knee.

A black T-shirt that strains across my chest.

An old pair of Chuck Taylors I’ve never thrown away.

Is it playing dirty that I’d been wearing this the night I stole her first kiss? Yes, but I’m not an honorable man when it comes to her. For her, I’ll do whatever it takes to always be the center of her world, as she is mine.

Those warm hazel eyes peruse my body from head to sneakers and back up again, pausing over my tattooed sleeve before unconsciously, biting her bottom lip. They traverse every line and shadow there, a piece she’s very familiar with, but it’s almost as if she’s seeing it for the first time all over again. The nautical-themed artwork—from the thick ropes wrapped around my wrist to the tentacles of an octopus ripping through the water and toward an imposing ship with the nameRoycein Old English font near the front. There’s also a great white shark, her favorite marine animal, on the top of my right hand swimming just beneath what looks to be calmer waters, a complete contrast to the rest of the tattoo.

Those warm hazel eyes traverse my six-foot-four frame and goosebumps rise on my skin. It feels like a caress—my cock begins to swell and throb for her—but before I can say anything, her parents walk into the room.

They pause and stare at us and it’s almost like being in high school all over again. For a brief moment, I recall something…

This happened in our teen years. Almost the same exact scenario, and I smirk down at the now-blushing woman who stands a few inches from me. Back then, we’d been shitheads with vendettas against the girls who’d attacked us with silly string right after winning a college baseball game—in front of everyone our freshmen year—and we’d gotten revenge via an avalanche of over a hundred water balloons a week later.

They’d gotten us at our new school and we attacked at theirs.

I was a teenager then, and knew pranking her back was all I could do at the moment, but now…fuck. The man currently standing in her father’s kitchen only wants to get her wet one way, nothing else will suffice. Her place is sitting on my face or clenching around my cock.

She’s the only person in this world I’d gladly drop to my knees for.

Back then, though, both our parents wore the same look Mrs. Armas has right now. Pure unadulterated amusement. A bit of incredulity.

“You four are too old for this,” Joaquin says, eyes pinging from each of us before shaking his head. It’s not from disappointment. The man isn’t the easiest person to deal with, his dry nature can be hard to swallow at times, but he loves his family, and that saves him from my response. My respect for him solely lies in my rebel’s happiness. “But it’s nice to have everyone at home.”

“Good to see you too, Dad.” Liliana walks past me, giving me a small elbow to the ribs before rising onto the tips of her toes and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bendicion.”

“Que Dios te bendinga.” His expression softens immediately before giving her a quick hug and then turning his face toward his ex-wife. “See. This is love.”

“Am I supposed to ask you for your blessings every time I see you, Dear?” It’s snooty, but teasing. She's being coquettish with him and he’s eating it up.Idiot.I’d never let Liliana leave me, nor would I give her a reason to want to. “Would that make you happy?”

“It’s a step in the right direction.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“I will—”

“Why don’t we all head toward the dining room while the girls get changed,” Lionel interrupts them, his lips twitching at their flirting. Although separated legally, they’re closer now than when they were married.

“That’s a great idea, son.” Blowing him a quick kiss, she immediately turns toward her ex and huffs. “You heard him.”

“Woman, I swear,” Joaquin narrows his eyes at Celia, yet he complies and she winks at us before they exit the room. No one says anything for a minute or two, but then Liliana cracks up which causes Bernice to follow, both girls slapping the nearest thing to them.

Bernice the counter. Rebel my arm.

“And they say we need to grow up?” Lionel grumbles, shooting me a quick look I understand. Behind the laughter and playing around, there’s a sobering moment that tells me he has news on Diaz. My nod is barely perceptible but understood. We’ll talk before the night is through, but right now, I toss the bottle of water in my hand at him and take hold of the tiny fingers currently digging into my other forearm—which I give a tiny tug to—and a giggling Liliana follows.

I lead her out of the kitchen and down an unlit hallway toward the back of the house that I’m very familiar with. This was her sacred space until she moved out, and even then, I know nothing’s changed on the other side of the door we’re currently standing in front of. Just like it hasn’t for Lionel, who splits his time between this house and an apartment close to their downtown office.

“Change, rebel. You’re cold.”

“I’m not—”

I stop her protest with a single finger over her plump lips while my other hand wraps around her waist, tugging her closer. “You. Are.” We’re almost chest to abdomen, and I make sure my voice is low as I bend my head just low enough that my lips are next to her ear. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not…damnit, Micah!” My fingers are now splayed and pressing the back of her wet shirt firmly against her skin. She shivers, and I smirk. “Fine. Now leave.”

“Good girl, and no.”

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