Page 17 of Rhett Redeemed

I know how bad that sounds, but I’ve been mostly picking up women after I’ve had a few drinks, and if I’m being honest, I’ve been drunk most of the time ever since I became single, including the night Con and I had a few months ago.

Con is the first woman I’m giving myself to with a clear mind.

I wonder if she knows how big that is for me.

She threads her fingers through my hair and tugs gently, encouraging me as I start to lick her pussy.

I give her a devilish smile and forget everything else; my mind is consumed by Con, by her body, and by just wanting to please her.

After she comes, she kneels before me on the carpet. I see those red lips where I want them, and it’s a better sight than I even imagined.

Yeah, life isn’t as bad as I’ve been making it out to be.

Chapter Seven

Con

I don’t know what it is about Rhett.

Yeah, he’s possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in real life, and yeah, he’s fucking amazing in bed and obviously well experienced. But it’s something a little deeper than that.

When I look into his eyes, I see the same thing that I see in my own in the mirror.

Loneliness.

He’s seeking a connection, even if it’s just for a night or two.

I know how he feels.

Before he leaves my house the next morning, he asks me for my phone and programs his number into it, sending a text to himself so now we have a way to contact one another.

He flashes me a smile before he leaves, and I sag against my front door after I close and lock it. Last night was different than the first time we slept together. He left the light on, so there was nothing we didn’t see. There was eye contact, and I don’t know...

There was a connection there.

And neither of us was drunk.

I don’t want to read too much into it, because for all I know he might do a runner now and never text me at all, but yeah.

I want to see him again.

And I know it’s probably not the best idea, because someone is going to get hurt, most likely me if I start having feelings for him, but I like him, and I’m admitting that to myself.

The sex was bomb, and even better than last time. The man is talented with his tongue, fingers and cock. Talk about a trifecta.

I have a long bath, pampering myself a little with candles, music and a bath bomb, and then once I’m dressed, I pick up my guitar for the first time in months and play.

The truth is, I haven’t felt this good in a long time.

And I don’t want that to go away.

I see him again a few times during the week and that next weekend.

“So I know this isn’t a romantic idea,” he says after showing up at my house on a Saturday morning, grinning, leaning his forearm against my door. “But I came to finish shit in your house for you. I’ve been told I’m pretty handy.”

“Oh, you’re handy all right, but you don’t need to help me do anything, Rhett. That’s my problem, not yours.”

Although the thought is so fucking sweet. So sweet I don’t even know how to react. I thought he was back for only more sex, but he’s offering to paint the walls for me. I don’t know what to say.

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