Page 31 of Love In Translation

Wrapping his hand around his dick, he stroked the tip over her clit, and her eyes widened. She was close, silently begging to come again.

Fletch fumbled for a condom in his bedside drawer, and with Rheo between his knees, pulled the latex from its cover. Rheo’s hand, soft and silky, joined his and he gritted his teeth to keep from exploding in her hot palm.

With the condom on, Fletch slid his hands under her butt, scooted back, and swiped his tongue against her clit. She shuddered, so he did it again. Then, in a swift movement, he replaced his mouth with his cock. He fed her a hot open-mouth kiss—nothing felt better than being inside Rheo.

Warmth. Wet, hot woman.

He held still, wanting to enjoy the moment, but Rheo jerked up, slamming his balls against her. He gritted his teeth—he was so damn close, and then she milked him, her channel gripping him tight, her body trembling under his. Unable to hold back, he slammed into her, then again, and as his balls contracted, as he exploded, she came again, a warm, wet flood against his tip.

Then, because this was Rheo, he came, just a little, again.

Fletch buried his face in her neck, and somewhere, in the minuscule part of his brain still functioning, he quietly admitted sex so profound, so earth-shatteringly good had to have its roots in something deeper than attraction.

The thought scared the shit out of him.

Convinced Fletch was asleep, Rheo slipped out of his bed and walked over to the L-shaped window seat in the corner of the room built to take advantage of the magnificent view. Pulling on one of Fletch’s T-shirts—the neck fell halfway down her left shoulder and the hem hit her knees—she sat on the window seat and leaned back.

A full moon turned the garden ghostly in its silver light—and turned the trees the deep green of Fletch’s eyes when he was turned on or laughing. Slinky gray skimmed the forest, the surface of the lake, and the slopes of the mountain. It was sometime after midnight, and she was physically exhausted. Rolling around in bed with Fletch had expended more of her energy than she’d expected, but her mind was in a spin cycle. Sleep was a long way off.

She’d had sex with Fletch...fantastic, hot,sexysex. And, somehow, strangely, deeper than she’d expected it to be.

She’d thought they’d connect on a purely physical basis, Tab A would slip in Slot B, but the past few hours had proven it to be more complicated than that. Fletcher was a tender but fierce lover, someone who refused to allow her to skate along on the surface. He’d demanded her full involvement in their pleasure, mental and physical, and he’d claimed, and received, every bit of her focus.

She’d never experienced such intense sex before. No man had turned her inside out the way Fletcher did. She covered her face, blushing at the thought of him between her legs, knowing every inch of the most private parts of her. He’d run his fingers down her butt, flirted with her butthole, skated through her grooves and channels. Good at his job as he was, there wasn’t a part of her left unexplored.

She felt sexually wrung out, but relaxed. Both on a high and chilled to the max.

Her disparate feelings, the intensity of what happened between them, how at ease he made her feel about her body—they all added layers of complication she didn’t want or need.

She’d loved it, loved being with him, loved every minute of how he made her feel. For the first time, she felt as if the combined power of all her female ancestors flowed through her veins. She’d made him grunt, moan, and shout with satisfaction. With her hands and lips, teeth and tongue, she’d brought him to his sexual knees, and she hadn’t believed that was possible.

With Fletch, she felt more like a woman than ever before.

More her. More Rheo.

You haven’t had sex for a while. You’veneverhad exceptional sex, and you’re overreacting, making more of it than you should.

Overreacting and second-guessing herself were her superpowers.

Rheo gently banged her head against the wall behind her and scowled at the silver-gray moon.

She was terrified that sleeping with Fletch was the last entry on her list named Bad Ideas. They were the definition of opposites attracting. All they could ever be was a fire that burned hot and quick and died out as fast.

She’d told herself he was trouble, but she’d opted to stay at the Pink House even after she learned Fletcher was renting it. She should’ve taken his arrival as a sign to confess her secrets to her family. But instead of biting the bullet, she’d stuck around, hoping for a miracle.

Miracles don’t spontaneously happen,dummkopf!

Anyway, she didn’t deserve a miracle—all her problems were self-inflicted. Unused to navigating big bumps in her normally smooth life, from the day of the hot-mic incident, she’d overreacted and made things worse. Instead of throwing up her hands and admitting she’d screwed up, she’d indulged in mental self-flagellation and punished herself by making more mistakes, each worse than the last.

And she couldn’t forget the part pride played. In her family, she was the one who didn’t make mistakes, or at least not big ones. She was the stable, serious individual who could be relied on to make the correct decision at the correct time in the correct way. Because her life was normally smooth sailing, and she’d looked down on her parents and cousin for their fly-by-night lifestyle. As a result, karma was now snacking on her ass.

Moonbeams hit her legs and feet and, despite having just shared the most intimate act two people could, loneliness swamped her. Paddy was her sounding board, her source of clear and concise advice, but because she’d shut Paddy out of her life, she couldn’t cry on her shoulder.

And, God, what was she going to do about her job? Her online translating sessions were going a little better—bad was nowmeh—but she wasn’t up to the standard the UN required. If she couldn’t do her job, what would she do? How would she live, keep her apartment and her lifestyle?

And, a bigger question, who would she be?

She’d spent most of her life designing adult Rheo, and she couldn’t redraw the map now. How would she explain to Paddy that she’d fucked up on a cosmic scale? Paddy wasn’t easily impressed, and Rheo craved her approval. She’d had so little encouragement and understanding from her parents as a child that she valued Paddy’s validation, hard as it was to earn. She probably put too much emphasis on it, but needing Paddy’s approval was part of her DNA.

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