Page 78 of Tattered Edges

Something told me it was a waste of breath, but I couldn’t help but to respond, “He’s not the reason I came any more than he’s the reason I’m staying. You know that. This is my home now, whether you want to accept it or not.”

“Right, well, whatever,” she said flippantly, tucking her clutch underneath her arm. “Enjoy what remains of your night. I must be getting back to mine.”

She brushed by us before I could say another word, and I watched her go more annoyed than offended.

“Sawyer,” Rory called softly, squeezing my hand. I turned to look up at him, and he nodded toward the door and insisted, “Come, darling. Let’s get out of here.”

I nodded and followed his lead.

Ourclotheswerescatteredfrom the front door to the bedroom—but we hadn’t made it to the bed. I was also fairly certain my tights had been ruined in our hurry to remove them.

In the end, it was totally worth it.

We were stretched out on the rug that bordered his bed as we came down from the high of our passion. We’d neglected to use a condom again—only, this time, it wasn’t so much an accident as it was a silent agreement. He’d spilled his seed on my stomach, but the sex had been so great, I couldn’t bother moving in order to clean myself up just yet.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?” I breathed, my eyes still closed as I relished the memory of him between my legs.

“Maybe we should talk about getting you on the pill.”

I grimaced, opening my eyes as I turned my face so I might see his.

He was already looking at me.

“I always said I wouldn’t take a pill. I know it might seem reckless, but it messes with a woman’s hormones. It could even change the way my body looks. I just—it freaks me out.”

“Okay,” he muttered with a scowl, this one reading more confused than anything else. “I respect that.”

“There are other options, though. I’m not opposed to birth control, I just need to find the right one for me. It’s been years since I’ve had a partner that I—”

“I understand. Me too,” he interrupted, sparing me from spelling it out. “Don’t move. I’ll get something to clean you up.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and came back a minute later with a warm, damp wash cloth. He was gentle, like wiping away the evidence of his pleasure was meant to be pleasurable in itself.

When he was finished, he snagged his trunks from the floor and asked, “Are you thirsty? I’m going to fetch a glass of water.”

“Yes. Water sounds great. I’ll come with you.”

I didn’t bother with any of my clothes but slipped into his button-up instead. As we approached the kitchen, I spotted my purse, abandoned by the door, half its contents spilling out from the top.

Laughing under my breath, I went to pick it up. When I grabbed my phone, I noticed I had a few new notifications. I frowned when I realized they were alerts, warning me of movement in my flat.

“Rory? Rory, someone’s broken-in again!”

I dropped my purse for a second time as I raced toward the kitchen.

“What? When?”

“Now!” I cried, holding up my phone so he could see.

“Fuck,” he bit out before sprinting down the hall. “Phone the police!” he called as he went.

“Wh—okay. What are you going to do?” I asked, trailing after him.

“I’m going over there,” he answered matter-of-factly.

He was jumping into a pair of jeans faster than I could fully process what was happening.

---