Page 17 of Laurels and Liquor

The thought wanders idly across my mind, and I’m surprised by the happy little flip in my stomach at the thought of Rhett being a father, specifically the father of my children. I shake my head a little, flipping to another picture in my camera roll. This one is a snapshot he took when we were spending a lazy day in my old apartment. He’s behind me, one arm banded tight around my chest as he looms over me. His ice-blue eyes sparkle in the light falling over our faces, his smile infectious even now. He’s framed the selfie just so, hiding the fact that we’re both naked, but it hardly matters. I can’t take my eyes off his face, the warmth shining through the pixels filling the lonely hole in my chest just a bit.

The longer I look at the image, the warmer my body gets. I shed my jacket and pants, leaving me in a tank top sans bra and my underwear, and I shiver slightly as I settle back on my side and flip through the pictures of the two of us together. It’s not that I haven’t been given attention by the others, but they’ve been going at my pace, and this is the first time I’ve truly been in the mood for more than snuggles. Now, surrounded by Rhett’s scent, feelings that have been lying low are surging, and it’s easier to pretend the blanket I’ve wound around my stomach is his arm, the pillow his chest, and I close my eyes to sink deeper into the fantasy.

I turn over, adjusting until I’m positioned similarly to that photo, and I can pretend I’m back there, in my shitty studio apartment in the nest I’d built through years of tweaking until it was perfect. The mental image is sort of ruined by the distinct lack of lumps in the mattress below me, but I push that aside with another inhale of Rhett’s scent.

He’d nuzzle my neck with his nose, taking deep inhales of my scent as he buries his face in my hair. I let my fingers trail down my stomach, over the material of my shirt, trying to pretend it’s Rhett teasing me. But my fingers are too small, too thin. So the daydream changes, and I can hear his voice in my ear, rough with desire and full of that lilting Irish accent.

Show me how wet you are for me, sweet girl.

I dip a finger below the waistband of my panties, shifting one of my legs to allow me better access to my core. As I slide a finger between my folds, I gasp and arch, more sensitive than I’d realized. I lose myself in my own touch, trying to keep it light and teasing as I circle my opening, resisting the urge to touch my swollen, throbbing clit.

Taste yourself, see how sweet you truly are.

I nod mindlessly, my body obeying the imagined command even as I fight the impulse to keep touching. But even this version of Rhett that lives in my mind holds my will in an iron grip. Carefully, I extract my hand and bring my finger to my lips, my tongue darting out to taste the wetness clinging to the digit. A moan escapes my throat before I can stop it, and my lips close around my finger. As I clean my finger, the sweetness of the fluid catches me off guard, honey and vanilla and something refreshingly earthy filling my mouth.

Good girl. More.

The command is more of a rumbling purr, but I rush to obey. Using two fingers now, my touch is much bolder, the tips of my fingers dipping shallowly into my entrance. My hips roll on their own, and I gasp and whine, the sounds muffled as I bring my fingers back to my mouth and suck them clean.

I’m about to repeat the motion, when suddenly, the bed sinks. I sit up, whipping around to find Mateo climbing in behind me. My face flushes hot with embarrassment. How long had he been here without my noticing? He’s only in his boxers, but I’m too distracted by the absolutely predatory look on his face. He prowls closer, soft brown curls falling into his smoldering tawny eyes. I try to move backward, but he’s too fast. He grabs my wrist and pulls me down, replacing the pillow at my back with his body.

“How’d your appointment go?” he mutters into my skin, hands roaming over my clothes.

I swallow, catching my breath and trying to regain some of my composure. But the warm trail of his fingertips is more than distracting. I whimper and arch back, feeling his hardening cock pressing against my ass. He chuckles, grinding just a bit but pulling back to tease.

“Were you touching yourself and thinking about Rhett, baby girl?” he asks lowly as he drags me back down into the fantasy, looping an ankle around my leg to hold me securely.

I swallow again, breath shaking. I don’t know how to best answer, so I settle on silence.

“I don’t blame you. I miss him, too,” he goes on, nuzzling my neck as his fingers splay out over my stomach.

Settling back into the embrace, my arousal banks slightly as a wave of compassion replaces it. Mateo has been so strong for us, a pillar for the pack to lean on as we’ve navigated this uncharted territory. Until now, I haven’t really considered what sort of toll this might be having on him. Lucas and I may have lost a lover, but Mateo lost his best friend.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been…as attentive to you lately,” I trail off, shrugging slightly.

Mateo kisses my neck. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lydia. You needed time, and I am more than happy to give you the space you need. I’m not going to die if I don’t get my dick wet, I promise.”

We share a laugh, but I still feel a little residual guilt. I know it’s my trauma that’s making it hard to believe him, but it doesn’t change what I’m experiencing.

“If it comes down to it, you could always ask Lex for a hand,” I comment, deciding to push my guilt into a little box to be unpacked another day.

Mateo scoffs, and I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay. That’ll happen the day we can have a snowball fight in hell.”

I smirk to myself, glad for the distraction. Teasing Mateo and Lex about their undeniable sexual tension has been one of Lucas’s favorite past times, and he’s recently introduced me to how much fun it can be to get them worked up.

“Well, then maybe Lucas. You two have been hanging out more lately. I’m sure he’d—”

Mateo sputters over me, but he’s not conspicuously denying. Once he’s gathered his wits, he nips at my ear, squeezing me a little tighter.

“I said I’m fine, and I mean it,” he grumbles in my ear.

I giggle. “I know. But I’m just saying. If you and Lucas wanted to blow off some steam, and you let me watch, that’d be kinda hot,” I admit, flushing a little.

Mateo’s laugh is more of a sultry purr, and I shiver as his lips ghost over the skin of my throat. His hands, which had gone still for a moment, start up again, and I bite my lower lip to stop myself from groaning.

“Would you be the director, telling us what to do to please you? Or just the audience, touching your pretty little pussy while you enjoy the show?” Mateo asks, tone dripping with desire.

I gasp as he trails a hand over my stomach, fingers slipping below the hem and traveling back up to my breasts. His touch is firm, massaging me with just the right pressure to make me whimper his name. I lift my head as he moves his other arm, letting my head fall back into his chest as he surrounds me more completely. Ozone mixes with whiskey, and my nipples harden as I let myself drift in the sensations.

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