Page 91 of South of The Skyway

I felt nothing but relief when we made our way off the deck and back to the ferry to Rhyett’s car. Nothing but relief as his truck lights flashed when he pressed the button on the fob. Because tonight, after an evening enjoying fine dining and an unbeatable atmosphere, I got to go home and enjoy Rhyett Rhodes.

FORTY-ONE

RHYETT

“I think…you drained out…all my brain cells.”

Sweat rolled down my arms as I hit the bed on a breathless laugh. “That’s…a distinct possibility,” I panted in a lust-filled haze.

“Can’t…feel my legs…everything is tingling.”

“Good, maybe you’ll sleep.”

Brexley’s hand limply landed on my chest. When I turned to look at her, her eyes were mostly lidded, like she couldn’t quite summon the energy to open them.

“What was that?”

“Too tired…to hit you.”

“Five orgasms, and that’s how you thank me?”

“Shhhh,” she hissed. “I’m delightful.”

The distinct sensation of muscle fatigue fought my attempt at a smile. Was it possible to over-smile? Smile overdose? If that was a thing, Brexley had made me achieve it. Hell, I didn’t think I could get hard again if I fucking tried. She’d drained me dry, and to my immense satisfaction, it seemed like I’d done the same to her.

When my skin had cooled, I rolled over on my side, dragging her back against me. Her satisfied hum was a balm my soul never knew it needed. Paired with her perky little ass wiggling back against my still naked groin, I was in the kind of heaven men only dream of.

“Goodnight, Ace.”

“Hmnm.”

I exhaled a light chuckle, nuzzling tighter against her as we melted into the pillow-top mattress, her neck draped over my bicep and belly rising and falling in relaxed little swells beneath the opposite arm. This was what serenity felt like. The quiet moments stolen away from the hustle of the city and the grind of work. The breaths between orders and inventory.

Speakeasy a few weeks from being up and running, the estate on its heels, and Brex’s novel in the second round of edits with Noel, life felt like it was barreling on forward. I lived for the quiet reprieve these days.

For the caress of her exhale tickling the hair across my arm. The goosebumps that lined her tan skin when she came on my hand. The breath before a moan and the demand it held over my body. Or the rich sound of her gasp as she wrote and thought of something genius. Brexley brought a bright flame to life, the kind that warmed a space and made it feel like home—a home I could see welcoming children in, raising them up to be incredible Rhodes. For the first time in my life, I could imagine what that future would look like. What it would look likewith her. And the best part was I’d never expected to find that. Certainly not here.

When her body finally liquified into sleep in my arms, I nuzzled against her neck and breathed, “I love you, Brexley Snows.”

* * *

The metallic clangof the aluminum door slamming shut jerked me from a dead sleep, sending me jackknifing off the mattress. I’d been down here for enough time to know it took a good deal of effort to slam the damn thing.

“I’m armed!” I bellowed, lunging across Brexley for the gun safe by our bed, and barreling out of our room, gun trained on the floor as adrenaline rushed through my veins. Sleep still blurring my vision, I ran down the three stairs, cursing as a familiar cacophony filled my ears.

“Keep your pants on, big guy!”

“Jesus, Jameson,” I growled as I ambled around the corner, rubbing at the crick in my neck from jolting upright and cursing my nosy siblings with their impromptu arrival. Because where one went, the others wouldinevitablyfollow.

Blinking bleary eyes, I meandered into the tight kitchen, entirely unsurprised to see every available seat filled. Standard Rhodes protocol: invade, occupy, improve, move on, usually leaving some inevitable piece of clothing behind. Jameson was standing over the stove, a stack of Rhodes’ family buttermilk pancakes towering precariously on the island behind him. His dark hair was a touch longer than when I’d left, beard in its usual unkempt state. Elora was typing away at the long tabletop I’d installed along the back of the rig, legs crisscrossed in the scoop seat bar stool, with bulky headphones punctuating her short, golden-brown hair. Entirely oblivious to the fact that they’d just scared the daylights out of me. I turned my attention back to the prick at the stove.

“Trying to get yourself killed?”

“And here I thought a pancake breakfast would be a nice way to wake up.” My asshole of a brother turned to face me, his chest bare except for the towel tossed over his shoulder. I attempted to blink the sleep away as his eyes widened, head canting. Jameson’s fuzzy face twisted into the most irritatingly arrogant smirk, pointedly scanning me from head to toe.

“Maybe you’re a little…too excited to see me.” Jameson’s brow arch, that said I-have-dirt-on-Rhyett, was the point at which I realized what was so fucking funny. The air conditioner came to life just in time for the cold to brush over mystill-nakedass.

“Jesus. Fuck,” I growled, dropping a hand from my pistol to cover my morning wood. A particularly vivid dream about Brexley had been so rudely interrupted.

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