Cynda and the City Doctor - Theodora Taylor Page 0,42

the opposite. I’m shamefully slick with desire. And his fingers at my clit while he pumps into me from behind makes it even worse.

I don’t care what he’s saying or how cruel his voice sounds in my ear. Soon I’m little more than a desperate animal caged inside his tight hold.

My legs spread out underneath him. Wanting this. Wanting more. Whatever he’s willing to give.

There’s no smooth roll this time. He moves inside me in wild, unhinged jerks. Rough, and so hard, it’s difficult to believe he came just a few minutes ago. But whatever happened before, there’s no denying it now. He’s completely out of control as he takes me hard and fast.

Another orgasm begins to build, and I claw at the covers, fighting the pleasure.

But there’s no fighting this. I’m helpless against the rising tide. And just a few moments later a climax overtakes me, so big, it leaves me choked and gasping for air.

Rhys’s pumps into me even faster, then comes with a coarse yell just a few moments after me. I find out then that Rhys did put on a condom before taking me a second time. And my whole body heats with shame because I didn’t check.

For a little while, we lay there. Him covering me like a very heavy blanket. Me, trying to figure out what just happened.

Then he growls low in my ear, “No…no, I can’t stop hating you.”

And with that, he pushes himself up from the bed.

I watch as he grabs his clothes and disappears into the bathroom without another word. Leaving me alone, naked and trembling.

By the time he comes back out, I can’t look him in the eye.

Which is why the shirt he tosses me seems to drop down into my eye line, like a gift from God. It’s another tee shirt.

I’m about to tell him I don’t need to borrow his clothes since there’s plenty of things for me to wear in the suitcase E left outside the back house door yesterday. But I stop when I see that it’s his old Death Buddha shirt. I remember it well. He used to wear it to afternoon brunch after we passed Sunday mornings making lazy love in his bed.

He told me once that he loved the band so much, that he’d actually taken time off and bought tickets back to London to attend all three of their shows in England the last time they toured Europe.

That had been three years ago. And I remember teasing him about being a stan, not a fan. Then having to explain to him what a stan was.

We’d laughed at that brunch.

But neither of us was laughing now. Was he serious about moving here just for me?

And how should I feel about it?

Instead of trying to answer that question, I disappear into the bathroom with his t-shirt and turn on the water. I make it hot to the point of scalding, but even that’s not enough to shake me out of my daze.

It’s raining outside when I come out of the bathroom. And to my surprise, Rhys isn’t sitting at my Grandma’s little desk with his laptop when I come out. He’s on the couch typing in front of the TV.

I glance at the TV. There’s a Vox Mind Explained episode about the history and evolution of cricket in India.

“Put on whatever you want,” he tells me, nodding toward the remote, sitting on the couch beside him. “I’m just doing paperwork.”

After a moment of hesitation, I gingerly sit down at the opposite end of the couch. But I don’t take the remote. I watch old black and white footage of proper Indians playing cricket instead, while the narrator explains how long games used to take.

“Cynda…” he says after a few moments.

“Yes?”

“I’m granting your request to watch television with you. I expect you to sit closer.”

I inwardly jolt…then move a little closer.

He shuts his laptop with a very deliberate motion and sets it aside. “Closer…”

I pick up the remote, the last barrier between us. And this time I move close enough to touch.

Then I tentatively place my head on his shoulder like I used to when it was just the two of us watching TV after those afternoon brunches—usually some crime show or talent competition.

A strange peace washes over me when I lay my head on his shoulder. But I can’t fully relax until I see how he responds.

Several seconds tick by with the narrator relaying how cricket morphed from a fussy, all-day event in India