Page 55 of Bittersweet & Strange

The thought stops me.

I’d come back to the castle.

To him.

I look at Rhys sleeping beside me. His face is different when he sleeps. The perpetual tension around his mouth is gone, and there’s no suspicion in his expression, no anger waiting to surface. He simply looks tired.

My chest aches.

There’s a part of me that cares deeply for him now, despite every reason I have not to. Another part remains frightened of him because I know how quickly these gentle moments can disappear. Then there’s the part that still aches for everything that was taken from me. My home. My father. The freedom to decide where I wake up in the morning and where I lay my head at night.

All three parts exist at once.

That’s what makes this so difficult.

I don’t want to choose between my father and Rhys. I don’t want to choose between home and this strange life I’ve begun building inside the castle. I just want Rhys to trust me enough to open the door and believe I’ll walk back through it.

I lower my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. His arm tightens around me in his sleep.

Maybe one day he’ll understand.

I don’t want an open door because I’m planning to leave.

I want it because I want staying to be my choice.

22

Rhys

“What do you say to just staying in bed all day?” Boone asks. He props himself up on his elbows, and the sheet slides down his torso until it gathers loosely around his waist.

“All day?” I ask. “What about—”

“Leave it,” he interrupts. “The garden will need tending tomorrow, and we can eat whatever doesn’t require the stove.”

He smiles at me, and there’s something lazy and content about it that makes leaving this room considerably less appealing than it was a moment ago. Then his smile slowly transforms into a grin.

“Maybe you could do that thing with your mouth again.”

My brow lifts. “Oh, could I?”

“Have you anything better to do?”

I rack my brain for something that genuinely requires my attention, but the thought of his dick in my mouth sounds infinitely better than anything I had planned for the day. I climb onto the bed and shove him onto his back before catching the sheet and ripping it away from him.

Boone laughs as it sails onto the floor.

The sound is rich and completely unrestrained. It wraps around me in a way I’m still not accustomed to. There was a time when laughter never existed inside these rooms. Now I find myself doing ridiculous things simply because I want to hear it again.

His laughter breaks into a moan when I wrap my hand around him and stroke. One of his legs comes up immediately. Partly to shield himself and partly because the movement seems reflexive.

His eyes close as his head sinks farther into the pillow. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, but it does little to contain the sound that escapes him.

“Oh God,” he murmurs. “That feels so good.”

A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.

His eyes open.