10. Bella

10

BELLA

I t shouldn't matter much, but River's lips are tantalizingly close to my skin as he whispers into my ear. Though I can't see what he is doing, when his tongue dips into the gap where the base of my neck meets my shoulder, I let out a shuddering moan.

No, it really shouldn't matter much. River releases a pent-up exhalation as he moves up my neck with his lips and teeth, kissing and grazing until he reaches my chin. Then, he whispers my name. And suddenly, it does. It does matter. My head turns, responding instinctively to the agonizing ache in my chest, and I kiss him, my tongue moving with the same intensity as his. His hands pull me closer, drawing me to him. Somehow, everything shifts, and I’m sitting on his lap while he cradles me, his back supported against the sofa. From the corner of my eye, I am well aware that Marcus is watching us. I welcome it.

River's hand travels down my neck and strokes my breasts through the fabric of my sweater. I moan into his mouth, spurring him on. He quickly grabs a fistful of it and yanks it up to look at the half-moons sloping above my bra. "Just as perfect as I remember," he murmurs, tracing a finger over them, his voice hoarse.

My response when he unclasps my bra with his free hand and grabs a handful of me, is a strangled cry. I'm so angry that I want him this much. I move my hips, my hands going to the fly of his jeans. I slap him on the chest a moment later when I can't pull it down. "Take your cock out."

Marcus, from where he's seated at the side, coughs. "Do you want me to leave?"

I fix my eyes on him. "No, not unless you would prefer to."

He chuckles. "A lady after my own heart."

Since that matter is sorted, I turn my attention back to River. He's fumbling with his fly. It goes down, and I dive in. A bit of coaxing, and then, his cock slips out, erect and perfect, just as I remembered it. The tip gleams with precum. "Fuck," I groan, my eyes glistening.

River isn't listening. He's busy lifting my long skirt up to my thighs. I get on my tiptoes, allowing him to bunch it up. With one hand, I pull my panties down halfway, my eyes never leaving his.

"Wait." If I'm doing this, I'm doing it right. I take two steps back and shimmy, letting my underwear fall to the floor. Kicking them aside, I sit back on my throne, straddling him. "Now, fuck me."

River's mouth is about to form words, words I don't have time for. I move my hand and rest it over his lips. "Not now."

His eyes glint. He nods and lifts me up, slightly, then slowly sits me down on his cock, inch by inch.

" Fuck ." My pleasure leaves my parted lips in a low hiss. I angle my head to the side, watching Marcus stroke himself while he stares at his best friend fucking me.

"You like this, don't you?" I begin moving up and down, dropping on River's cock with tiny grunts, my cunt sloshing as I fuck my ex.

Marcus laughs richly as he strokes his thick cock. "In fact, I do."

"And do you like this too?" I draw River closer, welcoming his tongue on my neck. He pulls my sweater up over my head and throws it aside. Buttons come undone, and my bra is almost ripped off. I don't stop, and neither does he, his balls slapping against the backs of my thighs as I ride him. He leans in and blows hot air on my nipples, one at a time, before circling them with his tongue.

"Yes," I sigh. "God, yes."

He mutters something, and then his hands anchor my hips in place, holding me firm, and he turns the tables on me. His cock rams into me, full speed, fucking me with the whole intensity of all the years we've been apart. My moans become cries, then screams. I'm about to come.

"Wait." Marcus's voice is guttural. Someone is knocking on the door.

The knocking grows, becoming more insistent. I roll in my bed, my eyes opening indignantly. What the fuck?

With a stifled gasp, I sit up, my chest heaving. No, thank God that was just a dream…right? I check under the covers. I'm still in my clothes. So, it was a dream.

"Are you seriously about to be disappointed right now?" I fire the question at myself, since I'm positively sulking. "Get it together."

"Bella?"

It's Marcus' voice that floats to me. I'm not sure I can handle an audience with him right now after what I've just done—me, or the dream me? Who knows? I clear my throat hastily. "What is it? I'm resting."

"Oh." There's a beat of silence, then Marcus speaks in more of an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. I wanted to ask if you'll be down for dinner."

My stomach rumbles immediately. I hadn't realized it, but I'm starving. I've barely eaten the entire day, save for the cup of hot chocolate. "Give me ten minutes," I call out.

"Sure." There's the sound of footsteps retreating, clunking comfortably down the stairs. I rush to the adjacent bathroom to splash some water on my face. A change of clothes later, I'm mostly ready to go down.

With quick steps, I go out and head to the kitchen, where I stop dead in my tracks. Because, standing at the head of the dining table and looking infuriatingly handsome, is River. He's involved in a conversation with Marcus, but his gaze diverts to me, and he immediately raises a pacifying hand. "I can eat in my own room," he says with a slight frown.

The audacity of this man to actually look annoyed at my presence. "You can eat here," I snap back with a frown of my own. "I'm adult enough not to cause a scene."

And hungry enough as well.

"Sit down, Bella." Marcus offers me a smile and a tumbler filled to the brim with a warm, golden-toned liquid. I give it a suspicious stare. "What's this?"

"Moonshine," he replies easily. "To soothe the bones and also…the nerves." The last bit he adds after a pause. I have this sudden urge to laugh, but I hold it together. This is what my nervous system does when I'm furious and hungry—it makes me do things that just annoy me to no end later.

"You didn't mention you made this kind of thing," I say, cocking a brow at Marcus.

He merely shrugs. "Some things are best left discovered."

He's not wrong about that.

I take the alcohol in my hand and give a hasty swig, and a split second later, I'm sputtering and wheezing as Marcus taps my back apologetically. If this is alcohol…then whatever I have drunk in the name of alcohol up until this moment has been flavored water. This tastes of forest winds, spiced liberally with joy and promise. This is danger in a mug. Fine by me.

River watches me as I gasp and pinch my nose, concern in his ridiculously beautiful eyes. "Is it too strong for you?"

"No, not at all," I choke out through a throat that is full of flames. "I'm totally fine. Thanks for asking this time."

A vein stands out on his forehead, and he mumbles something indistinct. Marcus examines the tumbler with a perplexed eye. "Maybe I've left it to rest for far too long. Alcohol can grow stronger with age."

"Ah, you don't say." I put the tumbler back down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The initial shock of honest-to-God, authentic alcohol has passed. Now, the taste lingers on the back of my tongue, mellow and slightly sweet. I lick my lower lip in appreciation. "You know what? I'll take another glass."

River stands rigidly, his body stiff. Marcus gives me a small, lopsided grin and refills my tumbler. Glass in hand, I sit down at the dining table. This has escaped my attention before, but the entire setup here is pleasingly vintage. It takes me back to my Grammy's kitchen, to sunlight filtering through chipped kitchen windows and worn wooden tables and chairs in soft gold. My nose suddenly picks up on familiar scents that aren't in the room with us—cinnamon, nutmeg, apple. I can almost hear the timer on the oven ticking and the clatter of pots and pans.

A phantom pressure rises in my throat as I look around me. Marcus is holding a worn recipe book in his hands, its cover stained and yellowing. I gesture at it. "Did you cook up something special?"

He looks down at the book and then at me. "You could say that." He chuckles. "Come on, sit down."

The aromas of roasted garlic and rosemary fill the air as Marcus moves to stir something in a pot. River pulls out a chair for me. I give him my sweetest smile and sit on the chair next to the one he's holding.

His face grows tighter, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Fair enough."

He moves as far away from me as he can and sits at the very end of the table. Marcus returns with dinner. He looks at me, then River, and sets the food down.

"Smells divine," I murmur, nodding my appreciation at him. The flicker of candlelight dances on his chiseled features, highlighting the shadows beneath his eyes.

Marcus beams at the platter of succulent roasted chicken with gravy and what looks to be braised Brussels sprouts and mash. "Enjoy. This is a family recipe passed down for generations."

River nods curtly, his eyes fixated on me with a smoldering intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. "Looks incredible, Marcus. Your culinary skills never cease to amaze."

I manage a weak smile, my hand trembling slightly as I reach for a slice of chicken. The savory juices burst onto my tongue, the rich flavor offering a momentary distraction from the unspoken words hanging in the air.

A crystal decanter filled with a deep red wine is passed around, and Marcus raises his glass in a toast. "To good friends, good food, and second chances."

The clink of our glasses is a hollow echo in the suffocating silence that follows.

Clearing my throat, I try to sound nonchalant. "So, River, it's been a while. What have you been up to?"

He doesn't blink, his gaze locked onto mine as if searching for the truth hidden in my soul. "I retired a few years ago. Needed a change of pace."

I do my best not to throw a spoonful of food at him. "Retired?" My brows raise of their own volition. "You were so passionate about your work. What prompted the sudden change?"

River's eyes darken, a flicker flashing across his face. "Sometimes, life throws you a curveball. You make a choice, a wrong one, and everything you've built crumbles like a house of cards."

The weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, suffocating the conversation. Marcus busies himself in cutting more chicken, but I'm done.

My fork clatters onto my plate, the appetite I once had vanishing into thin air.

"What kind of choice?" I whisper, my voice barely a breath.

A muscle twitches in his jaw and he finally breaks my gaze to look away, into the distance. "The kind that haunts you in your dreams, Bella. The kind that shatters your soul and leaves you with nothing but regrets."

"So," Marcus intervenes with a good-natured smile, "Bella, what do you have planned for tomorrow?"

I push my plate away. "Nothing. I hope to survive, and I hope to be left alone." It isn't my intention to be cruel to him—he's lovely, and he seems genuinely nice. In fact, it's more and more apparent that I have a crush on him—but being around River is all too much right now.

"Ah," he replies, tearing into a piece of bread thoughtfully. "Well, the good news is the worst of the storm is behind us," he says between mouthfuls, spraying out breadcrumbs as he attempts to lighten the mood, "and we have electricity, so hot water is at your disposal. And we have a movie room if you're into that kind of thing."

I sigh reluctantly. A movie in fuzzy socks, wrapped in a cozy blanket does sound pretty nice. As does a hot shower. "Thanks, Marcus. You've been incredible."

He raises a hand. "Speak nothing of it. You're our guest."

"So I'm repeatedly reminded," I mutter under my breath. I stand up. "If there's nothing else, may I be excused?"

Marcus doesn't say anything further. I stride out of the kitchen with quick steps, intending to get to my room as fast as possible. Halfway up the stairs, River's voice carries to me. "Bella, wait."

Oh, hell no.

I pay no heed to him and climb away. He catches up near my room and grabs hold of my hand. I whirl around, fire spurting out of my eyes as I wrench my arm away from him. "How dare you touch me?" I ask, my lips, my whole body, shaking as I attempt to steady myself. It's impossible when he's this close, when he's looking at me with raw need in his ridiculously beautiful eyes, when his lips are parted in an apology.

"I'm not trying to make this difficult for you," he replies tersely, his voice hoarse. "I–I can't forget you, Bella. I'll never forget you."

This time, I stomp my foot down, angry tears beginning to fall. "Well, you sure as hell did a great job trying to," I shout at him. "Get away from me!"

His eyes—how I loved the gentle burn of yearning in them—now glint with a manic intensity. "Damn it, Bella, I did what I did because I loved you."

His words hit me like a physical blow, a desperate plea disguised as a justification. My heart pounds chaotically in my chest. I want to believe him, to melt into his embrace and forget the years of pain, but the betrayal is a wound too deep to heal with mere words.

"Love?" I spat, my voice thick with bitterness. "You call abandoning me love? You call shattering my dreams and leaving me to pick up the pieces love?"

River's grip tightens, his fingers digging into my skin as if to anchor me to him. "It was the hardest decision I ever made, Bella. But I believed it was the right one. For you. For us."

My breath hitches in my throat, his proximity awakening a longing I had desperately tried to suppress. His scent, a familiar mix of sandalwood and leather, fills my senses, weakening my resolve. I want to give in, to surrender to the intoxicating pull of his embrace, but I can't. Not yet.

"You were wrong, River," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "You were so, so wrong."

For a fleeting moment, I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a chink in the armor he has built around himself. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it vanishes. He releases me, his hand falling limply to his side.

"I apologize, Bella," he says, his voice hollow and devoid of emotion. "I never meant to hurt you."

And with that, he turns and leaves the room, leaving me standing there, trembling with a mixture of anger, regret, and a lingering ache in my heart.

Two hours pass by. Shortly after midnight, I realize how hungry I am. I'd kill for a bit of the chicken now, but I'm not sure there's any left.

A bit of cursing later, I decide to try my luck downstairs. "Please, no more surprises," I mutter under my breath as I descend the stairs.

But as I enter the kitchen, my heart stops. Sitting at the table, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, is Wyatt. A slow smile spreads across his face as he looks directly at me.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, his voice laced with amusement. "Looks like you could use a drink."