Monroe

FOURTEEN

RIGGS

I enter the lobby of my building, exhausted from a long day of practice. I'm finally back in the rotation, so I spent the day preparing to take the mound for the first time this season. We got home yesterday from the first three games of our series in New Orleans, and we play here in Daytona tomorrow night.

I spoke with Taylor, and she told me that although we didn't get to interact with the Durst family on the night of the charity event, everybody noticed a change in my demeanor. She's been lobbying hard for me, and her words of praise combined with the way Monroe commanded the entire room have certainly paid off. I don't know if trading me is still something they're considering, but the fact that I'll be pitching tomorrow night is a positive thing.

"Yes, I have a delivery for suite seven forty-two," I overhear a young woman say as I pass the concierge desk. I turn in her direction immediately .

"I'll take that," I tell her. "That's mine. My girlfriend must have made an order." I'm a little shocked at how quickly the term rolls off my tongue, considering I've really only had a couple of chances to use it in public, but I guess it's better than slipping around others and forgetting who Monroe is supposed to be to me.

The girl looks back to the concierge, who gives a tight nod in agreement. She extends her arm, the plastic drugstore bag dangling from her fingers for me to take as I reach forward.

"Thank you," I say before turning and walking toward the elevator, pressing the button to go up and waiting for the doors to slide open. My curiosity gets the better of me and I peek into the bag, finding a box of tampons and some ibuprofen.

"Great," I mutter to myself. Although she's been pretty sweet lately, I imagine that a menstruating Monroe is some kind of a beast. My sister Grace used to have very heavy and painful periods when she was younger, and she always made sure the whole house knew she was feeling less than her best. It got to the point where Tanner and I scoured the internet for home remedies so she'd stop being so mean to us. That was why I did it, at least. But I have a feeling that he just struggled with the fact that she was suffering. He's always been so protective over her, and now that they're married, all of his actions throughout our younger years make a hell of a lot more sense.

The doors slide open, and I enter the elevator, nodding to the attendant who presses the number for my floor. The ride is short since we don't make any other stops. It's a little later than I normally get back from practice, so most of the people who live here have probably been home from work for a while.

I prepare myself for whatever attitude is about to be slung my way as I finally reach the door to my condo and push my way in. The first thing I notice is how eerily quiet it is. For the past few weeks that Monroe has been here, she's usually perched against the arm of the sofa at this time, working on her website or business plan. But when I peek into the living room, she's nowhere to be found.

"Mayhem? Are you here?" I ask, already knowing that she is. We have assigned parking spaces in this building, and hers is right next to mine. Her BMW was exactly where it was when I left this morning, so I know she's home.

My heart starts racing in my chest as I walk toward the staircase, hoping she's just in her room or something. But when I get about halfway up, I hear a pained moan coming from the hallway. I'm immediately on high alert, picking up my speed and racing to the top. As soon as I turn I see a sight that terrifies me to my fucking core.

Curled up in a ball on the floor right outside the bathroom is Monroe, wearing only an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. I can tell immediately that this isn't like the day in the kitchen when she was faking an injury. This is serious. She's completely still, but rapid, shallow inhales are moving her back up and down, so I know she's at least alive and breathing. I drop the bag from my hand, run to her side, and kneel down.

"Hey," I say, carefully placing my hand on her shoulder. A low groan comes from her body as she slowly turns toward me and opens her eyes. "What happened? Are you okay? "

"I'm fine. I just don't feel good," she replies weakly, attempting to turn herself and push up onto her hands and knees. She moves to crawl toward her room, but I stop her with a hand on her arm.

I know she probably doesn't want to let me in on the fact that she's having her period, but since I already know, I reach down and scoop her up into my arms. She halfheartedly tries to fight me but ends up sinking into my body and laying her head on my shoulder as she whimpers quietly.

I crouch down, briefly letting go with the hand supporting her back to pick up the drugstore bag from the floor and head down the hall. I bypass her room completely, turning into my own and gently laying her on the bed. She goes to protest, but I interrupt before she can. "This room has an attached bathroom, so it'll be easier for you. You won't have to walk as far."

She shakes her head. "I can't lie in your bed, Riggs. I might?—"

"I'll grab a towel for you to lie on if that makes you feel better," I say, letting her know I understand why she's not feeling well. "But I promise you, a little blood doesn't scare me."

Her eyes go wide with worry for just a moment, but I can tell she's too weak to argue with me. I don't need an answer from her anyway. She's not going anywhere.

I take the bag into the bathroom, pulling out the ibuprofen and filling one of the small glasses next to my sink with water. Opening the closet, I find a dark towel because I have a feeling that if she does happen to stain it, it'll make her freak out more. Tossing it into the warmer for a minute, I bring her the meds .

"Can you take these for me?" I ask, helping her sit up so she can swallow them before making my way back to the bathroom and setting everything on the counter. I wash my hands quickly and grab the warm towel on my way out the door. I don't have a heating pad upstairs, but hopefully this'll ease some of her pain.

Returning to the bed, I gently pat her tattooed thigh. I fight to stop myself from focusing on the large piece because there's so much detail that I'm sure I could study it for hours. Maybe someday she'll let me.

"Lift for me," I order softly, and she obeys, pushing her hips up off the mattress. She goes to grab the towel, but I don't let her as I slide it under her body. She drops back down, swallowing thickly as she looks at me through tired eyes. I can see the gratitude in them, even if she doesn't want to admit it out loud.

"Anything else I can do to make you feel better?" I ask, hoping she'll be honest with me. I've seen my sister fight through this so many times, and if there's something I can do to ease Monroe's discomfort, I want to help.

She shakes her head. "I just have to wait it out. The first couple of days are always the worst, but this one is on another level. I promise I'll be fine in time for your game tomorrow."

I choke on a laugh, surprised that that's what's on her mind right now. "If you're still feeling like this tomorrow, there's no way in hell you're getting up to go out. I won't have you leaving to parade yourself around in front of people who don't matter when you're in pain." She's out of her goddamn mind if she thinks I'll allow her to show up at the stadium when she can't even walk right now.

She gives me a small smile, but it's cut short as she pitches forward, both hands around her abdomen. She groans in pain, and my primal instinct to protect her kicks in before I can stop it. I rip my shirt over my head and slide my sweatpants down so I'm standing in only my boxer briefs before lying next to her in the bed. Her body goes stiff, and she tries to push away from me, but I don't let her.

"Please," I beg, my voice trembling with the adrenaline coursing through me. "Let me help you." She wants to defy me by putting space between us, but she's too physically weak. I want to kick my own ass for making her feel like she can't trust me to care for her. I shouldn't have fought her anger about my omissions with more anger that day at the boutique. I should've just explained to her that I wanted to get to know her without my job being the elephant in the room. I had never experienced the desire for more with anyone before that night, and I definitely didn't handle the rejection well.

I see the moment she finally accepts my offer as the tension in her shoulders loosens. She takes a deep breath and nods, snuggling into my warm skin. I know I shouldn't, but I press my nose into her hair, inhaling the scent that's haunted my dreams since that night in Boston. My cock wakes up, beginning to harden under my briefs, but I will my erection away. The last thing she needs is to know what having her here in such a vulnerable state is doing to me.

"Can you roll over with your back to me?" I ask, knowing it'll be easier to keep my body's natural reaction a secret, but I also feel like I can ease her pain better if I have access to her back.

She nods her head and rolls over onto her side. I gently ghost my hands under the back of her shirt that's already ridden up to her waist and start by applying a small amount of pressure at the bottom of her spine. She sighs in relief, so I take my time massaging her tight muscles.

Just as she starts to relax into the mattress, her body jolts, and she pulls her knees up toward her stomach. I know her cramps must be terrible, so I take a chance and slide my hand to the front of her abdomen. At this point, she doesn't even have the energy to protest as I smooth my hand over her velvet skin, rubbing light circles right above her panty line.

"Go to sleep, Mayhem," I whisper, pressing my lips to the back of her head and letting them linger. I feel her breathing slowly begin to even out as she drifts off, and there's not a single thing that could stop me from following with her in my arms.

MONROE

I wake slowly, attempting to fight it because I haven't been this comfortable in a long time. The bed is like a cloud, making me feel warm and secure under the thin down comforter. I crack one eye open to find rays of sunlight bleeding through the curtains. I can't believe I slept that long.

Moving to roll onto my back, I realize I'm being held in place by a strong, muscular arm. Memories from last night race back into my brain, and I recall Riggs finding me on the floor in the hallway. I inwardly groan because I must have looked like such an idiot, unable to handle a few measly cramps. In my defense, these are the worst ones I've ever had .

When I was sixteen, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome. My periods were all over the place, and sometimes the symptoms were so debilitating that I couldn't even go to school. I went through several brands of birth control to keep it at bay, and while the one I'm on now does the best job of them all, sometimes it's still a struggle. I had a feeling last week when I knew it would be coming that it was going to be a bad one, and I was right. I went through so many tampons yesterday, that I had to order a box for delivery because I was in too much agony to drive to the drugstore. All I wanted to do was sleep until it went away, but the fact that my uterus was in revolt kept me from doing so. It wasn't until Riggs started rubbing my back and belly that I finally felt good enough to doze off.

Being trapped under him brings me back to the night we spent together. The following morning, I had to slip out from this same grip to leave before he woke up. Thankfully, now I know how heavy of a sleeper he is, because I'm going to have to pull that maneuver again to go to the bathroom.

This time, I'm less graceful as I pick his arm up and roll away. It drops back onto the bed, and he mumbles something unintelligible before his body relaxes into the mattress. I slide my legs off the side, looking back to make sure I didn't leak while we slept. Thankfully, my flow has obviously slowed, because the sheets and towel are clean. Unfortunately, the cramps still seem to be in full force, making it hard to stand up straight when my feet hit the floor.

I make my way into the bathroom while keeping steady pressure on my abdomen with my hand to quell the nagging ache. Closing and locking the door behind me, I spot the new box of tampons on the counter. I quickly do my business, wash my hands, and head back out.

For a moment, I consider going to my own room. But I know if I do, I'll just end up feeling as bad as I did yesterday. Having the weight of him behind me definitely helped, so even though I know I probably shouldn't, I crawl back into bed and slide under his arm, letting him spoon me. He tightens his hold on my waist, and I sink back into his chest with a contented sigh.

He inhales deeply, and his thumb immediately begins moving back and forth across my lower stomach. "Did you sleep okay?" he asks, and even though I feel like it could fall out of my body any minute, my pussy clenches at the deep rasp of his tone. Good fucking God, I need to get myself in check. I happen to know from experience that this man's penis is almost as big as my forearm, and the last thing I need right now is to have it shoved inside my already pissed off body.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, still crampy, but not as bad as yesterday."

"Mmmm," he hums, burying his face into the back of my hair like he did when he first got in bed with me. "I have an idea, but you have to promise to hear me out before you shoot it down."

I immediately want to say no, because if he has to preface it like that, I already know it's bad news. But he took such good care of me last night when he didn't have to, so I'll give him a chance to explain himself before I disagree with whatever his plan is. "What?"

"Let me give you an orgasm," he says calmly .

I choke on a gasp. "No! Are you crazy?" I ask, attempting to move away from him. But of course, he just tightens his hold. "We're definitely not doing that!"

"C'mon, Monroe," he argues. "It's a scientific fact that uterine contractions are a great remedy for period cramps."

I want to dispute this claim, but I'm pretty sure he's not wrong. "How do you know that?" I ask.

I feel his arm move as his shoulder shrugs behind me. "Grace used to get really bad cramps, so Tanner and I would research ways to make her feel better. He always joked with me that he could try giving her an orgasm to help her. Looking back now, though? He was probably being serious."

I can't help but giggle, because now that the two of them are married and we know they've been in love practically their whole lives, I imagine that teenage Grace would've been totally down with that plan.

"It doesn't have to mean anything, Monroe," he says quietly. "Just let me make you feel good."

I want to resist. My brain is telling me to shoot this idea down, go to my room, and give it a try on my own. But when his pinky finger dips under the waistband of my underwear, my clit throbs with need. Even just the small movement has me so turned on, that a quiet whimper leaves my body as he pushes a little lower.

"Riggs, I'm bleeding. It's gross," I say on a harsh exhale. I'm trying my best, but failing to make him stop. Probably because, subconsciously, I don't want him to.

"I thought I told you I'm not scared of a little blood," he says into my ear, making me shiver. "It's quite the opposite, actually." I'm not sure what he means by that, but words are getting harder to comprehend by the minute as he rubs his fingertips back and forth over my shaved mound. "Can I?" he asks again.

My breath is coming out in shallow pants as I finally give in, nodding my head in consent. He lets out a low hum against my ear as his middle finger finally makes contact with my already swollen center. My legs spread on their own accord, allowing him to sneak a knee between them, wrapping his ankle around mine and pulling me wider.

"Look at you, being such a brave girl," he says softly as he continues working my clit, exploring my piercing but not saying anything about it. "You're going to feel so much better after this."

I whimper at his praise, getting more worked up by the second. When we were together last time, he wasn't like this. He was full of need, going from zero to feral almost in an instant. But now? He's gentle and encouraging.

"Does this feel good, sweet thing? Will you be able to get there?" he asks, prompting me to nod my head. I know I'll be able to come like this. I'm already on my way.

I try not to think of how awkward things will be after this is over, and just let myself enjoy the break from the pain I've been going through for the last couple of days. My hips tip forward, trying to create even more friction, which he gives by pressing harder against my warm, sensitive skin. He doesn't slow down or change tactics as I near the summit, heat coiling tightly in the pit of my stomach. I feel like a rubber band that's being pulled to its absolute limit, ready to snap with every passing second of his touch on my body. I moan loudly as my orgasm barrels through me, making sparks explode behind my closed eyes as I shake uncontrollably. Riding the wave of pleasure, I succumb to the floaty feeling and try to hold onto it for as long as I can. He keeps going as the spasms inside me begin to subside, and he was right. I can feel the cramps melt away, leaving my body buzzing with satisfaction.

I expect him to stop, but he just keeps going, rubbing me with a gentle pressure right to my overstimulated bundle of nerves. My thighs instinctually try to close, but he tightens his ankle around my leg, keeping me spread open. I try to fight him off because it's way too much, but he only doubles down, tugging on the barbell that decorates my clitoral hood before massaging it with fervor. "Come for me again. Give me another one," he growls.

"I—I can't," I whimper. I've never orgasmed back-to-back without a break in my life, and I doubt I'll be starting now.

"You can," he argues. "Fight through the pain. I promise you'll come harder than you ever have."

As he continues, I feel the discomfort as it blooms into an intense pleasure. At first, I'm in disbelief that I'm so close to falling over again already, but when he licks a hot line from my neck to my ear, sinking his teeth into my lobe, I go off like a fucking firework. My legs tremble and open impossibly wide as I come, giving him access to wring every last ounce of the climax from my body. I'm pretty sure I black out for a minute, because the next thing I know, he's pulling his hand from my panties and resuming his gentle circles on my abdomen.

But I don't even need it. My cramps are completely gone .

"You did so good," he praises quietly as I turn to mush, sinking back into his chest. "Feel better?"

"Mhmm," I sigh contentedly, closing my eyes and drifting back off, too satisfied to worry about the aftermath.