Alison Storm

Chapter 22

Alison

I could have told Rhys he had to go out there in anything but swimwear, seeing as he doesn't have swimming trunks here. Fortunately for him, I'm a decent person to people I like, so, naturally, I went to check my brother's closet.

Now, I know you may think it's weird to give a twenty-five-year-old swimming trunks from your sixteen-year-old brother. Good thing Connor has an entire room filled with clothes he never even thought about wearing for various reasons.

They could be too big, too small, too much unlike him. Anything, really. Thanks to Vienna being somewhat active on social media—and probably an attempt for companies to get on the good side of my father—clothes of any kind just seem to be running in and out of this house.

But...that doesn't mean Rhys will get awesome new swimming trunks at no costs for him.

As I looked through Connor's clothes, I was rather quick to find a pair that is anything but Rhys's style. And I mean anything but.

They're pink. Pink, people. He loathes pink. AND they have some yellow-glittery rubber duckies on them!

I LOVE THEM.

He's going to hate them, and I will love every second of it.

What? I said decent person, not a nice one.

"No, love, they look terrible," Rhys says as I show him the awesome swimming trunks. He sighs heavily when I throw them over to him. He could at least look at them up-close. "Allie, they're terrible."

"They are a work of art, Sir Rhys St. James." I grin at him widely, innocently plopping down on my bed. I cross my legs, waiting for my boyfriend to strip and put on the trunks I know will not look good on him.

There's a reason my brother didn't think twice before he threw them into the deepest, darkest corner of his closet. And because they're a little too big for him, but we all know that wasn't Connor's reason.

"They belong in a cage and kept away from anything with a vision, or drowned in the sea for sharks to eat, Miss Alison Rose Storm."

"Well, put them on then. Don't look down at yourself and you won't see them. And as soon as you go into the water, who knows, maybe a shark will stop by to rip—" I shudder. "You know what, I don't even want to say it out loud."

Rhys leans against my bathroom door, smirking at me with raised eyebrows. "Say it, love. You already started your sentence."

"I'd rather not."

"Can't be anything that bad, now, can it?" He makes his way over to me, his eyes locked with mine even when he stands right in front of me, now looking down at me.

Rhys cocks his head to the side, keeping that smirk of his on his lips as he waits for me to speak. But when I don't, he leans down. With his lips so close to mine that I can almost taste him on my tongue, he says, "I'd rather you rip my clothes off, love, not some shark."

Is it humanly possible to make a room seem like the firey pits of hell? Cause if not, I don't think Rhys is human.

Without hesitation—okay, maybe with a little hesitation—I bring my hands to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. But I change my mind mid taking his shirt off. I mean, why take it off when I can just...

I press the palms of my hands to his abs, letting the shirt fall back down. Rhys shivers under my touch, but he doesn't tell me to remove my hands from him. So I don't.

Our eyes stay locked when I slide my hands a little bit further up until they rest right on his pecks. He smiles softly, then brings his arms down to my body, lifting me up by my thighs.