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“I think you’ve had too much to drink. I make it a habit never to play or take advantage of the women I play with when there is any doubt in my mind that they’re inebriated or not in full control of their faculties.”
“I don’t want to calm down. In fact, I was having a lovely time, and then you found something ugly, and all play stopped. So much for accepting a woman’s body the way it is. I suspect you’ve got more than your fair share of scars. So, since play has stopped, you wouldn’t happen to have a vibrator or some other toy I can use to get off, would you?”
She could hear the ugly words and tone coming out of her mouth but couldn’t seem to stop them. It seemed her choice was tears or ugly. Right now, she preferred ugly. She didn’t want Brock to see how deeply his rejection had hurt her. She should have known. Every other woman at Cerberus and the club was gorgeous and practically perfect, she was sure. Brock just didn’t know how to deal with someone who was as far away from perfect as she was. And now he wouldn’t have to.
“Baby girl, the kind of toys I’d like to use on you have nothing to do with bringing you to orgasm.”
Alicia shoved at his arms, and this time they gave way. Why did it make her want to cry even more that he obviously didn’t want to hold her? It didn’t matter. He’d shown his true colors, and it was best that she knew that now. She was overreacting and she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Something about Brock made her feel deliciously out of control, and that she couldn’t allow. Standing up, she headed up the stairs to her room.
Once inside, she took off her clothes, folding them neatly on top of the dresser. She hadn’t unpacked any of the other things Camille had picked up. She’d take them back in the morning. If Camille wouldn’t buy the size she wanted, she’d just do without and wear the same thing to work until she could get away and find some place to start over again.
Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to fall. Maybe if she’d been one of those pretty criers, she might have just thrown herself on the bed and let it all out—fear, anger, tension. Instead, she walked into the shower, turning on the rainfall showerhead, and sighed. Stepping under the water, she leaned against the tile wall so that the water pelted her back, hoping between the shower and the heater/fan she’d turned on, no one would hear her.
Did he really believe she was drunk? She knew she was a lightweight, but there was no way she was incapacitated. Where did he get off thinking she was drunk? She was in complete control of her faculties. No, that had just been a handy excuse for realizing she wasn’t perfect. She’d felt the hard-on pressed against her, but apparently, he was happy with his hand.
After Brock found out they didn’t know as much about her as they thought and was concerned that she was in danger, Alicia had always planned to lull Cerberus into a false sense of complacency and then slip away, but damn, she had really wanted a night or two or three with Brock. She could have carried that memory with her for the rest of whatever time she had left, but so be it.
Alicia closed her eyes, letting her fingers trail down her body the way his had done. If she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, she could almost imagine they were his. His hands had been roughly textured—not those of a metrosexual guy who got manicures—but they’d felt so right. Every whorl and callus had brought something new and exciting to his fondling.
She used one hand for support as she leaned against the back wall, feeling her tears starting to fall and wash away with the warm, steamy water. She used the other to cup first one breast and then the other, using her thumb to flick her nipples before pinching and tugging at them. It felt so good—not as good as Brock, but that was never going to happen. She let her hand drift down to her nether region as she leaned her head back and allowed the shower to further stimulate her nipples. She imagined it was his mouth that was wet and hot, encompassing them and sucking hard.
Her hand found her clit. She needed this; she’d needed him, but that wasn’t happening. She moved her hand from her engorged clit down to her wet pussy. She fantasized that it was his hand and that he was standing behind her with his hard cock pressed against her. What might it have been like to be impaled on his cock with her legs wrapped around him as he carried her up the stairs and to his bed?
That had never been a possibility, but she had a book in her Kindle that had a scene just like that. She’d re-read the book many a time, but that scene she had practically worn out. The hero had just claimed the woman as his mate, and she was distraught and desperate as she clung to him. There had been a happily ever after for her, but then her wolf-shifter mate had been fated to her. How lovely might that be?
It didn’t matter. She reached up to one of the handheld body sprays, spread her labia and let the hot water finish the job Brock and her own hand had started. Once she’d come, she washed herself clean, dried off, and then went to bed. Curling up in a ball, she hugged the pillow and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
The morning dawned far too early. She’d almost convinced herself that she could grab a few hours of sleep—sleep which she had to admit that even with all the hurt and turmoil had been relatively peaceful, with none of the nightmares she’d become accustomed to. When the alarm went off, she groaned, rolled out of bed, and stumbled into the bath.
One look in the mirror and she could see while the sleep had done her mind and body some good, the crying had left her eyes red and swollen. If he noticed, which she doubted he would, she would tell him she had allergies. There was no fucking way she’d let him know she’d cried her eyes out.
She washed her face, applied minimal make-up, leaving as much unused as possible, and put the cosmetics in with the unpacked clothes to be returned. She made her way downstairs, putting the bags by the door. Alicia wasn’t sure if she was glad to see Royce and Camille or not. Maybe it was a good thing. She could use them to deflect Brock, she could give the things she wanted to return to Camille, and if she was lucky, she could talk Royce into giving her a ride to work.
“Good morning, everyone,” said Alicia. “Camille, I’m so glad you’re here. I really appreciate all the time and trouble you spent getting these things, but I’m not going to need them.” She handed Camille the three large shopping bags. “I kept the makeup I needed and the outfit I had on last night.”
“I can get you a different style or size,” offered Camille.
“It isn’t that. I just don’t want them.”
“Baby girl…”
“Please don’t call me that. It’s inappropriate and inaccurate.” She hated how prim and proper she sounded but she didn’t care.
“Camille went to a lot of trouble…” Brock started.
“It was no trouble,” said Camille trying to defuse things.
“Camille, what is the rule about coming between Doms and their subs, especially when said sub seems determined to brat her way out of whatever situation she’s put herself in?”
Alicia turned on Royce. “I am not a brat. There is no situation. And I sure as hell am not Brock’s or anyone else’s sub. So, I’m going to take a wild guess that you wouldn’t be willing to give me a ride into the office.”
Royce sat back. “That would be a correct assumption.”
“Fine. Brock, I’ll be in the Range Rover. I’m ready to leave when you are.”
“I need you to calm down, have some breakfast, and talk to me.”
