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That ass is part of the reason I’m in this mess. Not to mention his tongue, his cock, his big, big hands that slide over my body, making me feel tiny and cherished and so turned on…
Damn it.
I close my eyes and plunge myself out the bottom of the bed, clearing the comforter and landing on the floor with a soft thump. Thank Jesus there is a rug under Cameron’s ginormous bed. Breathing hard, I crawl across the floor, grateful that Cameron is a very clean guy. His bedroom is orderly and impeccable. The rug actually smells like it was recently steamed.
I’m actually grateful for a lot of things about Cameron…
I shut those thoughts down immediately.
The room is dim, but I manage to find the pile of my clothes and gather everything up. I uncover my phone, which makes the alarm now much louder in the quiet. Afraid one of them will wake up, I silence it with a hard punch of my finger and keep crawling to the door, which is thankfully open. Once in the hallway, I stand and scramble to the living room. I have to pee, but it’s going to have to wait. I drop the pile of clothes on the couch and fish through them. It’s a mixture of my clothes and Cameron and Alexsei’s.
I spent most of the last two days in nothing but one of Alexsei’s sweatshirts or T-shirts over me. I washed the clothes I wore over here yesterday, but I only had them on for about two hours before they were stripped off of me again.
For some reason I don’t want to examine it too closely, I lift Cameron’s T-shirt to my nose and breathe it in deeply. There’s something about his smell. The cologne scent flips my tummy and sends heat to my core. I drop it like it’s hot, shaking my head. I’m not even sure how I feel about Cameron, other than he both intrigues me and turns me on. Alexsei is easier to compartmentalize. He’s a nice guy, an open book, thoughtful and friendly.
Very friendly.
His tongue…
I’m doing it again.
Crap. I put my bra on with lightning speed and tug my shirt on over my head. I can’t find my underwear, so I step into my jeans and jump up and down to get them on as quickly as possible. I only find one sock in the pile, so I ignore it and pull my boots on barefoot, wincing at the sensation of cold faux leather on my feet. I shove my phone in my back pocket and glance back toward the bedroom. All quiet.
With a sigh of relief, I retrieve my coat and purse from the coat tree by the front door. Feeling a little guilty about the state of the kitchen, which is a mess of dirty pans and dishes, I tamp down the urge to stay and clean up, reminding myself this is all their fault. I was supposed to leave two days ago. None of these dishes would exist if they weren’t so persistent in holding me as a captive in their apartment. Okay, a very willing captive, but if they hadn’t been so damn sexy and overbearing with their clear desire for me, this wouldn’t have happened.
Totally their fault.
Or at least Alexsei’s anyway. I have a feeling Cameron would have happily let the door hit me in the butt on my way out two mornings ago. He seemed to enjoy my company during the night but was less interested during the daytime. Did he ever even kiss me? No. But Alexsei kissed me enough for the two of them. The man loves a good kiss and cuddle.
With one last glance back at the bedroom, I open the door and slip out, giving another sigh of relief when the door snicks shut behind me. I’m free of their seductive web. Ordering an Uber, I jog down the stairs to the lobby, running my fingers through my hair.
What the hell had I been thinking, staying so long when I have so much work to do?
I hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem.
I’d just been having a string of orgasms.
Nothing I can do about it now except tuck it away in my memory bank as a perfect couple of days of sex and get on with my life.
Fucking hockey players.
Such a pain in my ass.
I’m covered in flour when my first interview of the day texts me.
This is Lydia, I’m here for my interview but the door is locked.
Be there in a sec.
Wiping my hands off on a paper towel, I glance around at the disaster my kitchen is in and shake my head. It took me almost thirty minutes to get home from Cameron and Alexsei’s in traffic and I had to take a shower. Going without one wasn’t an option. Yes, I’d showered while I was at their place, but every time I got clean, they didn’t waste any time getting me dirty again. And once while I was getting clean.
I smelled like sex, men, and bad choices when I finally stumbled into my apartment. So by the time I got to the kitchen I was a solid hour behind schedule and I have customers who will riot if I don’t have my signature eclairs in the case. Plus, I always have scones and pain au chocolat, so I’m buried in dough and glazes. It’s already seven thirty and I'm in panic mode.
In joggers and sneakers and a T-shirt that says Bake It Til You Make It, my hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, I go to the front door and unlock it for a teenage girl who is standing there. She has a boy her age with her.
“Hi,” she says with a bright, but shy smile. “I’m Lydia St. Clair. I hope you don’t mind my boyfriend being here. He can wait in the bookstore during the interview, if that’s okay.”
“I’m Brady Phillips,” the boy says, sticking out his hand for me to shake it. “I don’t like Lydia walking by herself. I can wait outside if you want.”
