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My focus is on her, and I don’t imagine there’s anything short of an explosion or gunfire that could make me pull my eyes from her body when she lifts herself up and swings around that damn pole. The song changes, pulsing out a rhythm built to seduce. A song so sexual, I can feel the throb of it in my lower abdomen.
I’m tortured by the sight of her for over an hour, my eyes never drifting from her exquisite form. I no longer notice the instructor except when he gets close to critique her. I don’t notice the other women swinging around. She’s all I fucking see, and when she’s done, pressing kisses to that asshole’s face twice again, all I can focus on is the rivulets of sweat dripping down her neck, teasing the swells of her breasts, and disappearing into the fabric. I want to lick it away. I want to clean her entire body, top to bottom, with my tongue. I want to press a hand between her shoulders, lean her against one of those shiny poles and shove myself so damn deep inside of her that she—
“I’m ready to go.”
I swallow, dragging my eyes from the exposed skin on her abdomen to her face. Sweeping a hand to the side with an overexaggerated bow, I indicate that I’ll follow her out. I throw an I’ll-kill-you-if-you-watch-her-leave look over my shoulder at the instructor, but find him talking to another woman. Does he even know how close he came to having his face rearranged?
And that’s the crux of the situation, isn’t it?
I’m jealous. Hell, I’m a trained professional. I know what I’m feeling. I also know that it’s unjustified. One kiss doesn’t give me the right to get pissed when she talks to another man. Hell, I told her it couldn’t happen again, and I mostly meant it.
I don’t own her. I don’t want to own her. Just the thought makes my lip curl up because I can admit that I don’t want anyone else to have her either. How fucked up is that?
I should’ve answered Deacon when he asked me again if I wanted to come home. I avoided the question, and by doing so gave him my answer. No, I don’t want to go home, but I don’t see how I can keep my sanity by staying.
Some would say to get it out of my system, to do with her exactly what we both want, but there’s the trouble. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that having her that way once won’t be enough. I’m damn near rabid, salivating at the mouth after one damn kiss. Feeling myself inside of her? Hearing her moan my name? I’d never survive if once was all I got.
Once inside the car, she insists on another milkshake from the place she drove us to the first night I arrived. We go, although I know watching her wrap those perfect lips around another straw is going to drive me mad. Thankfully, the shake shop is nearly empty when we arrive, so I sit at a small table at her back, keeping an eye on the door and sneering at every man who walks in and looks at her. None are brave enough to stop and chat, so that keeps me out of jail just a little while longer.Chapter 14Remington
“I said no.”
My head snaps back as if I’ve been smacked in the face.
“Excuse me?” I heard the words perfectly clear, but I’m in a generous mood by giving him the opportunity to rephrase.
“You heard me, Remington.”
Not once since the hotel has he called me Remi. I hate that it makes me a little crazy.
“You can do something here at the house. It’ll be safer.”
“It’s my twenty-first birthday. I don’t want to celebrate at the house.”
“I don’t need to be chasing drunk girls all over the city.”
“I’ll get drunk no matter where I celebrate.” I won’t, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Would you just—” He growls, rubbing his hands over his face. “Can you put some clothes on while we discuss this?”
You heard right. I’m back to acting like a brat. When he came out here after I dropped the bomb that I’m planning my birthday party at a swanky club in Manhattan, he wouldn’t listen to me, but he sure as hell shut up when I whipped my bikini top off and tossed it to the side. I don’t know what it means that he didn’t immediately turn away, but it’s clear to see he’s avoiding the sight of my tits as best he can while still facing me and arguing about the damn location of a party.
“Do you not like my tits, Flynn?” My cheeks heat with embarrassment, but I keep my eyes glued on his.
“Your tits are perfect, Remi. You know they are, but can you cover up? This isn’t the way to act when you don’t get your way.”
