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Nope. All of it was wrong, starting with coming here in the first damn place. The second she walked out with tits on display, I should’ve turned right around and walked out of this fucking house.
The scent of her pussy is on my hands. The moans she made while I touched her in my head.
Knowing she sounds differently when she makes herself come than when I do it isn’t something I should know.
I strip, cock hard and unflagging. And in the shower, I break my own rules again, coming with her name on my lips.Chapter 20Remington
If slow blinking in confusion were an Olympic sport, I’d take the gold. I’m certain of it.
My body is thrumming from Flynn’s fingers, but my head refuses to catch up, unable to analyze what the hell just happened.
Not the orgasm. I was fully aware and present during that situation.
His departure has left me with my eyes glued to my closed bedroom door and my jaw hanging open. Did I mention the slow blinking?
I could run after him and demand an explanation, but my brain comes back online telling me I already know what is going on. He walked away from me tonight just like he walked away from me yesterday after I came.
He’s placating me. Watching and helping me orgasm to what end? To keep me docile and complacent? To make sure I’m too tired to get in my car and take off? To use as a weapon to get me to behave?
Pissed beyond anything I’ve ever felt before—and that’s saying a lot because my parents know exactly what buttons to push to make me seethe—I go into the bathroom and clean up, not needing the stickiness between my legs as a reminder. The erratic heartbeat I’m still dealing with is memory enough, thank you very much.
I’m not sad, and as much as I want to, I don’t feel used either. I begged him for what he gave, practically squirmed my way off his lap the second he touched me, my skin on fire with need. Truthfully, I wanted to be exactly where I ended up the second he lifted me from the lounger and carried me away over his shoulder.
What I’m livid about is the walking away, the rejection he continues to toss my way. It seems to be a habit of his, but isn’t it just as much my fault for putting myself in the position for it to happen again and again?
I’m such a damn fool.
But, and this is a huge but, he should stop letting things get so far if he knows he’s just going to up and walk out.
His cock was hard, a steel rod against my belly, unmistakably… big.
Do men get lost in their heads, listening to that voice instead of obeying what their body is demanding? I seriously thought that was a myth, a man who could control himself.
Maybe I was wrong. I’m always wrong so it wouldn’t come as a big surprise. I splash water on my face, but it does nothing to rid my cheeks of the pink there. I’m flushed, still overheated from the best experience of my life, but that’s not going to deter me.
I’m loud and obnoxious, not one to cower and hide away when I’m annoyed. I’m a lot like Sasha, undeterred by attention when I have something to say. I refuse to go to bed with a million unanswered questions in my head. If he doesn’t want me, then he can freaking tell me so to my face.
The sound of the party still going on startles me as I come down the stairs. How did I forget I had people over? Maybe because they aren’t real friends, and I was only using them as a shield against being alone with Flynn. I see how well that worked.
Flynn moved rooms yesterday, apparently so disgusted with the way I acted while touching myself that he couldn’t wait a moment longer, getting as far away from me as he could.
Ignoring the visitors laughing and having a good time in the pool area, I cross the house toward the staff quarters. I came down here to force his hand with the understanding that he’s about to tell me to fuck off, but the closer I get, the more I hope he reaches for me instead. Every step I make increases my loneliness. Him touching me was amazing. His skill tending to my lady bits was pure perfection, but deep down, I know it was the time, the attention, how we were the only two people that existed in that moment.
“Ms. Blair.”
My feet freeze on the marble like a deer caught in a set of headlights.
“Mr. Torres.”
He grins like he’s surprised but pleased I remember his last name. I was raised to remember. Forgetting someone’s name is a travesty according to my mother.
