“Not before shoving your tongue down his throat for about a minute.”
I hang my jacket on the old coat rack by the door. “It was ten seconds at most.”
“No, more like thirty, I’d say,” she argues. “What do you think, Oscar?”
Oscar stands and leaves the room without a word.
Corrie winces when she suddenly realizes what she’s done. “Sorry,” she whispers. “This thing with Oscar… is it more serious than I thought?”
“I don’t know.”
“You might have to bunk with me,” she teases. “He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to share a bed with you.”
I walk right past her, and head towards my room, the room I’m sharing with Oscar. He’s stretched out on the bed, staring up at the wooden beams on the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “He’s the one who kissed me.”
“You didn’t seem to mind too much.” He’s still staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look at me.
I sit next to him on the bed. His shirt is riding up, and the happy trail under his navel is exposed. I want to lick it. I want him. I always want him. He’s always sexy, but even more so when he’s angry. And the thought of having to win him over arouses me. I love make-up sex with Oscar. Especially in Paris.
I trail my finger softly just below his belly button. He grabs my hand hard and stops me. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” I ask. “We’re in Paris,” I point out. “The city of love. We should be making love.”
A loud sigh escapes him. “It’s not the city of love, it’s the city of lights. Get your facts straight.”
Oh, man. He’s really upset.
I’ll just need to try harder.
“You’re right,” I say. “We shouldn’t be making love. We should be fucking. It’s what we do.” I know he loves it when I talk dirty. I reach for his fly. I rub the palm of my hand over the bulge of his pants — he’s hard.
He presses a hand over mine, but he doesn’t stop me this time. He closes his eyes and groans, as if he’s in pain. “You want me to get you off while you think about him,” he scoffs. “Finish what he started.”
I inch closer and straddle his hips. “No, I want you to get me off while I think aboutyou.”
He shoves me off him, and I almost land on the floor. My heart pounds from the shock. I’m devastated, until he closes the door and turns the lock. He swivels around. “Get up.”
I stand slowly, and press down the folds of my silky dress.
He settles himself slowly into the velvet arm chair in the corner. “You know what you do to me, Kayla. You know I’m gonna fuck you.”
I stand still, not daring to move closer. I’ve seen him angry before, but never quite this livid. Jealous Oscar… this is a first.
“This little set-up works out great for you, doesn’t it,” he says. “You get to have your fun, and you don’t have to worry about settling down, about giving any part of yourself to anyone. You can do what you want with anyone.”
I’m speechless for a second. “Well… that’s the deal, isn’t it? It’s the same for you.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want that, Kayla,” he snaps. “Maybe I don’t want to share you. Maybe I don’t want anyone else.”
“Then why—”
“Because it’s the only way you’ll have me.”
It’s true. If he asked me to be exclusive, I’d probably run.
“Take off your dress,” he deadpans.
