Page 25 of Weston’s Treasure

He stopped and turned to look at his friend.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Nope.”

“Shit’s complicated, brother, you really wanna go down that road?”

Weston thought about Chasin’s question mainly because he was trying to get his temper in check. He didn’t question where his teammate stuck his dick and didn’t appreciate him not returning the favor. But more importantly, Weston didn’t like the insinuation that Silver wasn’t worth the complication. Though Chasin did have reason to be concerned—after all it was just that morning Weston was bitching about the woman being annoying and stubborn.

What a difference a few hours and a smile make.

“Everything worth your time is always complicated.”

And with that, Weston headed for the stairs hoping like hell he wasn’t making a mistake. He’d like to believe he’d stopped thinking with his dick sometime in his twenties—at least hoping he thought with the right head most of the time—but the naked woman in his bed told a different story.

Even if Weston was feeling something out of the ordinary for Silver, the fact he’d finger-fucked her on the counter in the kitchen he shared with Chasin told him his dick had been in charge.

All he’d wanted to do was kiss her. Show her there was something between them. But all Weston had done was prove there was a crazy physical attraction between them. That, and she was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever touched. So really, he’d demonstrated his dick was a hundred percent in command.

10

After Weston left the room, mortification set in.

I was a little in shock, I’d actually allowed that to get out of hand. Even more appalling, I’d fully participated and even begged for it.

On the counter. In the kitchen where anyone could’ve walked in and caught us and with a man I despised. Or at least I’d hated him right up until the point he pulled me into his arms and let me cry on his chest when I saw the wreckage that was my apartment.

Actually, if I was being truthful with myself, I stopped hating him when he gave me his sweatshirt to wear so I wouldn’t be cold while we drove in his Jeep. That small act of kindness was all it had taken. Which was totally sad, that I was that easily impressed by a man.

Now there I was, lying in Weston’s bed with one of his t-shirts on. Oh, I’d also rummaged through his dresser when he left the room and my nudity hit me with a double smack in the face, further reminding me I’d behaved like a bitch in heat with a hound dog. Or maybe I was the hound dog mounting the bitch. Either way, I was the one who’d attacked Weston’s mouth like I hadn’t had a kiss in the last ten years. Which wasn’t the case, it’d been three years since I’d kissed a man. Three very long, very lonely, very dry, three years. Longer than that since I’d had an orgasm. Way longer.

Good God, I was pathetic.

So, I was in Weston’s bed, listening to hushed voices drift up the stairs but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then I could hear someone tromping up them. I pulled the sheet up to my neck and prayed to all things mighty and holy I wouldn’t burst into flames when Weston returned.

He stepped into the room, came to a stop, dropped my clothes on the floor, and chuckled.

Thankfully my prayer worked, I didn’t catch on fire. Which would’ve been a shame because Weston’s bed was totally soft and his sheets softer, but my face heated for a variety of reasons. One being, I didn’t have on panties and I was very aware of the fact when wetness started to gather.

Damn, damn, damn. I was a total slut.

There was no disputing Weston was good-looking. Tall, broad shoulders, lean but muscular body he obviously worked for and the results were out of this world. His unruly brown hair reminded me of why it was messy and that my fingers had been in it and I could now testify to the fact it was soft. I could also swear to the fact he was the best kiss I’d ever had. And he was also the only man who’d ever been able to get me to orgasm with very little effort.

But even with all of that, and considering he had indeed given me said orgasm with frightening speed, I shouldn’t have been getting wet at the sight of him. Yet there I was, drenched and most likely leaving a wet spot on his sheets.

I was also blushing because he was smiling at me. And it was not a friendly ‘hi, nice to see you again’ smile. It was a pleased smile from a man who knew I was easy.

“Babe,” he said with humor in his tone, and I wanted to yank the sheet over my head and pretend he wasn’t standing there laughing at me.

But I didn’t get the chance. He shut the door, turned the lock, and stalked to the bed.

Oh no!

“We need to talk,” I blurted out.

“We do,” he confirmed, and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor, before he turned his back to me and sat on the edge of the bed.

Someone upstairs hated me. I couldn’t say it was God because I had a lot to be thankful for. Well, not a lot, but I had my health, and I’d heard that was something one should be tremendously grateful for, so I was—grateful that is. But whoever God’s right-hand man was, he certainly hated me. My mouth was nearly watering at the sight of Weston bare-chested, and once I’d gotten a look at his back, my mouth was no longer ‘nearly’ anything, it was simply watering.