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I turn away to avoid the heat from yet another scorcher. He chuckles as he grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
His voice is smoother than velvet and just as soft, and his sweet breath warms my face. “I can call you Princess... if you like.”
I jerk away from his grasp when all I want to do is let him kiss me.
He laughs.
At me.
Again.
Prick.
“Well, Sin,” he says, stressing the nickname he obviously won’t give up. “At least tell me what’s up with that room of yours. I thought you were twenty-five, not ten.”
My eyes grow round with indignation as my fingers fly across the keys.
No one disses my room. No one. My parent’s trailer was so small, I slept on a fold-away bed in the living/dining area with no personal decorations to speak of. I promised myself that when I made enough money, I would decorate my room like I always wanted.
I’d tell him this, but he is being such a condescending ass that I don’t feel comfortable doing so. Instead, I give him the succinct reply my anger prompts me to write.
Me: If you don’t like it, don’t come back.
I place the phone on the table and move to rise. He jerks me back down in such a way that I’m over his lap. A tree trunk of an arm lays across my back, pinning me down so I can’t move.
“It’s rude of you to leave in the middle of a conversation.” He lifts my nightshirt to slap the flesh of my ass.
It stings, so damn good. I squirm my mound into his thigh, hoping for another.
“Since you seem to get too much pleasure out of me chastising this part of your anatomy, I won’t be doing that anymore.”
He removes his arm and folds me back on the couch, again pulling me close. He plucks the phone from the table, reading what I wrote.
Sighing, he says, “What’s up with you?” He hands me his device.
I’m quick to type:Me? Nothing.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Must be something, Sin. Come on, let’s not play games. I’m here. Talk to me.”
I shouldn’t ask. But...
Me: Who is Teresa?
He swivels his neck. His expression bewildered. “I have no fucking clue.”
A likely story. It shouldn’t bother me that I’ll receive nothing from him other than what’s swinging between his legs. But it does. And Ihatehow it does.
Me: you sent her flowers.
“Sin, I haven’t sent any woman flowers. Ever.”
I exit out of my note and show him the one he’d typed.
“Oh,thatTeresa. I’d forgotten about that.“ He nods, remembering. He then peers at me. His mouth quirks up in an amused grin. “You really want to hear that story?”
Me:Yes
“She’s a concierge in my building. My cousin was being a dick to her, and as an apology, I sent her some flowers.”
