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Before I can answer her, lips, so soft and plump, are against mine. I groan into her mouth and kiss her roughly, almost forgetting where we are. I want to rip her clothes right off and have my way with her right here on the floor, but I don’t think my extended family would appreciate the show.
“The second we leave here,” she whispers each word, while gently rocking herself against me. “You don't touch me. You don’t evenlookat me. Got it?”
I swallow, the penny dropping. This is my punishment. She's riling me up to the point where I can't take it anymore, and then she's leaving me high and dry.
If I weren't so damn sexually frustrated, I'd be impressed.
6
LUCY
Finally, the night is over and we're on our way back to the hotel room. I insist on taking the stairs to avoid a repeat performance of last time. True to my word, the second we left the ballroom, I stop all physical contact with Noah, refusing to even hold his hand. If I'm honest, watching Noah squirm for most of the night was actually kind of fun. I would also be lying if I said a small part of me didn’t enjoy kissing and touching him.
Okay fine, a big part of me.
“You’re angry with me,” he comments as he follows me into our room.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He sits down on the couch and watches me. I glare at him, resisting the urge to slap that damn smirk off his stupid face. He’s right, Iamangry. If he had just told me the truth from the beginning, then it wouldn't be a problem. I just hate the fact that he lied to me.
“That was a pretty impressive show you put on,” he adds.
“I was just doing what you asked me to,” I shrug. “Playing a role.”
“You went far and beyond and you know it,” he accuses, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “You were trying to wind me up. At least admit that.”
“So what if I was?” I challenge, not afraid to admit that yes, I was teasing him.
It was my way of getting a little bit of revenge.
“I don't take too well to being teased.”
I purse my lips and make a show of thinking that comment through. “Then it's about time you learnt to deal with it,” I say, and hold up a blanket and pillow to him, before tossing both on the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He looks at the couch, then back at me, brows raised and arms crossed over his chest. “No way. I'm sleeping in the bed.”
“No, you're fucking not,” I reply with a too-wide smile and fake positive voice, like an infomercial Barbie. He can't keep getting away with pushing me around, and there's no way I'm going to continue playing along with him in this little charade that he didn't even deign to tell me the truth about. He watches me for a moment, in that way I'm starting to recognize means trouble. Slowly, a smile spreads over his face.
“How about we play for it?”
“Play for it,” I repeat, trying to work out his angle here.
“Poker,” he suggests.
I open my mouth to reply.
“Strip poker,” he amends. “Makes it more interesting.”
The nerve of this guy, honestly.
I lift my chin, refusing to be a coward. “Fine,” I say, mimicking his pose and squaring my shoulders for good measure.
He grins, as though he's won the war, and fetches a deck of cards from the other room. When he comes back, he brings the pillow and blanket from the couch with him. I frown at him, but hold my tongue, and watch him climb into the bed and sit down on it.
He looks at me, and gestures to the other side. “Well?”
“How slumber party of you,” I mutter, but climb onto the bed on the other side and make myself comfortable by propping up a few pillows. There's enough room in the middle of the bed for him to deal. I know the rules of poker, enough to know what beats what, but not enough to say I'm any kind of expert in strategy. Still, it's playing the odds, right? Even a complete newbie can get lucky, and I just want to knock him down a few pegs.
