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“Yeah. Definitely odd.” It would be my luck to hook up with someone who’s extraordinarily awesome at sex and also a serious weirdo. I’d like to say this doll thing will deter me from hooking up with Pierce again, but I don’t think that’s true.
I’m mostly calm and rational once we go back inside and inform them that we’ve secured a walk-through. While Lawson has been inside the yet-to-be advertised house, Pierce has not, so we make the ridiculously short drive down the beach to the property in question. Pierce decides I need to be the one who shows him around, leaving Marley and Lawson to talk offers.
“This is one of the bedrooms.” I Vanna White the room and step aside to let him go first. It’s outdated, but at least it’s just bad paint and no wallpaper. Sometimes that stuff is a nightmare to get off, especially if it’s circa the seventies. I have no idea what kind of glue they used back then, but it sure was made to last.
The rose-and-doily décor is awful, and for most Hamptons buyers, it would be an absolute turnoff. They want move-in ready summer homes, not properties they need to sink time and money into before they’re visually palatable. If Marley and I had the capital ready, we would’ve already put an offer in on this one, but we only have enough to purchase, not enough to cover the cost of a renovation without making things tight. This sale will change that, though.
“I messaged you this morning and you haven’t responded yet.” Pierce brushes by me.
Even that simple, innocent contact makes all my special parts zing. The presence of a bed doesn’t help either. “It’s rude for me to check messages when I’m with a prospective buyer.”
“Even if you’ve slept with that prospective buyer? The same prospective buyer who’s messaging you?” He takes a look in the closet. “This is small, but workable.”
“You can probably give yourself a tour; you don’t need me.” I turn to walk away, but he grabs my hand and threads his fingers through mine.
“What’re you doing?”
“Keeping you from running away.” Pierce tugs me forward and brings our twined hands to his lips, biting my knuckle. I clench my jaw and try my hardest not to make any noises of pleasure, or do anything else to encourage him to continue. “Where do you feel that?”
“Pardon?”
He bites my knuckle again. “Where does the sensation resonate the most?”
“Where your lips just were.” That’s untrue. That’s where it starts, but it’s as if the sensation pushes through my veins and ends right in the sweet spot between my thighs. Which I clench, lest I give in to the urge to wrap myself around him and front hump him.
“I don’t believe you.”
Why does it feel like he’s burrowing his way into my head when all he’s doing is touching me? “Why ask the question if you’re not going to trust I’m being truthful with the answer?”
His lips turn up against the back of my hand. “Why’re you still so prickly with me, Rian?”
I try to pull my hand away, but he tightens his grip. “Why do you ask so many uncomfortable questions?”
“I didn’t realize I was making you uncomfortable.”
I scoff. “Yeah, right. I don’t buy that for a second. You get a kick out of antagonizing me. You like to have control over these interactions we have so you pose uncomfortable questions and use intimacy to unnerve me.”
“Are you psychoanalyzing me, or yourself?”
Probably a bit of both. “This thing you’re doing, this game you’re playing with me, you’re too good at it. How often do you do this?”
“Do what exactly?”
“This whole seduction routine.”
He almost looks hurt. “You think this is a routine?”
“Isn’t it?” It’s bad that I don’t want it to be, that I want this connection we have, these strange coincidental meetings to be fate throwing us together, even if it is a colossally bad idea.
“Why are you so hell-bent on villainizing me?”
That’s a good question. One I can’t answer honestly because it’s tied up too much with a past I can’t share. I think I like him. No, there’s no thinking. I know I like him, and the chemistry between us is unreal. It makes me feel vulnerable, and vulnerability is a weakness. Besides, he’s just so perfect, too perfect—he has all the right components—physical, sexual, and I bet if I got to know him better, I’d probably like every side of him—which is terrifying, because he can’t know every side of me and still like me. “Why do you keep coming after me? I haven’t even been nice to you.”
He’s still kissing my knuckles, lips sweeping back and forth. “You were nice to me last night, before you kicked me out, anyway.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
He flips my hand over and kisses the inside of my wrist. “Probably not. Can I tell you something else? Something important?”
He looks so earnest. Please don’t let him be a baby daddy. “Sure?”
“My intention last night wasn’t to get you naked.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious. I usually like to take things a little slower. I mean, I’m certainly glad I had the opportunity to get my hands on you, and I won’t lie and tell you I wouldn’t love to have that opportunity again, but I had no expectation that would happen last night.”
“You could’ve said no.”
He laughs. “No, I couldn’t have.”
“Because I’m so irresistible?”
“Yes. You’re smart and sassy and sexy, and right now all I want is for you to bite my lip like you did last night, and I’m a little obsessed with knowing what color your panties are.”
I stare dumbly at his gorgeous, sincere expression. If I end up sleeping with him again, I won’t be able to kick him out. I won’t want to.
“Help a guy out here. Say something, Rian.”
I grab his tie with the hand that isn’t still twined with his and drag his mouth down to mine. And I do exactly what he wants. I bite his lip. Well, it’s more of a nibble.
“Thank fuck. I thought I was going to lose my ever-loving mind.”
Fingers still laced, he folds my arm behind my back—I think this is his thing—his other hand slides into the hair at the nape of my neck, twisting through the strands to anchor there. I suck his bottom lip, dragging my teeth across the sensitive skin.
Pierce makes a low, rough sound in the back of his throat and a shiver forces its way down my spine, goose bumps exploding on my skin.
He angles my head to one side and slants his mouth over mine, tongue pushing past my lips, hot and aggressive. Our chests and hips meet, his hardness pressing against my stomach.
It’s like I can taste the pheromones in the air, and it only serves to fuel the lust. Our tongues dance and twirl, battle and stroke, teeth nip and bite.
Pierce rolls his hips. “I want to fucking consume you,” he groans into my mouth.
I get what he means. I would seriously rip his clothes off and ride him on the horrible floral print comforter, get as much of him inside me, have as much of his skin touching mine as I could, if I wasn’t suddenly conscious of the fact that my sister and his brother are upstairs, talking numbers.
The numbers I usually deal with.
