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Dornan groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes. His dick hurt at the thought of fucking her again, yet, of its own accord, it stirred to life once more. She was the only woman in the world capable of killing him via sex. She’d literally suck the life out of him if he wasn’t careful. He could fuck her all day, every day, and still the itch would not be scratched away.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Can you please put some fucking clothes on,’ Dornan asked, squeezing his cock through his jeans. His clothes were already in the trunk of the car that waited for them downstairs – one small bag and a pair of shoes, enough for a quick jaunt out of LA.
Mariana raised one eyebrow, her lips tugging upward in the closest thing he’d seen to a smile in a while. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever said that to me before,’ she said, leaning against the doorframe that led to the bedroom.
In the hallway, Dornan slipped his boots on, then his leather jacket. His fingers smelled like sex, and that was okay with him. There would be a lot more sex where they were headed.
Was she fucking somebody else?
‘Where are we going?’ Mariana called from the bedroom. ‘I’m kind of tired. Can we just stay here?’
No. They could not just stay here. Fuck.
Dornan strode back into the bedroom to see Mariana on her back in the centre of the bed, again, with nothing on except those damn lace panties that left nothing to the imagination. Her legs were parted enough that he could see her pussy through the fine material.
Who else had seen her like this?
Without thinking, he yanked the edge of the comforter up and threw it over her, so she was sandwiched like a burrito.
The post-coital calm disappeared from her face and she sat up on the bed, alarmed. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Is it bad? Are you taking me to Emilio? He’s going to kill me, isn’t he? Motherfucker.’
The motherfucker didn’t seem to be directed at his father specifically; rather, it sounded like Mariana chastising herself, her voice ringing with disbelief.
‘Hey.’ He touched her thigh; she was shaking. ‘Stop.’
‘Fuck!’ Mariana yelled, hitting the bed with her fists.
Something about her anger made him feel calmer. Almost like a transference. She was terrified, staring down at the comforter like it might offer up an answer to her problems, and he felt soothed by her desperation. Probably because the more desperate she was, the more she had to rely on him to survive.
‘I’m just taking you somewhere because I fucked up your birthday. Okay? Don’t ruin the surprise.’ He softened his words for her, slowed them right down. Like soothing a child.
Her eyes lifted to meet his. ‘Your father sent me a surprise for my birthday. I don’t want a fucking surprise.’
Well, shit. ‘We’re going to Vegas. The Wynn. Room service and champagne. You’ll like it.’
Her shoulders fell; she exhaled a breath that she’d been holding in for a while. ‘What did Emilio say?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘About Vegas? Nothing. I didn’t tell him.’ It was true. Pop could hold the fort down for twenty-four goddamn hours.
‘Not about Vegas, Dornan. What did he say about what I did?’
He licked his lips. ‘Nothing much. I think he’s more impressed than mad. But I get the impression if you ever pull that shit again, he’ll shoot you in your fucking face. So maybe call me next time you decide to stage a coup.’
Her eyes were like fucking laser beams slicing him to bloody ribbons. ‘Maybe tell him the same thing,’ she said, and just like that, their connection was broken. She got up off the bed and started opening and slamming cupboards, her tits bouncing as she stomped around the room in her little panties and nothing else.
Who else has seen her like this?
Dornan thought it wise to shut up. He waited patiently until she had ventured into the bathroom, probably to pack make-up or something, and then he took the opportunity to rummage through her closet as quietly as possible. He knew what he was looking for. And when he found it, he smirked. He pulled the dress out, slipped it from its hanger, and rolled it up into a ball, shoving it into her bag underneath the rest of the clothes she’d packed.
‘Let’s go,’ he called into the bathroom.
They were already going to hit traffic, at this rate.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MARIANA
