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It’s a kink in the plan, sure. She’s my fake girlfriend and sex is only going to complicate things. Still, I want it. Her.
We’re two grown adults, though. I’m sure we can fuck around without shit getting complicated.
Or maybe we can’t, considering the way she ran from me in the aftermath.
Dumbly, I drop my feet over the side of the chair and sit up. My fingers are still wet with her arousal and as I look down at them, my heart kicks.
Gotta be a trick of the lights.
Standing, heart freaking out in my chest, I move quickly from the patio into the condo. I flick the switch and feel my guts twist like they’ve never twisted before.
Red.
An idiot couldn’t miss the red that ribbons in the arousal coating my fingers.
Something cool washes over me, because how did this happen? How didn’t she say something? How could she let me—fuck.
That something cool turns to something hot as I wash my hands. I’m pissed. Pissed she ran away after. Pissed she didn’t say anything before I took things out of hand, let them spiral.
Returning to the patio, I drop down into the chair I’d almost screwed her on, had planned on screwing her on after I got her hot and worked up—and lay back, hands tucked behind my head. I’d rather be in my bed, but I don’t want to be gone if she decides to come back tonight. Sleeping out here like this tonight had been her only desire. She hadn’t been trying to tempt me by looking so sweet in my clothes. She hadn’t been attempting to anger me into proving there was more between us by comparing me to a brother.
I think of the blood on my fingers again. She’d been innocent—until me.
Staring up at the little globes of light above me, I can’t seem to stop the thoughts of Wrenlee. They assault my mind, unbidden. The scent of her skin, so warm and sweet. The way her little body feels when it’s tucked under my arm. How she’d felt laying beneath me, writhing—the sounds she made when I touched her. Her gasp when I kissed her—how she’d tasted.
I glance at the second lounger, empty.
Should I go to her? I don’t know why, but I can’t bring myself to seek her out. To invade her again tonight, even if it’s just her space. I’ve done enough.
But she’d been the one to want to sleep here. She’d been excited for this moment of magic she claimed didn’t come around for her often. I feel—I don’t know how I feel about her missing out, but I don’t like it.
Forcing my eyes to close, I fall into a sleep that is rich with dreams of green eyes and small smiles, of hesitant laughter and sweet kisses.Of her.
She doesn’t come out of her room until late on Sunday. Her mass of straight honey-gold hair is wild with the evidence of a sleepless night, her eyes puffy. As soon as she sees me sitting at the island, one foot touching the floor, other hooked on the bar of the stool, pen to paper, she freezes.
I realize she’d left the room because she thought I wasn’t here. Some songwriters write with guitar, choppy playing, start and stops until they get it down.
I just write, birthing a melody in my head before it ever sounds from an instrument.
“Morning, Kitten.”
She clears her throat and folds her arms across her chest. She’s still wearing my sweater. Something about seeing her in my clothes makes me feel like an animal. Like I could beat my chest. Possessive.
A damn gorilla.
“Um—g’morning.”
She looks like she doesn’t know if she should continue on her path to the kitchen, or if she should turn tail and hide again. I gesture to the coffee pot, knowing how she likes her hit. “Coffee’s fresh.”
Her eyes settle on the coffee pot, and there’s a very real, very visible kind of relief that settles in her green eyes. I’ve always thought the girl was pretty, beautiful, even. She might not be the kind of woman I went for, but there’s no denying she’s attractive in that sweet girl-next-door, way. With her big green eyes, full pink lips and ever-blush, she’s got that innocent thing most men crave. In total contradiction to the innocent look of her face, she’s got a body made for sex. Smooth skin and tiny waist accentuated by thick thighs and flared hips—and an ass made for riding. Under my sweater, she hides full, high tits.
She starts to move, drawn in by the call of caffeine. I watch her, unable to stop myself. Even though my sweater hangs nearly to her knees, I can see her full hips swing. She fixes her coffee and takes her first long sip with her back to me. I watch her shoulders lift with a deep inhale before she turns to pin me with those cat-green eyes.
She parts her lips, wetting them with a little pink tongue. Memories of her taste invade my thoughts, momentarily frying my braincells, because I have a totally uncharacteristic thought.
Mine.
A blush stains her cheeks, and she pulls in a shaky breath only to take another sip of coffee in avoidance of the words she’d been about to say. I wonder if she’s thinking of last night. Of how I’d made her comeunstitched with my hand between her legs, my mouth on hers.
