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Wes! What are you doing? You can’t do this. It’s not right. You know it isn’t.
He ignored his inner voice. What the fuck did it know anyway? He wanted Eleanor, and she wanted him. He was tired of denying what they both wanted.
“Butterfly,” he licked the hollow of her throat, “I’m going to eat your pussy until you come on my face, and then you’re going to ride my dick.”
“Sure, yeah, okay. Sounds like a neat plan,” Eleanor moaned.
He laughed and nipped at her collarbone. “Neat?”
She cried out, rubbing herself furiously against his cock when he sucked hard on her nipple. “Fuck, I can’t think straight when you do that, Wes.”
“You don’t need to think, Butterfly,” he said. “Just let me make you feel good, okay?”
“A-okay,” she panted.
He smiled and kissed his way down her body, taking his time tasting the smooth, silky skin of her stomach before he tugged on the waistband of her shorts with his teeth. He curled his fingers around the waistband. “Lift your hips.”
She lifted her hips just as something loud and heavy hit the wall to the left of the bed. Eleanor made a startled cry when there was another heavy thud, and the piece of nondescript art hanging on their side of the wall fell off, and the glass exploded with a jagged cough.
“What the hell?” Eleanor said as Wes stood and the muffled sounds of two men screaming at each other drifted through the wall. Another hard thud and Eleanor cringed when the drywall cracked.
“Stay here,” Wes said. He threw on his jeans and shoved his feet into his shoes as Eleanor sat up, her arms crossed over her naked breasts.
“Wes, maybe we should call the hotel clerk?”
Wes shook his head as he grabbed the card key off the floor next to the forgotten food. “He’s useless.”
The screaming grew louder, and Eleanor slid off the bed. “It’s too dangerous. What if they have guns or are shifters or -”
“Stay in the room, Butterfly. I’ll be right back.” His balls aching and his temper flaring, Wes left the room.
* * *
“I don’t want you ever doing that again.” Eleanor glared at Wes when he returned to the room nearly ten minutes later. “Do you know how ridiculously dangerous that was? What if they had guns?”
“They didn’t,” he said. “I spoke with them, and they’ll be quiet from now on.” He avoided looking at her as he set the card key on the table and double-checked the locked door. She decided his refusal to look at her didn’t bode well for them picking up where they left off.
She held out her hand. “Come back to the bed.”
“Eleanor, I can’t,” he said. “Not until you put on a shirt.”
He stared resolutely at the wall. She sighed and said, “You didn’t seem to mind ten minutes ago.”
“That was a -”
“Don’t you dare say I was a mistake, Wes,” Eleanor said.
“You’re not a mistake.” He raked his hands through his hair and glanced at her. A pained expression crossed his face. “Butterfly, please. Put on a shirt.”
She relented at the real agony in his voice and tugged the shirt over her head.
“You’re not a mistake,” he repeated. “But what we’re doing isn’t right. I’m,” he swallowed hard, “old enough to be your father for fuck’s sake.”
“Barely,” she said. “I have never and will never look at you in that way, Wes. Don’t insult me by pretending that I do.”
“Your relationship with your father wasn’t great. Naturally, older men would be a -”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eleanor planted her hands on her hips as hot anger surged over her skin. “Why is it that when men fail as fathers, when they do everything fucking wrong and can’t be bothered to be there for the daughter they helped create, the woman is treated like there’s something wrong with her? That she’s the one with the issues – fucking daddy issues – when she hasn’t done a single goddamn thing wrong? Don’t stand there and tell me I have daddy issues because my father was a piece-of-shit dad, Wes. It is not my fault that he was a bad father, and I’m not into older men because of it. I’m into you because, up until this fucking moment, you seemed to be one of the good guys. I didn’t give a fuck how old you were. I just liked you for who you are.”
