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“It doesn’t change anything,” I tell him.
“Of course. Why should it?”
“And I’m still pissed at you.”
He frowns. “Well, thankfully, I have something to fix that.”
I stop and turn to him, my curiosity piqued. “Speak.”
“Speaking of sex, I think I know where Sergio gets some,” Andrea tells me. “There’s this club in Toledo.”
First, Rhode Island. Now, Ohio?
That’s fine, though. I’d go anywhere just to put a bullet in that bastard.
“What’s the name of the club?” I ask him.
“I’ll tell you,” Andrea says. “Mind you, though, I’m not sure your goody-two-shoes girlfriend will be able to handle it.”
I get an urge to correct him but let it go. He can think whatever he wants to think. I don’t care. I know what I think.
“Oh, she can handle it.”
Chapter Nine
Allie
I don’t think I can handle this, I silently tell my reflection in the mirror as I stir my cup of coffee.
It’s been two days since I had sex with Cain. The soreness has faded. The sticky stuff has been washed off. And yet the sex is still very much stuck in my mind. I see the bed and I remember it, much more when I’m lying between the sheets. I see a couple and I remember it. I hear a sexy song and I remember it. I take a shower and I remember it.
That’s not the bad part, though. The bad part is that each time my mind replays the sex, my body remembers it. Every press of Cain’s lips on my skin. Every brush of his fingertips. Every stroke. Every thrust. And it ends up wanting more.
Is sex really supposed to be like this? If I had known it would be so controlling and addictive, I’d never have asked for it.
Then again, maybe it’s just like this for first-timers. After all, Cain was acting normal yesterday before we left Rhode Island, and even on the plane when we were sitting next to each other. In fact, it almost seemed as if the sex didn’t affect him at all.
Surprising? Not really. Disappointing? A bit.
Did I even have any effect on him when we were having sex? Because I know he took me over and just blew me out of the water. What about Cain? I mean, his eyes were all lusty and he was grunting and panting and he was obviously hard, but did he enjoy it? Was the sex as good for him as it was for me?
I’d like to think it was, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know how many women he’s been with before – a fact which I now find infuriating even though I should probably be thankful for it since it’s because of those women that Cain got so good in bed. Good being a massive understatement. I mean, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Or maybe he’s just naturally skillful in bed, like he is in everything else.
Damn. I suddenly wish I had those skills. Imagine if I could rip his mask off. Tear down the walls around him. Drive him crazy. Make him lose control.
Just imagining it is making my heart race.
“Um, how long are you going to be stirring that thing?” Taylor’s question breaks into my thoughts, sending them tumbling like a row of dominoes.
Thing? I look down and realize I’m still holding the teaspoon in my cup of coffee, which is not only thoroughly blended but no longer steaming.
Shit. Have I been daydreaming that long?
“Also, what were you smiling about?” Taylor asks next.
I look at him. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I forgot he’s in my hotel room, sitting on the edge of my bed with his laptop on his… well, lap.
“Nothing,” I answer innocently.
Nothing he has to know. Sure, I’d like to talk to somebody about what I’ve just experienced, but not a guy, especially not a guy who I think is probably still a virgin. I’m not trying to demean him or anything. I admire him and adore him. He’s the coolest geek I know and a good friend. But he is a geek who lives in an apartment filled with toys. I’m sure he knows about sex because he’s a grown man who probably watches porn. I’m sure he’s interested in women because the video games he plays usually feature women with barely any clothes on. Plus there’s this anime character with well-developed breasts he has a crush on. But has he ever been with a woman? Not to my knowledge. It’s too bad, really, because I think he could be a catch if he paid more attention to himself.
I put down the teaspoon in my hand, take my cup of lukewarm coffee, and sit beside him.
“Have you found anything yet?”
I invited him here because I needed more information about Sergio Bianchi. I know Clearweather Cottage was a dead end, but I’m not giving up.
