“No.” His one-word answer is a blow to my pride. I’m a little disappointed, and can’t help but frown.
“Then you can’t come in.” He studies me a minute with a blank expression. The longer he stares at me, the more nervous I become.
“Open the door, Delilah.”
“This is my room. I have the right to say no. And I don’t want you here.” Liar.
Shoving his hands in his pocket, he looks down at me. He looks a little perturbed for a moment, but quickly conceals it. “I’ve had a long night. I’m tired. I’m cold and I stink.” I don’t think he stinks… I think he smells quite delicious—like fuel and leather and cigarette smoke. “I want a hot shower and to sleep in a warm bed with a pretty girl under sheets that don’t smell like another man’s ass.”
He thinks I’m pretty? He said it. He thinks I’m pretty. But I know I’m pretty. So why does hearing him tell me make me blush?
“Is that too much to ask, Delilah?”
“Um…no?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question. Tell me the truth.” He drops his voice and quirks an eyebrow at me, leaning in a little closer. “Is that too much to ask?”
“That’s not too much to ask,” I say, honestly. I mean, my job is to entertain. This can be considered entertainment. Intimate, but entertaining nonetheless.
“Thank you. Can I use your shower?” I nod, noticing for the first time the bag he has slung over his shoulder.
While he showers, I sit on my bed and pout. Never have I been turned down by a man. Here I am, all but throwing myself at him, and he doesn’t want me. I’ve never doubted myself more than I do in this moment. I thought the last time was great. And on top of that, he’s a man. So why the hell doesn’t he want to fuck?
Kicking off my shoes, I pull the band from my hair and shake out the long locks. Keeping my clothes on, I curl under the covers in a ball—making sure to put as much distance between me and the other side of the bed as possible. I feel insecure and unwanted. My body is the only thing I have going for me—I’m not smart, I’m not very funny and I’m beyond damaged. Besides sex, there’s nothing else desirable about me.
The bed dips and I freeze. I’d been so deep in my own thoughts I must have missed the sound of the shower cutting off or the door opening. But the clean, fresh aroma of his skin fills my senses. Without realizing it, I close my eyes and inhale deep.
“Is something wrong, babe?” Babe? Shit… Why does that suck so bad too?
“I’m just tired.”
“You’re just lying.” I roll my eyes at his words, even though he can’t see them.
“I’m not used to men sleeping in my bed. Usually, there’s a reason for them to be in my room. You confuse me…You make me feel unwanted.” I don’t know where I got the courage to admit that, and I damn sure don’t know why in the hell I would. It makes me sound pathetic.
“There are six empty beds here. I could’ve chosen any, but I’d rather stay here…with you. How does that make you feel unwanted?”
Rolling to my back, I look up at him. His face is stoic. “I’m the only woman here. You don’t want to sleep on sheets that smell like a man’s ass. You didn’t have a choice. I was your only option.”
He offers me a smile with a hint of sadness. Great… Now he feels sorry for me. If he offers me a pity fuck… “If there were a hundred beds, filled with a hundred of the hottest women, I’d still want to spend the night in here with you.”
I roll my eyes. “Really? I’m not an insecure little girl who needs to be reassured that she’s pretty and desirable.”
His eyebrow quirks. “Then stop acting like one.” Not very many people have ever put me in my place. But he just did. With a smooth, cat-like movement, he crawls over me. My breath hitches at his nearness.
“You know you’re gorgeous,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief. “There’s not a man here who doesn’t want to fuck you.” Sliding his hands up my sides, he pushes my shirt over my head. “I want to fuck you.” Fisting the waistband of my shorts, he leans back on his haunches and jerks them down my legs along with my panties.
“But tonight, I wanted to prove to you you’re more than just a lay. You’re a woman I find desirable despite how good it feels to be inside you.” His hands slide up my legs as he once again covers my body with his own. “Or how sexy you look when your tits bounce up and down.”
His mouth surrounds my nipple and my back bows. The sensation shoots straight to my core, and I grind my hips against him. “Or how good you smell.” He buries his face between my breasts and inhales. “But,” he starts, kissing a path down my stomach, “maybe if I tasted you”—his mouth moves lower, planting a soft kiss on my bare mound before he stops and looks up at me through his lashes—“I could find the most desirable thing of all.”
Pushing my knees apart with his hands, his mouth closes over my exposed pussy—nearly devouring its entirety. My fingers fist at his head—searching for hair that’s not quite long enough to grab. My back arches further and I press my head into the pillow. A low, guttural moan builds inside me at the feel of his mouth kissing me…licking me…sucking me…feasting on me as if I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
Two thick fingers press against my entrance and I buck my hips against them. With one last long, slow stroke of his tongue, he pulls back and thrusts his fingers deep inside me. “You feel like satin.” His voice is low, dirty and erotic. “You taste like sweet rain.” I moan louder, feeling my orgasm building around his fingers and heightened by his vulgar words. “And you have the prettiest, wettest, most perfect fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.”
His confession is my undoing. It’s mind numbing…all I can do is feel—the coolness of his breath across my oversensitive flesh…the steady rhythm of his fingers…the feather-light kisses on my thighs…the electricity flowing through my veins with every beat of my heavy heart. It’s riveting.
The next few moments are lost in a blur. I’m vaguely aware of his voice, but I can’t make out his words. My rubbery limbs are folded and my body turned until my back is against his chest. Lips are at my ear—softly demanding I do something. I hope like hell it’s sleep. Because that’s exactly where I’m headed.
CHAPTER 11
A warm, manly scent invades my nostrils—waking me from slumber. I stretch, smile and roll to my side to face the one who is occupying my bed. But he ain’t here. There’s not even a note on the pillow. My mood takes a nosedive. Bastard…I knew he was too good to be true.
I search my bedside table for my phone to check the time, fumbling with the random shit cluttering it and knocking nearly everything to the floor. Then I realize Bryce took my phone, and never gave it back. Maybe he left it on the bar…
I have bed head, morning breath and am wearing nothing but an oversized, rumpled-up T-shirt. I look like a throwaway from trash city. And he’s sitting at the bar—just like yesterday. I hate I look like shit, but glad I caught him before he left.
“Good morning, Delilah,” he purrs. When I face him, I abandon thoughts of my phone when I find him looking well rested, happy and something else…
Wait.
I know that look. That’s a just-fucked look if I’ve ever seen one. But he didn’t just fuck me, so who in the hell is the culprit? And why am I so angry and possessive over him?
Fucking Linda…
“Are you not speaking to me today?” I can feel him smiling behind me. I don’t like it. And he sounds amused. I don’t like that either.
“I’m not a morning person,” I mumble, pouring my first cup of java of the day. When the hot, delicious liquid slides down my throat, I can’t help but let out an audible sigh. My eyes are even closed. When I open them, they’re magnetically pulled to his. And he very much likes what he sees.
Who knew drinking coffee could be so sexy? Especially mixed with morning hair, breath and disgusting eye crust. By the way, nobody wakes up looking flawless. We all look like shit. Except for him, of course. He looks perfect. Or maybe my standards just aren’t very high.
Grabbing my smokes from under the bar, I pull one of the thin cigarettes from the pack. The damn things are super tiny, but incredibly satisfying, and a perfect way to start my day.
“You smoke?” he asks, reaching his huge arm across the bar to light my cigarette before I can do it myself.
“Only one. Only in the morning. Only with coffee.” I take a few puffs, making sure it’s well lit, then pull in a deep drag, letting the nicotine calm my nerves and the smoke coat my lungs.
“That’s…unusual.”
“Is it?” I ask, fighting like hell to keep my attention on anything that isn’t him. I opt for the neon beer sign behind him.
“Why do you only smoke one? Only in the morning?”
I shrug. “A metaphor, I guess. I stole it from a movie, but my reason is different.” Bracing my arms on the bar, I lift myself up and turn toward him, dangling my legs over the other side. “This guy in the movie walked around with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He said by not lighting it, he was taking away its power to kill him.”