Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(74)

Nuzzling under his stubbled, square jaw, I flicked my tongue lightly over the hollow behind his ear. My hand found the hem of his t-shirt and slipped inside, stroking the warm swell of his belly. He sighed and rolled over slightly in his sleep.

Was he dreaming of me too? I reached to the front of his boxers and found his cock half-hard, curling sideways on its journey to lay upright against his taut belly. That encouraged me. Stroking him through the fabric, he went erect right away and his hips pushed gently against me.

I threw my leg over him and rose, straddling his hips and moving against him in circles. I wanted to come so badly but I wanted him awake too. His eyelids fluttered and his hands slid along my thighs, gripping them lightly.

“Margot?” he sighed.

Flipping my hair to one side, I let the heavy, dark strands trail against his chest. His sensitive nipples stood out in relief against the fabric.

“Shhh, baby,” I whispered.

“Margot... what time is it?”

I didn’t answer and his hands gripped me tighter as I circled my crotch against his.

“Margot, honey…” he groaned. “I gotta get up.”

“Shhh it’s early, baby,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he grunted, holding my hips harder until they were immobile and finally opening his eyes. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“What,” I said, trying to control my irritation. He was just going to stop me?

“Margot...” he started, his voice all impatient apologies. He pursed his lips and looked at me and I saw myself through his eyes: still wearing my dress, makeup smudged and drastic, marks along my forearms from the bangles I hadn’t removed when I fell into bed beside him last night.

So nothing’s changed, I thought.

“I just thought a quick hello, as friends...” I trailed off, letting the words wither in the air.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said tersely, lifting me off him and rolling away. I stared at his back as he turned, stretched for a few seconds, and got out of bed.

Looking around, I saw the evidence from last night and pieced it back together with the bleary memories that remained. His trousers were next to the bed where they had fallen in a heap. His shirt was on the chair next to the folded pajama bottoms he probably would have been wearing if he’d been sober when he went to bed. His shoes were yards apart, capsized like boats.

I wondered if I was supposed to disappear. Was he hoping I would magically transform into a skinny latte and Greek yogurt before he was done brushing his teeth? The sound of the tap floated through the room, then his masculine, ropy pee in the bowl, then the flush.

“It was awesome to see you,” he called from the bathroom. I bit back a half dozen snappy, hungover retorts.

He came out pushing his dark blonde hair back from his forehead. The thick muscles of his arms filled me with longing. I wanted so much to feel those arms around me.

“Just come back to bed,” I said as sweetly as I could, patting the mattress. “You can spare a few minutes, can’t you? For your best friend and former housemate?” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and practically batted my eyes.

He hung his hands on his hips and stared at me, shaking his head and smirking. “I really wish I could, Mar,” he said. “I totally forgot I have showings all afternoon. A new listing to check out…”

“Right, right,” I said gamely, tugging my dress into shape and rearranging my legs primly. He looked at me uncomfortably, obviously wishing I had left already and not sure how far he would need to go to make it happen.

He went to his dresser and started opening drawers, selecting neatly folded summer-wear from the well-organized piles. Hope crumbled like a sand castle under the tide and I began to feel my stomach clenching as though maybe I could curl into a ball, roll right up and disappear.

“Your phone,” he muttered, picking his head up.

“What?”

“Your phone,” he repeated, looking around. “It’s ringing.”

“Where?” I said, quickly rummaging through the sheets, flinging aside the duvet and diving to the floor to look for the light or something. Kevin prowled around the perimeter with his head cocked like a Labrador and his hands out, ready to pounce.

He shoved his fingers under my open and half-emptied purse on the small side table and pulled it out, still jangling merrily.

“You should keep better track of your stuff,” he lectured as he held it out to me.

“Yeah thanks,” I mumbled and grabbed it on my way to the bathroom. I thumbed the face to connect the call and turned on the tap for noise.

“I fucking hate fucking interns and want them all to fucking die!”

“Morning, Bridget, baby,” I sighed sweetly and then stared, dumbfounded, at my reflection in the wide mirror. One eye had gone all raccoon with mascara and liner. Even my eyebrow hairs were pushed the wrong way and bristled out in all directions. The other eye looked almost normal, with merely a dusting of black flakes on my cheek.