Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(141)

“You protected, darlin’?”

What? No. I shake my head and see his disappointment as he leans over and reaches into the nightstand. The tear of foil echoes around us, and I close my eyes, wishing I’d thought of this. I am never so irresponsible that protection doesn’t even cross my mind.

Gregory leans down and kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth in quick jabs that prove his desire. We kiss for minutes, long enough that a tight knot of tension forms low in my belly, and I know I will soon be desperate for him.

“Guide me in, darlin’,” he groans, pushing my hand down over our bellies until I wrap my fingers around his girth.

He’s hot and pulsing when I lodge him at my entrance, and I want to play a little more, explore him, but he drags my hand up and into the one pinning my other wrist above my head, and fills me in one hard thrust.

I moan from the pinch as my tight sheath accepts him and push back, wanting him harder. He obliges, setting a strong, steady rhythm that would have me sliding up the bed but for his hold on me.

“Oh, oh yes. Please.”

I have no idea what I’m begging for, but I let my pleasure out in a series of breathless moans as he fucks me to orgasm and sends me over. I explode as before, but this time the feeling is so much deeper, stronger.

“That’s it, darlin’, come for me,” he hisses, thrusting twice more before hitting deep and stilling, his body shuddering so fiercely I feel it inside. He lets me go and drops to the bed, his face buried in the pillows as we pant for air.

I feel blissed out and achy in a good way, so ready to snuggle down into the pillows and take a nap. He rolls over and sighs before rising and grabbing his pants.

“I’ll go get you some water while you dress.”

My mind blanks for a second before mortification hits me. That is a dismissal if ever I’ve heard one — which, by the way I haven’t — and I realize that now that he’s had his fill, he expects to take me back home and…

I feel cheaper than the day my ex walked out of court crowing about alimony. Thank God he’d ‘fallen in love’ last year and remarried, or I would have had a mental breakdown from the payments.

But all that aside, I am being dismissed, cruelly and with no regard to my pride. Like a goddamned hooker. I’m speechless and don’t quite know how to respond as I lie there and take it in.

I hear a sound somewhere in the house and jump to my feet, throwing my clothes on and ducking into the bathroom. By the time Gregory returns with the water I am back to rights and sitting on the bed — which I’ve remade — as composed as I can be right now.

If I feel like crying and running away in shame and mortification, I hide it and force myself not to react the way another woman probably would.

Screw Gregory Lucas. Oh right, I’ve already done that.

Bastard.

“Here you go, darlin’,” he says, handing me a glass of icy water.

“Thank you.”

I am proud that my voice doesn’t so much as waver, and I drink the water quickly before handing the glass back and rising.

“I just need to find my purse and shoes,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way to the stairs and down to the kitchen.

I find my purse on the counter where I left it and crawl beneath the table to retrieve my shoes, slipping them on and rising gracelessly to my feet.

When I turn he’s standing in the doorway, a strange expression on his handsome face.

“What?”

“You’re taking this really well,” he says slowly, and I resist the urge to slap his smug face.

Well? He thinks I’m taking this well? I have never been this insulted in my entire life, and that’s saying something, considering my divorce fiasco. But what the hell else does he expect? I will not give him a show and start sobbing, or even revile him for this.

No, I don’t expect a goddamned relationship, but being treated like a hooker…I want to laugh when I realize I’m worse off. All I got for his pleasure was dinner and a five second stay at his house.

“Look, Greg.” I stress his name with relish and cock my head. “If you don’t mind, I can still make it home on time to go on a girls' night with Chrissie.”

His face hardens, and I smile cheerily, ignoring the deep wound of shame that’s tearing at my insides.

Well, let this be a lesson, Hannah Newman. When your mind tells you to run, fucking run.





Chapter Eleven




“You’re kidding!” Chrissie yells, slamming a fist into the sofa cushion as I try to inhale a gallon of vanilla ice cream.

“Nope. We ate, we fucked, he threw me out. End of story,” I say, throwing my head back to squeeze chocolate syrup into my mouth.