She smiles shyly, looking away. “No, I just…” She blushes, looking down at her glass.
And my cock throbs, suddenly wondering if she was just suggesting what I think she was.
“I mean, I-”
“You had something else in mind,” I say, my voice edged.
I know what she wants. She wants me to make her feel and forget like I did last night. She wants me to take control, and dominate her like I did. And fuck, I want that too, but I know where that leads.
And I’m not that guy.
And this ain’t that.
And this cannot happen, not anymore.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She recoils like I slapped her, and I immediately feel like shit for phrasing it like that.
“No, I mean-”
“That’s not what I was implying,” she says briskly, sitting up a little straighter as if that’s somehow making her more proper and not just pushing her tits out against her thin top. Cause, that’s what it’s doing.
I drag my eyes up to her face, leveling a look at her. “Really.”
“Yes, really, thank you very much.”
“So, you weren’t about to ask me nicely to bend you over, peel those panties off, slide my big cock inside of you, and fuck you until you’re screaming for more?”
Her face goes bright red and she almost sputters on her whiskey.
“I was not!” she says it shrilly, her whole face pulsing red. “Ugh, God, you are-” she shakes her head, looking pissed. “You’re a pig.”
“Never claimed I wasn’t.”
“Well, I never claimed I wanted you to touch me again.”
I grin. “Didn’t have to, sweetheart. It’s all over your face.”
“Get over yourself, asshole. You think cause you’ve got this cocky attitude and the whole macho bad boy thing, and the sexy loft, and the big-”
She stumbles, her face going red.
“Oh, please continue.”
Her face burns, and she hastily looks away. “You think all that makes you this irresistible gift to-”
“My big what?”
Her eyes dart back, flickering.
“Say it.”
She swallows. “You’re disgusting.”
“I never said I was Prince Charming, sweetheart.”
“Good, because you’re not.”
“And what am I.”
I move closer, and she shivers before she suddenly gets up and steps away. “I need to- we’re done having this conversation.”
“You started it, sweetheart.”
“Well I wish I hadn’t,” she snaps. She steps across the room angrily before she stops and whirls back in a huff.
“Where’s the shower?”
“Upstairs. Hang on, I’ll-”
“I can shower myself.”
“And I wasn’t offering. I was going to go see if there was anything of Nora’s you could wear here.”
Shit, I could use a change of clothes too.
“Oh,” her mouth goes small, her hands clasping and twisting in front of her chest. “Thanks.”
“You are so welcome, princess,” I mutter sarcastically.
She gives me a look before she whirls and stalks up the stairs, leaving me watching that ass walk away and trying to will my cock to deflate even a little bit.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sierra
What an asshole.
I shut the water off in the ancient upstairs bathroom and grab the towel from the edge of the sink.
An asshole, but he was right, about what I was suggesting. Even if I wasn’t even trying to suggest it, I kind of was, at least in the back of my mind.
Apparently that’s exactly how it came out, too.
Because it’s like I’m addicted to him, as bad as I know he is, like he’s a smoking habit or something. There’s something about his roughness, and his crudeness, and the easy way he handles a gun or tosses me around.
The way he dominates me so fiercely.
And the fact that he’s more than those things, even if I hate that I’m looking deep enough to see that.
I finish drying my hair and patting dry my skin, and I wrap the towel around myself before I step out of the bathroom. I immediately glance down to my feet to see clothes folded on the floor - a girl’s pink t-shirt with a Care Bear on it and some sleep shorts. Nora’s apparently.
I retreat back into the bathroom and slip them on. I frown, and actually almost laugh as I glance in the mirror.
Apparently, Nora hasn’t been here in a while. Or maybe Nora is still twelve, but I doubt it. In any case, the clothes are way too small, which would be funny if their, uh, smallness didn’t make them, well...
My face burns as I eye my getup in the mirror.
I look like a stripper trying to pull off some sort of naughty babysitter or schoolgirl costume.