His tongue moved inside her mouth. She tasted like rum, and had a sharp, tangy scent that overwhelmed him. Her body was extremely thin and sharp, so her bones hit his muscles when he moved closer. Wolfe concentrated on letting his instincts lead, determined to wring as much pleasure from this night as possible.
Brit moaned and jiggled her breasts. “Oh yeah, baby, give it to me.”
He frowned. Give it to me? A bit practiced, maybe, but usually it would turn him on. Why wasn’t he turned on? Wolfe worked harder, sliding his hands over her body and pulling her closer. All the components worked well separately, but once he put them all together there was no heat.
Just an empty buzzing.
Cursing under his breath, he broke the kiss. Her lips were ruby red and parted. Her eyes darkened and she stood up, pulling him with her. “Let’s go into your bedroom. I want you to fuck me hard. Take me however you want. I’m yours.”
The words would usually thrill. He needed to lose himself in sex and the moment. But Wolfe realized nothing was going to help tonight. He could fake it, and force an orgasm, but it would make him feel dirty. And he’d promised years ago he’d never make himself feel that way again.
The choice gave him pause for only a moment. No. He refused to wake up the morning steeped in shame because he lied. He lied enough without heaping more on his soul. Wolfe teetered between faking a sudden stomach bug or dealing with feminine wrath. Once again, honesty won out.
“Brit, I’m so sorry. I can’t do this right now. My head’s not on right.”
She never paused, just strode over and gripped his soft dick between her hands. “Not your little head I want right now, babe,” she drawled. He winced at her roughness. “I’m more interested in your other one.”
Awkward.
He slowly and deliberately removed her hands. “That one isn’t working well tonight. Listen, I’m sorry I led you on.” Ah hell, a little lie wouldn’t hurt. “I’m not feeling too well.”
She frowned. “Need to use the bathroom? I can wait.”
Ugh. Wolfe shook his head and grabbed his phone. He tapped out a text for his Purity driver to pick her up and take her home. “No, I think this is gonna be a long night. I really need to be alone. I’ll have my driver meet you out front.”
She cocked her head and considered. Probably realizing the combination of rejection and bullshit lies. Finally, God smiled upon him and she nodded, grabbing her purse. “Sure. I don’t want our first time to be memorable that way. I’ll catch you next time?”
“Absolutely.” Okay, so he had chickened out, but he couldn’t deal with the whole talk thing right now. He’d tackle the dialogue next time they saw each other. She didn’t kiss him good-bye. Just winked and strode out of the condo with a practiced swing of her hips.
Wolfe let out a groan of relief.
Blessed silence settled in. He brought the glasses to the sink, glancing around his place. Why did the space feel so empty? Usually he liked the simplicity and no-nonsense decor. He thought of his apartment as a good location to decompress, spend time alone, and refuel for work. But it never felt like home.
Gen’s place did.
Was it the bungalow? Charming decor, bright colors, crooked pavement, and stuck windows lent an aura of charm. Or was it Gen? The way she exploded from room to room in a rush of activity, scattering her belongings and scent in a trail? The way she liked the television and music loud? The OCD habit of alphabetizing her books by author’s last name?
He rubbed his forehead. Things were getting too complicated. He might not be bedding Brit tonight, but Wolfe needed to make sure Gen believed he had. They needed the distance and reminder they weren’t lovers. He’d sleep here tonight, say nothing about his date, and let natural conclusions do the speaking for him. Technically, it wouldn’t be a lie.
The image of Gen standing before him in soft cotton, damp skin, and no panties slammed through his mind. His dick rose to full attention, and Wolfe groaned. He needed release, and there was only one way to do it.
He closed his eyes, unbuckled his pants, and stroked himself to a shuddering orgasm with Gen’s name hovering on his lips.
“IT’S GONNA HURT.”
Gen lay down on a padded bench, her rear up in the air and her pants resting on the lower part of her hips. A bit intimate but not much she could do. Gen looked into her friend’s worried face and patted her hand. “I’m used to needles. I got this.”
Kate bit her lip and averted her gaze from the whirring instrument inches away from Gen’s skin. “Do you need alcohol?”
“No drinking in my shop,” the artist interjected. He wore leather pants and a black T-shirt, and had long, braided dark hair. His ink was all black and detailed the stations of the cross on both arms. Fascinating. Verily’s only tattoo parlor sat at the edge of town. The owner was the nephew of Tattoo Tony from a small shop in Marlboro whose claim to fame was once having detailed Cher’s famous ink on her rear. “No refund on tats, so sober customers only.”