Bancroft's face is red. His eyes close and stay that way for a while before they open again. "Everyone was looking at you!"
I don't get why he never seems to answer a question directly. I throw my hands up. "They're supposed to! I'm performing."
"But why do you have to wear this? Why do you have to look so . . . so-" He takes a step closer, hands clenched at his sides.
I lift my chin in defiance, challenging him to say what I know he wants to. "So what?"
"So fucking hot!" It's more growl than words.
And not the words I expect. At all. I expected him to say slutty, or like a streetwalker, or a lady of the night. "I'm supposed to look hot. It's how I make money right now. Is this another reason why you're so angry? Because I'm too provocative?"
"Yes. No. You lied. This. You. You're driving me insane. I want-" Bancroft's breath leaves him on a hard pant.
I have no idea what's going on. Two minutes ago he was pissed because I lied and now he's mad because I'm hot. "You want what?" We're almost nose-to-nose, me pushed up on my tiptoes, Bancroft leaning down so his shoulders are hunched.
His hands flex at his sides. "You. Fuck. I want."
"Is that supposed to makes sense?" Sweet Christ is he saying what I think he is?
His voice drops to a gravelly whisper. "I want you."
He admitted it. Out loud. Thank God. He doesn't make a move to take me, though, so I push what I hope is his very last button. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"You can't make anything easy, can you?" His hand shoots out, fingers sliding into my hair, twisting into the strands. His grip tightens as he tilts my head back and then his mouth is on mine.
It's nothing like the time he accidentally kissed me at the engagement party. If that kiss was a fizzled-out candle, this one is an entire store of firecrackers going off at once.
Weeks of pent-up tension explode as his tongue pushes past my lips and he groans into my mouth. I latch on to his hair, because there's no way we're stopping this now that it's started.
In the back of my head, reason tells me this is a seriously bad idea. I still live here. He's angry at me for lying to him. I'm angry at myself for caring what everyone thinks, and for getting myself into this kind of situation. We need to have a discussion. One with words and some logic. But logic has gone out the window. Jumped the twenty-plus stories in a free fall.
Sweet button of lust in my panties, this man can do amazing things with his tongue. I bet his talents extend far beyond mouth skills, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to find out if this is true.
Bancroft slides his hand under my skirt. He doesn't actually have to do much work to accomplish that since it's so damn short. He grabs my glitter-panty-covered right ass cheek and pulls me against him. Like the last time I ended up with his tongue in my mouth, I can feel his ample hard-on against my stomach. I can't wait to get my hands on it. Better yet, I can't wait to ride it. Screw worrying about arguments and conversations. Forget worrying about having a place to live.
I have a free hand, so I mimic him and grab his ass like he is mine. His grip tightens, and he shifts his hips, seeking friction. I can totally relate to that need.
He breaks the kiss long enough to say, "I want you in my bed."
I groan around his tongue, which is already in my mouth again.
"If you'd just stayed in my bed that first night I came home we could've done this a whole lot sooner."
"I slept in there every night you were gone."
He holds on to my hair and disengages from my mouth. "You what?"
Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn't be admitting this. "I um . . . I slept in your bed." It comes out as more of a question than a statement.
"What else did you do in my bed, besides sleeping?" His lips hover just above mine. I can't get to them though, because he's still gripping my hair. Not hard, just firmly.
"I played hide and seek with Franny," I whisper, because it's true.
"Anything else?"
"Like what?" I bite my lip.
His nose brushes my cheek, his lips at my ear. "Did you get off in my bed?"
"Yes," I moan.
"Fuck." He bites my earlobe and I gasp. His hand drifts down my side. "How?"
I suck in a breath when his fingers graze the edge of my panties and he follows the fabric to the inside of my thigh.
"I want you to tell me how," he murmurs.
"How I got off?" I ask for clarification because I'm a little distracted by his fingers right now.
"Did you finger-fuck yourself while you thought about me?" His tongue sweeps along the side of my neck.