“What if it’s just as good as the last time?” I say, gritting my teeth. “What if we could have sex just as good as the first night every night for the next week?”
“I don’t think so,” she replies, but she says it with a hint of longing in her voice and a lingering glance at my lips.
“Enough of this. I’m not done with you.” I say it firmly, perhaps a bit more so than I meant, but her eyes snap to attention with interest at my tone.
“Not done with me?” she questions and her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. No, I’m most definitely not done with her.
“No, Daisy, I’m not. I need you again.” Her eyes widen and I know I have her interest. “I need to taste your sweet pussy again. I need to suck on those gorgeous nipples until you’re begging for my cock.” Desire fills her eyes and her breathing hitches. She wants this. I’m not done. “I need you to come until you’ve had more orgasms than you knew were possible and you’re limp from exhaustion. I need you to ride me until your thighs shake and then I’ll flip you over and taste your pussy all over again. Until you’re sated beyond measure. So no, Daisy, I’m not done.”
“Don’t call me that,” she blurts out.
“Don’t call you by your name?” This is a new one for me. Her eyes widen as I stare at her. I thought I’d uncovered every bit of crazy a woman could throw at me by now, but this is new.
“It’s just that I really liked it when you called me ‘love,’” she says. She’s flushed and speaking faster than normal, the crazy flying out of her mouth at record speed. “It’s so British the way you did that, and the truth is I’m a bit of an Anglophile. My secret is out!” she adds with an odd little wink. “Let’s go to your room. Just call me ‘love,’ okay?” She spins in the direction of the lifts, not waiting to see if I’m following.
Crazy or not, I’m following.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Violet
That was close.
Way too close. Don’t call me Daisy. What an idiotic thing to say, but I’m not cut out for this kind of subterfuge. I blow a stray hair off my forehead and jab at the elevator call button a bit more forcefully than necessary while I mull over my predicament.
The thing is I do want to sleep with Jennings again—of course I want to. I’d have to be insane not to want a repeat performance. I spent all afternoon daydreaming about it, recalling the details from the first time over and over again. The scent of his skin and the way it felt moving against my own. The way his hair stood up in spots where I tugged on it with my fingers. His magic mouth and brilliant fingers. The tilt of his head when he thrust into me and the look in his eyes as he came.
So yeah, sign me up.
Then by the time we got to dinner I started to think. What if he called me Daisy right in the midst of things? I don’t think my psyche could ever recover from that blow. No way. He could have called me Rose—that would have been fine, a little naughty even, hearing him use a fake name I’d given him in the hotel bar. But my sister’s name? No. Absolutely firm, great big huge no. So I resolved to stay away—better safe than sorry and all that.
But then he waited for me in the lobby. Pretending to look at tourism flyers while I pretended not to notice he was waiting. And then he was all convincing and suave and used words like… well, just words. He shouldn’t be allowed to use words. Any of them. If he’d just grunted and given me his room key I’d have been able to resist. Probably.
But no, he used his sophisticated British accent to speak words and I’m not made of stone for crying out loud. He said ‘pussy.’ In the hotel lobby. In his accent and it was lewd and inappropriate and hot as hell. And then ‘cock’ flew out of his mouth and words like ‘begging’ and ‘multiple orgasms’ and, well, that was that.
So I blurted out the part about not calling me Daisy and nearly cost my sister her job a mere one day into this trip. I am literally the worst at undercover operations. It’s pathetic. At twenty-six years old I should be better at deceit. I’ve got no game.
I wonder if I should just tell him? I bite my lip and glance at him over my shoulder. He’s staring at my ass. I turn back around and look at the elevator button and wonder where the hell the elevator is. It’s a three-story building, how long could it take to get back to the first floor? And why are we not taking the stairs? No, I can’t tell him, I decide. What the heck would I say? Hey, listen, the thing is I’m not actually Daisy. I’m Violet. Daisy’s identical twin sister? Yeah, so she had something to do this week and I took her place as tour guide.