I wanted to open my mouth, dart my tongue out, taste more of her, all of her, but I was afraid she’d withdraw.
She was skittish and guarded all over, like a stray cat, her instincts frayed. She was ready to run any second when it came to men.
So instead of digging my fingers into the ass I’d dreamed about ever since I was sixteen, or pushing a knee between her thighs and making her ride me to Orgasmville, I concentrated on nibbling my way softly from her mouth to her neck, nuzzling my nose against her ear, giving the spot under her earlobe a quick lick, and then blowing air on it to make her shudder.
She seemed to like it, her fingers curling around my dress shirt as she swayed into me. There was something innocent—almost chaste—about the encounter, and it sent a rush of desire through my veins that made my body go haywire.
My cock was so hard I was pretty sure it could tear through my pants if I wasn’t careful. I moved from her neck and her ear to her cheek, the tip of her nose, and crown of her hair, peppering all of them with feather-light kisses that made me ache.
It was weird, I knew.
Intimate more than it was hot.
But I felt like it was exactly what she needed, and after all these years, I thought it was better to have her on her terms than not at all.
“I’m telling you, buddy. These two have the most dysfunctional relationship I’ve ever seen. Did you know he cheated on her with her sister and has two dicks and she gave him gonorrhea? Then he choked her with a black pearl necklace and gave her blisters.”
Our heads reared back in unison to follow the source of this nonsense. We both looked up to see Brendan and a male companion drinking beer on the patio of one of the open bars, looking down at us.
The male companion frowned.
“Wait, her sister has two dicks?”
“No, he has two dicks and cheated with her sister. But she cheated, too. First, I think,” replied Brendan.
“Did you know she’s a thief? And Ramona says he’s some mob guy. Blood diamond stuff. Business all over South Africa.”
Both Tennessee and I burst into laughter, still holding each other close.
“See? They’re shameless. I told you. Most dysfunctional relationship ever,” Brendan cemented.
“You’re not wrong about that one, Brendan.” Tennessee hugged her midriff as she stepped toward the elevators, pulling away from me, and I followed her. “But it’s not nice to talk about people behind their backs.”
“You were right here, sugar pie,” Brendan drawled in his Southern accent.
“We were in the middle of something,” I pointed out to her, my dick nodding in my pants in agreement.
“Consider it the ending. Just got my wits back.”
“Dammit,” I muttered, following her like a lovesick puppy.
We entered the elevator. I was about to turn to her and persuade her with my tongue when another couple squeezed in and joined us.
Double dammit.
Silence filled the small space while the man beside me slid his hand over the curve of the woman’s ass.
At least one of us was getting some tonight.
When we reached our floor, I let Tennessee slip out first, then put my hand on the small of her back when we made our way to our room. I’d now successfully moved from acquaintance to someone who touched her occasionally, and I wasn’t about to give up my new privileges.
“You can drop your hand and the charade anytime now, there’s no one here.” She tried combing her hair back into its usual state.
“No charade. Is wanting to spend time with you a crime?”
“Depends on the state. As far as I’m aware, Nevada’s the only place with legalized prostitution.”
“Stop that right now.”
I hoped to hell Mr. and Mrs. Warren weren’t coming out for a late night snack, because I was bound to strangle both of them if they showed up and did something Tennessee found triggering.
“Let me guess—you want to spend time with me without clothes.”
“Clothes are okay, but not the ones you choose to wear.” I cracked a smile.
“Funny. I always thought it was women who wanted to change men, not vice versa.”
“I don’t want to change you. I want to help you discover your full potential.”
Great.
Now I sounded like her school advisor. Or her pimp.
Either way, it was patronizing. I opened the door, then locked it behind us. She strutted toward the bathroom, her ass swaying from side to side. Back to being a sex kitten.
I couldn’t keep up with this woman’s moods and personalities.
“No one asked for your help, Dr. Costello. Go be someone else’s Captain Save-a-Ho.”
She slammed the bathroom door in my face.
“I’m not coming out until you go to bed. We’re not continuing our little mistake,” she announced once she was in the safety of the bathroom.
I plastered my forehead to the door. “What makes you think it was a mistake?”
I was pathetic, even—and especially—in my own eyes.
Why was I bothering?
I had so many other women to choose from back at home.
“I don’t do one-night stands,” she called out from the other side of the door. “Might sound surprising, even old-fashioned to some, but that’s the way I roll.”
“Doesn’t have to be a one-night stand,” I heard myself say. “Unless the gonorrhea thing is true.”
“Just as long as no one finds out about it, right?”
I groaned.
She had me there. Not that I was ashamed, but…
“Your parents won’t approve, either,” I pointed out.
“No,” she agreed. “Which brings me to my previous statement—no hanky-panky. I don’t want to be your dirty little secret.”
“You’re an infuriating woman.” I pressed my fist against the door.
“And you should be used to hearing a ‘no’ every now and then,” she deadpanned.
I heard her brushing her teeth and removing her makeup using that battery-operated thing that gave your face a deep clean.
“And another thing,” she added, knowing full well I was still outside, waiting for her to grace me with her presence. “There better be a pillow barrier between us when I get out.”
“Like hell, sweetheart.” I withdrew from the door, glaring at it like it had personally wronged me. “You want a barrier, make it yourself.”
With that, I went on to rip the swan-shaped towel waiting on our bed next to tomorrow’s itinerary and tossed them along with the red rose petals into the trash.
Mrs. Weiner didn’t deserve anything nice tonight.
The next morning, I cracked one eye open to find Cruz’s triangular, infuriatingly athletic back as he…wait, what the heck was he doing, exactly?
“Cruz?” I hiccupped, gathering my limbs into a sitting position.
My back was hurting from the mountain of pillows I’d arranged between us which dug into my spine, and from the lack of a pillow to put my head on so that I could make said mountain happen.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
He glanced over his shoulder, throwing me an under-the-mustache charming smirk as he stuffed my clothes into trash bags. The worst thing about him was that he made me believe he could be good to me. That was just downright horrible of him.