She obeys my silent demand and turns her face into me, and I catch her lips perfectly as she does. I kiss her slowly. So gently. “Oh my God,” I whisper back, making sure she knows that I’m in the exact same place. Which is where? Heaven on earth? It feels like it. I feel like the weight of a thousand men has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m sated, but not my normal replete self after fucking a woman. I don’t want to roll off her and go to sleep, hoping she’ll be gone in the morning to save me going over the same old rigmarole of diplomatically making it clear that I’m not up for anything more than sex. I don’t want to brush her off if she decides she wants to have some pillow talk like women do. I think I’d happily listen to Lainey talk forever. And, most strangely, I’m actually curious and interested in what she has to say.
Pulling back from her mouth, a task that’s much harder than you’ll ever know, I gaze at her, comfortably spread all over her. I smile a small smile after a few easy moments of silence, and she bites her lip, like she’s nervous. “Are you okay?”
She nods but doesn’t speak, sliding her hands down my arms until they fall to the bed. I look at where her touch just was, hating the loss of it.
“You sure?” I ask, feeling like she’s distancing herself. I look back up at her, and she nods again, wriggling a little beneath me. She wants me to get off. I frown as I reluctantly rise, pulling free from her. Lainey clenches her eyes closed and shuts her legs the second I’m off her. “Lainey . . .”
She gets up and scoops her dress from the floor. “I should go now.”
What?
I watch her fumbling with her dress, trying to get it the right way out. “You don’t have to,” I tell her quietly, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting on the side. She looks like she’s in a hurry.
Lainey ignores me and fights her way into her dress before snatching her knickers up. I’m speechless. And unreasonably hurt. A woman has never made a dash for it after I’ve blown her mind. Never. But Lainey looks like she can’t wait to escape me. What gives? This isn’t my ego talking. I couldn’t give a fuck about that. This is my ever-increasing fascination with this woman talking. Does she always leave a man’s place straight after? I don’t know, but I want her to stay.
I stand and approach her cautiously, seeing her face is a picture of . . . oh shit. That’s regret right there, and while I know I should probably be feeling it too, I’m not. It’s beyond me, but I’m not. I don’t regret a thing, and I’m not inclined to try and find the conscience that’s abandoned me. All I want to do now is try and make her feel better. Comforting a woman isn’t me. Not at all, and I’m not sure if I’ll be any good at it, but I’ll try. She’s looking more freaked by the second.
“Hey, what’s the rush?” I ask, taking the top of her arm gently to halt her speedy moves.
Lainey jumps out of her skin and staggers back, and I recoil in shock. “Sorry,” she breathes, shooting her eyes away from mine and scanning the floor for her shoes. “I need to be somewhere.”
“Where?” I ask without thought, knowing I have no right to that information. My mind is suddenly being blitzed with reminders of the men. All of them. And the condoms. So, onto the next guy, huh?
Once again she ignores me and focuses on her task. Of escaping me. Something comes over me, something primal and too powerful to stop. I move forward and take her hands, holding them firm and still. She freezes, keeping her head down. “What’s the problem?” I ask.
“You’re my boss,” she says feebly.
I could laugh. Yes, that’s an issue, but my instinct is telling me that me being her boss isn’t the problem here. “I was your boss an hour ago when you turned up at my apartment.”
“What do you think we’re going to do now?” She looks up at me, and I see an air of determination I don’t like. Hate, in fact. “Talk?” she asks. “Have a cute, cozy conversation? Ask each other what our favorite colors are, or our favorite movie?” She laughs, and it fucking stings. Well, I guess we can safely say I’m not her Mr. Perfect. Not that I’m bothered, because . . . why would I be? “Come on, Ty,” she practically laughs. “We both know you’re not that guy.” She yanks herself free and steps back. “And I can’t be that woman.”
I say nothing, because I haven’t a fucking clue what to say.
Lainey stares at me, jaw tight, while I stand before her, a useless pile of man. A useless pile of injured man. I’m not that guy. She’s right. She can’t be that woman? Can’t or won’t? She’s nothing like what I’ve encountered before, and it’s a worry. Because that itch that needed scratching has barely been stroked. My skin is prickling more now than before. My cock, despite having got what it wanted, is instantly aching for another round. My intrigue just went through the roof, and her beauty just multiplied.
“Well.” I laugh a little, quite amused by the situation I’m in. “You certainly know how to put a man in his place, don’t you?”
Her jaw pulses with anger, and she pivots, taking two steps away before stopping. I watch her frozen form, wondering what on earth is going on in her head. Her shoulders rise on a deep breath and drop slowly on her exhale. “Fucking hell,” she breathes, turning back around to face me. I frown, and she closes her eyes for a few confusing seconds before opening them wide. I see resolve. I see bewilderment. Then she launches her body into mine. I catch her with ease, despite the lack of warning, and hold her to my chest, because I sense she needs it. And, actually, I quite like her in my arms. “I don’t want to go,” she confesses.
“Then don’t,” I answer simply, pulling her free and lifting her chin with the tip of my finger. The top of her head comes up to my jaw. It’s the perfect height to kiss her forehead when she’s in my arms. I like her in my arms. I want her in my arms.
Lainey smiles, small and awkward. “I’m not a big talker.”
“And I’m not a big listener, so we should be good.” I take her hand and lead her to my bed, motioning for her to get in. Stripping down, she pulls the covers back, sliding in. I join her, turning onto my side and negotiating her body over so her back is to me and I can pull her close. And, damn, if my body doesn’t mold around hers like water. I sigh and bury my face in her hair, feeling for her hand and taking it, squeezing. And we lie in silence, a silence we both agreed to, and a silence that’s screaming a thousand words—but there are four that are particularly loud.
Ty.
Christianson.
Is.
Fucked.
I wake at six as usual and roll over on a sigh, sleepily preparing myself to get up and get to the pool. I feel good. Fucking great, in fact.
And then I remember why.
My eyes spring open, and I prop myself up on my elbows, letting my waking brain piece everything together and get it straight.
Lainey.
I look in the bed next to me, but it’s minus one Lainey, and then I cast my eyes around my bedroom, looking for any signs that she was here. There’s nothing. No, wait. There’s something. I inhale and get a delicious hit of sex mixed with her distinctive girlie scent. But where is she?