“I want to hear it all. All the unedited contemplations of Chloe Robinson.”
Chloe looks at me, her eyes deep pools of thoughts and emotions that make me want to jump into the deepest end. She walks closer, stopping at the counter across from me where she leans back, crossing one ankle over the other. “I hate that men call women whores and hookers and cunts. I hate that it bothers me when they do because I know it’s a power game and that it reflects on them and not the person they’re speaking to, but I really hate that it devalues my sexuality. I went from having this incredibly hot and intimate moment with you that made me feel beautiful and desired and happy, and one stupid and callous idiot said something to me, and now I’m feeling like I should be wearing baggy sweatshirts and jeans so people can’t see my body.
“It’s like if I’m too feminine, I’m a skank, and if I’m not, I’m ugly. There’s this tiny fine line, and it’s so easy to breach it.”
The aggression I’d felt outside when Cooper recognized there was an issue comes back with a vengeance, knitting itself into my skin, wanting retribution. Yet, I have little doubt that vengeance is what Chloe’s seeking. I set the glass of water on the counter, hating that this is likely only going to get worse for her when we return to Brighton and the rumors start to fly about us dating because I’ve seen it happen—watched as people made something out of nothing. Someone feels inadequate or jealous, and that leads to judgment and hurtful words. I want to protect her from that ugly side. “Fuck that bloke. Tonight was perfect. You were perfect.”
Her eyes fall from mine, and I move closer to her, tipping her chin up with my forefinger until her gorgeous green eyes meet mine. “Chloe, you’re always perfect. Whether you’re wearing sweatpants or a dress, there’s never a single moment I see anything except perfection. And that chap did too, and you’re absolutely right, he wanted to tear you down to make himself feel like more because he probably has a pencil dick that he’s trying to make up for by being an absolute tool. And to be honest, I can talk a big game about not caring about it or what anyone says, but in reality, I’d like nothing more than to make him bleed.”
She smirks. “Karma will catch up with him.”
I nod. “Hopefully in the form of a broken femur.”
Chloe laughs, and I feel her shoulders relax. I slide my hands to either of her hips, tugging her toward me so she’s pressed against my chest, her eyes brightening as she grabs my forearms to brace herself. I skim my nose across her cheekbone. “Let’s go to bed. We have another long day in the car tomorrow.”
She turns her neck to look at me, but she remains silent.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.” She takes a step back, reaching for the glass of water I’d filled for her, and takes a long drink before refilling it. Frustration rattles in my chest, reminding me how I’ve spent the past two years working not to be able to interpret all her small habits and expressions and how much I now regret it. I want to be able to read her as easily as Cooper can—know with a single glance that something is wrong and have an educated guess on what it entails.
I take her hand as she reaches for her newly filled glass, twisting her in my arms like it’s a dance move. It earns me a radiating smile. “I want to know what you’re thinking. I want to give you what you want.” I slip my fingers into her hair, my palms resting along her jaw. Her gaze quickly diverts from mine, making me think she’s going to pull away or remind me this is my own doing.
“I just…” She pauses, licking her lips. “I wanted to continue what we started at the show, and I thought when you mentioned me staying in your room you…”
Confidence courses through my veins like adrenaline. “Chloe, if you ever … ever want me or want me to pleasure you, all you have to do is ask. That is something I will do regardless of the day or time or whatever is on my fucking calendar.”
She moves her gaze to meet mine. “Things were going so well tonight, and then … if we hadn’t…”
I shake my head. “Fuck that guy. Fuck what he thinks. It means absolute shit to me. The only reason I care is that it affected you. I was already planning to take you upstairs and spread you in front of the Vegas skyline, but I didn’t want to suggest that after that wanker made you feel like he did. This means we both want to shag, and we both think that guy is Napoleon Bonaparte level of arsehole.”
Her grin returns, as well as that flash in her eyes that I’d seen when I pulled her against me, and I quickly file the detail away as pertinent information. “Well, if you’re sure you’re not too tired…”
In one quick move, I hoist her over my shoulder, making her yelp, followed by a train of giggles and warnings as I move toward the stairs.
“Ty!” she exclaims when I climb the steps two at a time. “I’m not wearing underwear.”
I slide my hand over the back of her exposed thighs, skimming across her impossibly soft skin until I reach her exposed backside. I knead my fingers into the globe of her arse, wishing for a moment that Cooper and Vanessa weren’t here because I’d make it a personal mission to have sex on every object of this hotel suite. On the kitchen island with her legs spread, on the stairs from behind, on the chair in the study… She giggles again, but it’s softer, throatier. I grip her backside fully, tracing her seam as I pull my hand back so I can open the bedroom door.
I close the door and leave the lights off, the opened shades and bright skyline illuminating my path to the bed. I set her on her feet because tonight I want to see all of her, taste every inch of skin, explore every bit of Chloe. Her smile is playful as I stand to my full height. I shuck off my jacket, tossing it to the bench at the end of the bed. I release the buttons at my wrists and loosen my tie, studying her reaction to each of my movements like film for football, noting how her eyes dilate and darken with lust.
She reaches for my shirt, tugging it loose from my dress pants and quickly working through the buttons. I toss it and my tie to join my jacket, and then her fingers impatiently peel at my white tee. I reach for the hem, ridding it with a quick pull and letting it fall to our feet. Her eyes dance over my chest as her fingers slowly glide across my skin, looking at me like I’m something to marvel. Then her green gaze lifts to mine, and something registers in her eyes—an emotion that steals my breath and wayward past and makes me feel like a giant among men, all because of a single look that my mind is racing to memorize and replace all the doubt.
I slant my lips over hers, her mouth still cold from the water she drank downstairs. Her scent fills my lungs and ushers my thoughts until I’m consumed with her. Our tongues twist and breaths mingle while our hands roam possessively. I run my thumb over her breast, and her body arches as she quietly gasps, tipping me from desire to pure need.
“In the back,” Chloe says, reading my thoughts. “Three buttons at the top, zipper at my back.” She turns, and I follow the directions, reigning in my weakening patience to keep myself from tearing at the fabric. The pink dress slips down her soft curves, exposing a teal bra and her bare arase that have my cock straining against the fly of my pants.
Chloe turns, slipping her heels off and letting them fall with a soft thump, and then my hands are on her again as I work to unfasten her bra and rid it as well. Her nipples are peaked, inviting me to run my thumbs across the sensitive flesh. She pushes her shoulders back, her breath coming out as a pant. It’s so fucking addictive that I do it again, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, twisting and toying as she drops her head back, allowing me access to her neck where I suck and kiss along her collarbone and neck as I continue to tease her.