Like an idiot.
She threw herself at Steven and he refused her. Sure, he made her come before sending her to her room alone, but still. He could’ve had her, and he chose to push her away instead. Refused to take her to bed.
He didn’t want her like that.
Now, she was going to have to act as if it didn’t hurt that he would sleep with virtually any other woman besides her. It did hurt. A lot.
Groaning, she rolled over and squinted at the clock. It was almost five o’clock in the morning, and right beyond that door, Steven slept peacefully on her couch. In the brightness of the morning, he would still be there. Waiting. Watching.
Knowing he could have had her, and hadn’t.
Well, she’d gone and done it. Ruined years of platonic friendship with a few sips of rum, and a misplaced, ill-timed, unwelcome kiss. What was she supposed to do now? Go out there, and pretend last night had never happened like he suggested? Even though her body still hummed from the orgasm he’d given her? He had been, hands down, the best she ever had.
And she hadn’t even had him.
So not fair.
Tossing the pillow aside, she threw her legs over the side of the mattress and padded across the tan Berber carpet her landlord had just put in. If she had any hope of being able to deal with what was coming in the morning, she needed to pop a few Ibuprofen, and down a big glass of ice cold water.
She headed into the bathroom and brushed her teeth to wash away the taste of rum. Afterward, she opened the cabinet for some Ibuprofen…then remembered it was in the kitchen. She’d taken some last night when she’d come home from work.
“Crap.”
She crossed her bedroom and then cracked the door open, sliding through and tiptoing toward the living room. Halfway there, she froze. The TV was still on, and Steven was still awake. He sat on the couch, facing the TV, and held a glass of something dark. His hair stuck up all over the place, as if he’d been running his hands through it. He did that when he was stressed, or upset, and this time…
It was her fault.
She didn’t even dare to breathe, one foot still frozen in the air. It wasn’t too late to turn around and go back in her room. To pretend she hadn’t seen him looking so upset. But this was Steven, and he was the most important person in the world to her, and he was probably worried she would hate him now…
And she couldn’t do that to him.
His head dropped back against the couch. “Lauren,” he groaned, his tone strained.
Hugging herself, she took a deep breath and walked around the corner of the couch. “Look, I’m sorry about—”
The words choked her and turned into a gasp.
She’d noticed he was awake, but she hadn’t seen was what he was doing. But, oh my God, she did now. Every. Single. Detail.
He sat on the couch, with his dress shirt unbuttoned. If not for what he was doing, she easily could have gotten caught up in his hard pecs, and even harder abs. And the light dusting of reddish blond hair on his chest was enthralling.
There was no other word for it.
Except maybe…addictive.
But the real show was taking place further south. His navy blue, pleated khakis were unbuttoned and unzipped, and his huge cock jutted out, erect and wanting, and his hand had been moving up and down the hard length with a strength that she couldn’t look away from. Or ever forget. And, even though she should, she—
Oh my God, she couldn’t look away.
Nothing could make her.
He froze mid-pump. She probably should have turned away, or covered her eyes, but she was too busy staring at his impressive length, and the long blue vein that ran up the side of his shaft. His large hand still held on to his huge erection, and his jaw hung open, as if he didn’t have a clue what to say.
Neither did she.
She’d literally just caught him with his cock in his hand.
So she just stared. And stared some more. My God.