Flopping down on my back, I make a show of my aloof consciousness and place my hands behind my head. She’s speechless. Slowly turning my head, I look at her.
“What?” I shrug. I love fucking with people.
Her eyes are wide as saucers before they suddenly narrow as if she’s just been informed of the game I’m playing. She pulls her shirt up over her head, revealing her black bra. Supple creamy looking breast firmly setting in their cups. Holy shit. She’s going to get me shot.
I abruptly sit up. “What are you doing?”
She undoes her shorts and pulls them down her long legs, revealing little black panties that cup the top of her tanned thighs like shorts. My heart skips a beat and my dick hardens faster than I’ve ever experienced. Despite the bruising on her ribs and thighs, she’s fucking incredible.
“Stop!” I bluntly snap.
She can’t do this, I can’t let her get me killed. It’s not that I don’t want her or don’t find her unattractive, I find her very fuckable and that’s the problem. She’s forbidden, and she fucking knows it. She wants me to cross the line and take her to bed.
She smiles and shrugs innocently as if she’s not doing anything. Little bitch used my own game against me. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“What? I thought we were getting ready for bed?” she innocently replies. Slipping into the bed, she shimmies herself into a clove of sheets and blankets. She looks so small in such a big bed. The fucking pillows between us are doing nothing to separate the tension between us though. This is different than sharing a bed with the other girl from the club. Brushing her hair from her face, she hisses, she pulls her hand back blood drips from her fingertips. Sitting up, I grab her by the chin and look her over. She doesn’t fight me, our little game over.
It’s deep and dripping crimson onto her chest. Even the sheets have some of the blood on it. Shit.
It needs stitches. Letting go of her face, she sits up and looks to me with big doe eyes.
“What should I do?”
Running my hand through my hair, I know I have to get it to stop bleeding but I can’t take her to a doctor, they ask too many questions.
Getting off the bed, I grab my jeans and boots.
“Where are you going?” Her voice meek and actually sweet for the first time.
“Finding some help.”
10
Big Chief
Out in the hall of the hotel, and fully dressed, I walk to the desk where the concierge is still standing, his head down and hand moving around as if he’s writing on something. Sensing me before I have a chance to say anything, he looks up and plasters a smile onto his face.
“Gerald, How can I help you?” He sets the pen down. The name confuses me for a second, then I remember I put a fake one down. Resting both my arms on the counter, I look at the paper he’s writing on, a crossword. My eyes slide to the computer screen that’s lit up next to him. It has a list of occupied rooms and their names. Putting on my southern charm, I flick my attention back to him and grin. My eyes falling to his name tag for the first time. Jasper.
“Hey Jasper, do you happen to have any first aid kits in the back?” My eyes flick to his and his brows furrow in thought.
“Oh, for your friend? I saw that!” His voice a hushed whisper as if he’s gossiping.
“Uh huh. Got in a catfight and I need something to clean her up,” I lie, hoping he buys it and just goes in the fucking back.
“Poor thang. Let me go look.” Turning away, he enters a room behind him and I reach over and pull the screen toward me hoping to find a doctor. Eyes running down the list of names, I find a Dr. Aleck, room 18.
“So all we have is Band-Aids.” His voice echoes from the room, getting louder as he gets closer.
Quickly I shift the screen back and put on a thin-lipped smile.
“Hey, we’ll try it.” I chuckle and take them from him.
“Will she be okay?” His face scrunches like he actually cares, his lips forming a pout. I didn’t even know us guys could do that; pout.
“Oh yeah, she needed her ass whooped.” I chuckle but his face goes blank. If he knew Delilah like I do, he’d think it was funny too. Turning away, I head back upstairs to our room to get my gun.
Stepping inside, Delilah is still sitting on the bed, biting her thumbnail. I swipe my .45 from the dresser and Delilah’s mouth pops open.
“Big Chief, what’s going on?”
I don’t reply before shutting the room door behind me. Slipping my gun in the back of the waistband of my pants. I take the stairs to avoid the hotel cameras, my steps echoing through the concrete walls until I finally reach the first floor. Opening the door of the staircase, I reach freshly vacuumed green carpet and begin to scan the numbers on the walls, passing door by door until finally reaching room 18.