Pax, it’s Pax, all around me, holding me close, holding me inside of her, and I don’t ever want to leave.
Dammit. I want to stay like this, with her forever.
Why is it that the first girl I’ve ever fallen for in my life had to be one I can’t have?
***
She’s making tea and I’m slumped on her sofa, an arm over my eyes. I’ll have to confront Johnson, I know it, and it’ll be a fucking mess. He could kick me out of the agency.
Motherfucker.
And if it was only that...The feeling I’m being watched has grown worse. I don’t know what the hell that’s about, but it makes my scalp prickle.
Maybe I’m losing it. The stress of this past week is getting to me.
“How are the boys?” Pax asks, returning to the living room and depositing two steaming mugs on the table. “Dexter and Batman?”
I sit up, take my mug. I’d much rather drink some more whisky, but that’s not a good idea right now. “They’re okay. Batman’s opening up. Not so jumpy anymore.”
“Like me,” she says with a mischievous grin, and I gulp down hot tea, not trusting my face.
Pretending I don’t care is wearing me down, wearing down my mask of indifference and polite smiles. My face has lost its rigidity, and no matter how I try, I can’t hide.
Not from her.
“And Dexter?” She settles down beside me, naked, and my dick is hardening already, just because she’s close. “How big is he now?”
I show her with my hand?
?he’s tiny, really—and she squeals, her eyes filling with stars.
“Oh my God. So über-cute!” She beams. “Can I meet them?”
“If you can—?” I snap my mouth closed. That would mean coming to my rough neighborhood, my trashy apartment. Seeing. Knowing. “Pax—”
She sighs, puts her mug down. “Why do you always say my name like you’re mad at me? It was only a question.”
“Mad at you? Is that what you think?”
Jesus.
“I don’t know what to think. You won’t tell me much.” She reaches for her dress that’s in a pile on the carpet. Pulls it on without bothering with underwear.
And despite my fears and worries, I’m fully hard now, because that’s so hot. She’s sexy in everything she does, even when she’s upset and wary of me.
“What do you want to know? And why?”
“Why? Because…” She bites her lip and I reach for her, grip her hand. “Because I think maybe I was wrong about a lot of things.”
“What sort of things?”
She glances at me sideways, then looks down, long lashes brushing her cheeks. “About you.”
Shit. “What did you think of me?”
“Nothing bad,” she reassures me, and I relax a little. “But I thought you were some debauched rich boy with a gambling debt.”
“And that’s not bad?” I huff, torn between righteous anger and laughter, but what right do I have to righteousness anyway? “Hell.”