His grin grows wider. “One night, no strings. Great—”
“Great sex, no kissing, and bye the next morning with no expectations,” I say. “Yeah. You told me that the first night.”
I pull back the blanket and climb between the sheets, my back facing his direction, a smile on my face since I seem to have stunned him into silence.
“Turn the lights off.”
I let my eyes fall closed, but I’m still very aware of him in the room with me. Despite the weight of the blanket and being solidly wrapped in warmth, cold chills still cover every inch of my body. I hate him for the way I react to him.
The sound of the light switch being flipped echoes around the room, but it’s nowhere near as loud as the rasp of the blankets as he pulls them back on the opposite side of the bed.
I could argue that he needs to sleep on the floor, but I know he won’t touch me while I’m sleeping. He didn’t that first night after we fell onto his bed, exhausted from the things we’d done to each other, and he was right about the rules he set forth before we got started. I just didn’t know that his no-strings rule also meant no memories on his part either.
He left the bed before I woke, and my disappointment at the time had everything to do with not having a repeat performance before I left than any feelings of being discarded. I’m not some college girl who gets hearts in her eyes when a guy pays attention to me. I didn’t have expectations when I left that room and saw him, along with several of the other guys from the club, in the kitchen. I even demanded a to-go cup when he offered me a cup of coffee.
Thinking back, I remember the snap of his bedroom door when he left the room that morning. It was probably his way of waking me up, an unspoken demand that I get my shit together and leave without trying to look like a complete dick.
I can admit that I might have wanted a little more from him, but I didn’t leave that room in search of him, thinking we had something romantic going on. We had an amazing night of great sex, and since that’s not always easy to find, I was considering offering my number so he could call me if he wanted to do it again.
Then he called me babe, and I knew exactly where I stood.
I try to force myself to fall asleep while also promising myself I’ll never put myself in that same position again. Being disrespected once is enough for me to learn my damn lesson.
He shifts his weight, the too-small bed ensuring the warmth of him can be felt though my nightdress even though he isn’t touching me. I blame what I’m facing tomorrow on why my brain is trying to convince me that I need comfort from him. Why his arms around me or even his lips on my skin is exactly what I need to feel better.
My heart is racing, and I can’t even begin to explain it to myself.
I’m not scared or even really irritated with him any longer.
It carries notes of longing and anticipation, and I know that if his hand simply brushed my back, I’d roll over and give him what my body also wants.
But he doesn’t touch me.
He settles into the mattress, a soft sigh leaving his lips as his breathing evens out.
He didn’t show up at this room with expectations. He didn’t shove his way inside because he wanted anything from me other than not having to drive an hour away to find another place to sleep.
Even the stripping down to his boxer briefs was more about trying to get on my nerves than a real offer of ending the night in a sweaty mess of exhaustion and orgasms.
I fall asleep, wondering just when I became so damn gullible because I fucking fell for all of it, my body aching with need while he’s probably silently laughing to himself at how easy I am to manipulate.
Chapter 10
Spade
What started out as a way to regain control of the situation has left me utterly exhausted. I don’t think I got but a handful of quick fifteen-minute naps all damn night.
Thankfully, Sylvie climbed into bed and faced away from me before my cock stiffened to its full glory.
Threatening to take my briefs off was a joke, one my cock didn’t quite understand when it didn’t happen.
That clean scent of her skin that invaded my senses in the car tortured me all fucking night, right along with the warmth of her body mere inches from mine.
I teased her about the muumuu, but honestly, she’s just as sexy in that as she was in just an old band t-shirt and panties. Fuck, the lace between her thighs might have been the best thing I’ve seen in a very long while, but when I closed my eyes, it was the way that goddamned long gown swished around her legs and clung to the tips of her breasts that took up so much space in my head. When have I ever been attracted to a woman covered up practically from her neck to her shins?
Groaning, I sweep my hand over my face, refusing to get out of bed until the very last minute. She’s no longer in bed with me. Like a fool, I pretended to be asleep when she climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom, the shadowy form of her body backlit by the light—just one more thing to provoke that animal inside me I’m barely managing to control.
I’m an enthusiastic lover, and I’ve had a lot of great sex. It fucking kills me that I remember the girl I fucked at the airport before getting on a plane headed to New Mexico, but I can’t remember the night with Sylvie. I’ve never had this fucking problem before, and it makes me think that maybe Slick was right. Something fucking happened that night that made me put a mental black spot where she existed, but I can’t ask Sylvie about it. I’m already the asshole who fucked and forgot her, even though it wasn’t on purpose. I don’t imagine it would go over well if I drilled her about what we said or how I acted when we were done.