“Did I hurt you?”
“I’m okay.” She did feel a bit raw, but so content she didn’t care. “Are you okay?”
Pure male cockiness turned up the corners of his mouth. “Yeh. Your orgasm lasted a long time.”
“Were you worried you couldn’t outlast me?”
“No. I can outlast you.” He shook his head and slid his hands up her thighs to her waist.
She buried her face in his warm neck. “Can we do that some more?”
He ran his hands up her bare back. “Honey, we’re going to do that all night long.”
And they did. Three more times before Chelsea slipped from his bed and grabbed her dress from the floor. The sun rose through the slats in the blinds as she stepped into her dress. They’d drifted to sleep sometime around four. Sometime after Mark had made a hearty meal of frozen pizza and ice cream.
Chelsea reached for the zipper on the back of her dress and...
There had been several times in her life when she’d suffered the walk of shame sex. When the impulses of the night before felt shameful in the harsh light of morning. When regret felt like a fifty-pound lump in her stomach.
Funny she didn’t feel that way with Mark. She didn’t feel ashamed. She should. Having sex with him wasn’t right. Bad, and she probably would feel shame and regret. Later.
But right now…right now she just felt calm. Relaxed. Happy and totally wrung out.
Chelsea carried her shoes into Bo’s apartment, tiptoeing as quietly as possible.
“Where did you spend the night?”
Her shoes fell from her hands as she spun around. Jules stood in the kitchen, once again shirtless. “Christ,” she gasped, and placed a hand on her heart. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Making coffee.”
Coffee sounded good. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and ducked into her bedroom. She changed into a big hoodie and a pair of cutoff sweatpants. Her bed was still made, as if no one had slept in it. She moved across the hall and glanced into her sister’s room. Bo was stretched across the yellow sheets, asleep and completely naked.
Chelsea moved into the kitchen and grabbed a mug. “So, tell me?†” She poured herself a cup of coffee and glanced over at the man sitting at the table. “Are you going to make an honest woman out of my sister?”
He looked up from his newspaper. “Is Bressler going to make an honest woman out of you?”
“Who says I was with Mr. Bressler?” Lord, she hoped no one else figured it out.
“You left wearing his jacket.”
Oh yeah. “How do you know it was his?”
“There were only two men there with charcoal Hugo Boss suits. Mark and Ty Savage.”
God, leave it to Jules to notice something like that.
“I know you didn’t go home with Ty,” Jules continued, and returned his gaze to the sports page. “Besides, Bo told me you were driving him home.”
“That doesn’t mean I spent the night—you know—spent the night. Not like you and Bo.” She sat across from him and took a sip of coffee. “That house has like six bedrooms.” Then she told a huge whopper while keeping a totally straight face. “Mr. Bressler doesn’t even really like me that much.” Her brows lowered. Maybe it wasn’t such a whopper. True, he’d liked her when she rode him like the mechanical bull at Gilley’s. He’d seemed to like her in his jet tub and later in his bed.
“And you stayed in one of those?” He looked skeptical, while teetering on the edge of believing her.
She nodded just as the memory of their last time together entered her head. Good God, she’d never felt so wonderfully violated in her life. The man didn’t ask permission to do anything. He just did it, and did it so well, he had her begging him not to stop. Her cheeks caught fire and she looked away.
“You’re lying.”
“Are you dating my sister now? Or is this a one-nighter?”