“Jesus,” I swore under my breath and ran a hand through my disheveled hair.
What was it with her? Why couldn’t I get enough of her? She wasn’t some groupie or a fling. She was a mom. She had a kid. She was almost half my age. I had to get that shit through my head.
I had come inside her without protection. Sure, she had an IUD, but still. I’d lost my damn mind. I wanted her to have me inside her. Some caveman shit came over me, and the idea of filling her with my release made me crazy. I’d had to do it over and over.
She was making me act like someone I wasn’t.
Going back to Beverly Hills had crossed my mind when I opened my eyes and saw her lying there beside me. My dick had gone instantly hard, and I’d had to get out of bed before I woke her up, fucking her. Cam would be home today. I couldn’t keep her up here to be my own personal cum bank. I winced as my cock jerked at the thought. I was a sick bastard.
I wasn’t running away again. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I wasn’t going to be able to run from her this time. Just looking at her lying there, I felt possessive. I didn’t want another man touching her. The sound of her cries when she climaxed were mine, damn it.
I glared down at the cup in my hand and considered putting whiskey in it. I needed something.
The sound of her yawn got my attention, and I stepped back away from the doorway and walked toward the living room. She didn’t need to wake up to me watching her sleep. She’d get ideas. She’d realize she was in my head. Those were things I would deal with, but she didn’t need to know.
I sank down onto the sectional and propped my legs up before taking another drink of my coffee. She’d be up soon, and I was anxious about how she’d react. Part of me wanted her to bolt to save me from more stupid decisions. The other part of me wanted her naked and in my lap while I worshipped her tits and she rode my dick.
Yeah, I needed some fucking whiskey.
“Do you know where my dress is?” Her voice was thick from sleep.
I didn’t move. I shrugged and then glanced over at her. She was wrapped in my sheet. Jesus! I looked away from her.
“I think we got rid of it in the elevator maybe?” I replied, then took a drink of the coffee to keep from looking at her again.
“Okay,” she said, then moved across the room toward the door that led out to the elevator.
I closed my eyes tightly and took a deep breath. I would not get up and go touch her. I wouldn’t offer her something to eat. She was getting dressed and leaving. There were no morning-after expectations from her. She wasn’t trying to embed herself into my life by making me breakfast or walking around in my shirt. She was leaving. Smart girl.
When the door opened back up and she walked out, she was dressed, carrying my sheet in her arms. “I’ll just go put these back and get my things,” she said, barely looking my way.
Damn. She was nervous. Unsure. I’d had her in every position I knew all over the place last night. She had to be sore in more than just between her legs. I was treating her like a groupie.
I dropped my feet to the floor and stared toward the hallway a moment, trying to decide what was best. I didn’t want her hurt. I cared. There, I’d fucking admitted it. I cared. I liked her. My cock loved her. She didn’t deserve this awkward morning-after shit.
When she walked back into the living room, she had her purse over her shoulder and her heels in her right hand. She gave me a tight smile, then began walking to the door.
“Brielle, wait,” I said, stopping her.
Then, I stood up as she turned back to look at me. There was a sadness in her eyes that felt like it was slicing open my chest.
“I’m trying to figure out how to do this right,” I explained.
Her smile softened, but the sadness in her eyes remained. I needed that to go away. My chest couldn’t take that. I didn’t want to see her sad. Especially because of me.
“It’s fine. I knew … what I was doing last night. I knew that the morning would come.”
No. I shook my head. That was not what she should know. She shouldn’t have expected to be treated like that. Like this.
“We need to talk. Come to the kitchen. I’ll fix you something to eat.”
A real smile touched her lips then, and I was relieved to see her eyes twinkle with amusement.
“You’re going to make breakfast?” she asked teasingly.
This was better. I could take a deep breath again.
“I can make eggs and toast. It’s not fancy, but it’s good,” I told her.