Vicious
Page 58
For a slight second, I contemplated whether I should accidentally wake her up by breaking something or turning on the music because I simply didn’t know she was asleep, but apparently, even my assholeness had its limits.
I covered her with a blanket—again—and strode to the walk-in closet, pulling out my work-out clothes. The night was young, and sleep wasn’t on the menu for me, as usual.
I worked out at the indoor gym Dean’s building had to offer, then went back up to the penthouse—she was still asleep—and took a shower. When I was in my jeans and plain black tee, I padded barefoot to the living room and started going over documents for work. There were two agreements I needed to draft before New Year’s Eve. Easy Peasy. It wasn’t like I needed to spend some time with my family.
At four in the morning, I felt her arms wrap around my shoulders from behind as I sat on the sofa, scrolling through one of my client’s files.
“Do you have insomnia?” she asked bluntly into my ear before blowing on it teasingly. “You never sleep. Ever. I’m starting to think you’re not human.”
“My stepmom seems to share the sentiment.” I set my laptop on the coffee table and got up, spinning to face her. She looked how I felt. Pretty goddamn tired.
“Well, do you?” she probed.
“No,” I lied. “It’s four in the morning. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired anymore,” she protested. “And my new tattoo burns.”
“Pretty sure that’s not unusual. And you can go to sleep or let me fuck you, but we’re done talking for the day.”
“You know what, Vicious? I’m trying. I really am. To take you as you are. But sometimes, even I’m not immune to how horrible you can be.” She turned around and walked to the bedroom.
I watched her ass disappear down the hallway before she came back out with her courier bag and threw it across her shoulder. Her shoes were on. Why the fuck were her shoes on?
“Thanks for a mediocre day.” She collected her hair into a messy, high bun. “See you tomorrow at the office.”
She was leaving?
I felt like a chick. This was the male equivalent of being fucked and dumped. Some men called a taxi to pick up the women they screwed after sex. But she…she just wanted to leave after milking the longest date in the history of dates out of me.
I grabbed her by the ass and pulled her into my body until our noses touched. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I breathed hard into her face.
“Home, Vicious. I’m going home.”
“You know, Emilia, I feel a little robbed today. Can you see why?”
She blinked at me a couple of times. “You came in my mouth.”
“You came on my fingers,” I countered. “Yet, here I am, still ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent virgin, according to you, waiting for you to pop my cherry.”
She threw her head back and laughed, allowing me the opportunity to admire her straight white teeth.
Then she stopped laughing altogether and sighed. “You need help. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. In my apartment. Goodbye.”
Without thinking, I pushed my shoulder to her midsection, lifted her up fireman style, and carried her to the bedroom. This, right here, was what I’d wanted to do to her so many fucking times when I spotted her on the bleachers at one of my football games. I tackled big sweaty guys when, really, it was a cute fun-sized girl I wanted to take down.
To bring her down with me and drag her to my bed like a caveman.
I sauntered into the bedroom, pinching the sensitive flesh behind her knees and breathing her in. A throaty giggle escaped her.
I knew she had a great view of my ass. I also knew she was not going anywhere. Not this time. It was happening.
“Let me go, Vic,” she ground out. Lying. Again. She didn’t want to leave, and we both knew it. I didn’t answer. “I’m not going to sleep in your bedroom.”
Dean’s bedroom, but again, there was no reason for her to know that at this point.
I threw her on the bed, then bit my lip as I watched her sprawled on it, staring at me wide-eyed. Her purple hair was everywhere, and it was about to be tangled in my fist.
“That really hurt my tattoo.” Her hands moved to the back of her neck instinctively before she remembered she shouldn’t touch it. She rubbed her thighs instead.
“Strip for me,” I croaked. It sounded almost desperate to my ears. “Now.”
“I’ll take the non-jerk version, please.” She started with this again.
“Fine. Please, take off your clothes.” I pressed my palms together. I’d have gone down on my knees if I needed to. I didn’t want to do it myself. I wanted her to come to me willingly. To ask for it. For what she clearly wanted all those years ago.
To stop lying.
For the first time, I wanted her to invite me in, not to be the one to burst through her door.
“No,” she said, smashing my fantasy to pieces.
“No?” I lifted one eyebrow. “Then I guess I’ll have to chew them off of you.”
“Be careful,” was all she said, nodding.
Stupid tattoo.
I lowered myself to the bed, grabbing the hem of her red sweater and slowly peeling it off of her, inch by inch. Every sliver of skin was important. Like a blunt at the end of a stressful week, like a meal after days of starvation.
I. Was. Going. To. Savor. This. Woman.
I covered her with a blanket—again—and strode to the walk-in closet, pulling out my work-out clothes. The night was young, and sleep wasn’t on the menu for me, as usual.
I worked out at the indoor gym Dean’s building had to offer, then went back up to the penthouse—she was still asleep—and took a shower. When I was in my jeans and plain black tee, I padded barefoot to the living room and started going over documents for work. There were two agreements I needed to draft before New Year’s Eve. Easy Peasy. It wasn’t like I needed to spend some time with my family.
At four in the morning, I felt her arms wrap around my shoulders from behind as I sat on the sofa, scrolling through one of my client’s files.
“Do you have insomnia?” she asked bluntly into my ear before blowing on it teasingly. “You never sleep. Ever. I’m starting to think you’re not human.”
“My stepmom seems to share the sentiment.” I set my laptop on the coffee table and got up, spinning to face her. She looked how I felt. Pretty goddamn tired.
“Well, do you?” she probed.
“No,” I lied. “It’s four in the morning. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m not tired anymore,” she protested. “And my new tattoo burns.”
“Pretty sure that’s not unusual. And you can go to sleep or let me fuck you, but we’re done talking for the day.”
“You know what, Vicious? I’m trying. I really am. To take you as you are. But sometimes, even I’m not immune to how horrible you can be.” She turned around and walked to the bedroom.
I watched her ass disappear down the hallway before she came back out with her courier bag and threw it across her shoulder. Her shoes were on. Why the fuck were her shoes on?
“Thanks for a mediocre day.” She collected her hair into a messy, high bun. “See you tomorrow at the office.”
She was leaving?
I felt like a chick. This was the male equivalent of being fucked and dumped. Some men called a taxi to pick up the women they screwed after sex. But she…she just wanted to leave after milking the longest date in the history of dates out of me.
I grabbed her by the ass and pulled her into my body until our noses touched. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I breathed hard into her face.
“Home, Vicious. I’m going home.”
“You know, Emilia, I feel a little robbed today. Can you see why?”
She blinked at me a couple of times. “You came in my mouth.”
“You came on my fingers,” I countered. “Yet, here I am, still ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent virgin, according to you, waiting for you to pop my cherry.”
She threw her head back and laughed, allowing me the opportunity to admire her straight white teeth.
Then she stopped laughing altogether and sighed. “You need help. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. In my apartment. Goodbye.”
Without thinking, I pushed my shoulder to her midsection, lifted her up fireman style, and carried her to the bedroom. This, right here, was what I’d wanted to do to her so many fucking times when I spotted her on the bleachers at one of my football games. I tackled big sweaty guys when, really, it was a cute fun-sized girl I wanted to take down.
To bring her down with me and drag her to my bed like a caveman.
I sauntered into the bedroom, pinching the sensitive flesh behind her knees and breathing her in. A throaty giggle escaped her.
I knew she had a great view of my ass. I also knew she was not going anywhere. Not this time. It was happening.
“Let me go, Vic,” she ground out. Lying. Again. She didn’t want to leave, and we both knew it. I didn’t answer. “I’m not going to sleep in your bedroom.”
Dean’s bedroom, but again, there was no reason for her to know that at this point.
I threw her on the bed, then bit my lip as I watched her sprawled on it, staring at me wide-eyed. Her purple hair was everywhere, and it was about to be tangled in my fist.
“That really hurt my tattoo.” Her hands moved to the back of her neck instinctively before she remembered she shouldn’t touch it. She rubbed her thighs instead.
“Strip for me,” I croaked. It sounded almost desperate to my ears. “Now.”
“I’ll take the non-jerk version, please.” She started with this again.
“Fine. Please, take off your clothes.” I pressed my palms together. I’d have gone down on my knees if I needed to. I didn’t want to do it myself. I wanted her to come to me willingly. To ask for it. For what she clearly wanted all those years ago.
To stop lying.
For the first time, I wanted her to invite me in, not to be the one to burst through her door.
“No,” she said, smashing my fantasy to pieces.
“No?” I lifted one eyebrow. “Then I guess I’ll have to chew them off of you.”
“Be careful,” was all she said, nodding.
Stupid tattoo.
I lowered myself to the bed, grabbing the hem of her red sweater and slowly peeling it off of her, inch by inch. Every sliver of skin was important. Like a blunt at the end of a stressful week, like a meal after days of starvation.
I. Was. Going. To. Savor. This. Woman.
