His fingers and palms. His lips and tongue…
Even in the oppressive steam of this water, I shiver.
And what was with that goodbye earlier? He just stared at me. Couldn’t even bring himself to speak. Rory sure as hell didn’t give me any details about what happens next.
Is there going to be more interrogation? What are the Kings plotting to do with me now? I know they want to hurt Leo. They just need the how. And I understand that they plan to use me to help them figure it out.
What I’m really wondering, crazily, is where things stand with my kidnapper. I cover my face with my hands.
What is wrong with me?
Us messing around didn’t require a big sacrifice on his end. He probably does stuff like that with the women he abducts all the time. Just because last night was special formedoesn’t mean it wasspecial.
Especially not for Rory. But I can’t exactly ask him.
Hey, so how many women have you done like this?
Asking would betray my interest, and this isn’t that kind of relationship.
I’ve been replaying the events of last night in my head over and over, wondering what he thinks about what happened between us. Whether he liked it.
Whether he likes me.
He seemed to last night, with those smoldering eyes and that gentle attention. With the way he focused on pleasuring me like it was his only job in the world.
But then again…if my twenty-four years around mafiosos has taught me anything, overpowering someone isn’t a difficult thing for men to enjoy.
What I really want to know is what it feels like for him.
I still find it kind of impossible to believe that the crazy effect he has on me is something I could have on him. The idea that someone could lose themselves over me, the way I lost myself last night?
All bleary-eyed and entranced, crying and moaning like some kind of lovesick creature…
I squeeze my hands tighter over my face, letting my scalding self-consciousness sear me.
I cannot believe last night happened.
And I also can’t believe how badly I want a sequel…
Several sequels, in fact.
Ugh.
Frustrated, warm, and clean, I stand up straight, turn off the shower, and climb out onto the mat.
Tugging a massive, fluffy towel off a bar, I wrap myself up and disappear for a moment into the plush comfort of this angel-soft fabric swathed around me.
I want to marry this towel.
Great. First I explore myself sexually with a criminal, and now I’m fantasizing about wedding inanimate objects. What’s next?
I pull the bathroom door open and pad out into my room, trying to shake off all the weirdness of today?—
A gasp rips through me, and it takes everything in me not to jump back against the bathroom door.
Rory stands like a statue at my window, his eyes lost beyond the glass, a paper bag suspended from his fist. When he hears my half gasp, half shriek, whatever trance he’s in breaks. His eyes find mine.
Immediately, I feel my cheeks flush. His handsome features mesmerize me once again. Did I really have an orgasm all over that supermodel face? Holy shit.
