She didn't answer, just continued pacing. She kicked aside her discarded heels, whispering something vicious and unintelligible in French under her breath.
I ran a hand through my damp hair and watched her unravel, suddenly nervous. "You good, love?"
She spun on me, her hazel eyes wide with despair. "Do Ilookgood to you?"
Actually, yes. Even like this—panicked and flustered and mumbling in her native tongue—she was the most gorgeous fucking thing I'd ever seen. "You look freshly fucked," I said honestly, smirking as I stretched as if I had nowhere else to be but here. "And, in case you forgot, that was your idea."
"Mine?"
I gestured lazily to the bed. "You kissed me first. Then round two, I was under you. I wasn't complaining about any of it."
She snarled, bending to pick my shirt up and threw it at me. "Get. Out."
I caught it with one hand, amused. This was the Aurélie I knew: sharp-tongued, short-tempered, and stubborn to her core.
I started pulling on my boxers slowly, as if I had all night. "Damn, Auri, you're not even gonna let me bask in the afterglow?"
"There is no afterglow!" she shouted. "You got what you came for. Happy?"
“Got what I came for? You meanyou?” I laughed, dry and sharp, and sarcastically added, “Yeah, real fucking happy.” I grinned, and she muttered a string of curses, her French so crisp it could slice through my car on the track. She turned away, her hands knotting the robe tighter, her shoulders tense. My cock twitched. I couldn't help it; she looked too good when she was furious, like she was about to kill me and fuck me again in the same breath.
I wanted her to do both.
"Keep talking like that, love," I drawled, zipping up my jeans with obnoxious leisure. "It's sexy when you swear at me in French."
She threw a shoe this time—a fuckingheel.I dodged it, chuckling.
"We shouldn't have done this."
"Why? We're two consenting adults."
"I don't expect you to understand," she snapped.
I stepped toward her cautiously, because I was already treading on thin ice with her right now. "You can't seriously tell me that wasn't the best sex of your life and that you regret it."
Her nostrils flared. "You're so fucking full of yourself! Getout!"
I held my hands up defensively. "I meant it was for me, too, Aurélie."
"I don't care what you meant!"
Wanton need and desire coursed through me once again. I loved seeing her so riled up and passionate, loved the redness on her face, the mess of her makeup, the marks on her skin, knowing it was all from me. If she regretted it, she had a funny way of showing it. No, she was scared, and she was running, and I'd let her… for now. But she couldn't run from me—from us—forever.
“Can’t wait to do it again, love.”
That was when she stormed toward me, fists to my chest, pushing me toward the door. I barely had time to grab my jacket. “Get out!”
I let her push me. Let her feel like she was winning, even though she wasn’t. I’d already won. I’d been inside her. I had her claw marks all over my skin, her taste still on my tongue. The scent of her, ofus, thick in the room was proof that this wasn’t a drunken dream.
She knew it. She’d be thinking about it all night. All week. She’d replay every second, every thrust, every word, just like I would. This wouldn't be a one-night thing no matter how many times she said it or tried to convince herself otherwise.
I didn’t even bother pulling my jacket on. Just held it in one hand, the other braced against the doorframe as she all but shoved me into the hallway.
I caught her wrist before she could slam it in my face. Her eyes met mine, all wide, dark, and blazing. I leaned in just slightly. “Sweet dreams, baby,” I murmured with a wink. “Though I know they’ll be of us.”
And before she could throw something else—her other heel, maybe—I turned and walked away, still grinning and one-hundred percent hers.
The sun burned.The water roared. And my mind? A puzzle I couldnotfigure out.
