He’s not a stranger. He...saw you last night.
I let out a gasp. How dare he remind me of that erotic, yet public and humiliating moment? There is no way I am climbinginto the car and spending the drive alone with a man who is going to pretend he didn’t see and hear me come.
Jesus.
We aren’t leaving the city, nor will we be alone.
Oh Jesus. Heistaking me to the club.
I can’t. I can’t go. It’s not the type of place I’m into. If I’ve given him the impression I’m some sex kitten who likes to fuck in public places or with people watching (damn that driver!)then he’s got me all wrong.
What am I going to do? Cancel? Decline?
Damn him. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Travis since he dropped me home early Sunday morning. For two days I’ve been squirming, looking forward to feeling his body against mine, the way his large hands caress my skin, and his gray eyes locking mine in place as he thrusts deep inside.
Damn him.
This thing between us will be over in the blink of an eye.
There won’t be next week or even next weekend. Both of us will end it before then, or it will fizzle out. Tonight might be the last chance to sleep with him again.
The stupid, sexy billionaire can drive me out to his damn sex club if he wants, but I’m not going inside. He can come out and tell his driver to take us somewhere else.
I scroll the text messages and frown when I notice his other point. Dress warm. Why would I need to dress warmly? Maybe it was a typo and should’ve said hot? Well, he said warm, sowarmis what I’ll be wearing.
Pays to spellcheck.
I grin to myself and reply quickly,see you tonight!
Is it strange that I’m disappointed he won’t be picking me up in the Maserati? Watching him drive me home, wearing only his T-shirt and sweatpants as the engine roared, was sexy as hell.When he caught me looking, Travis did a double take, smiled, and then reached over and slid his hand between my legs.
“Open,” he ordered, and like a pair of automatic doors, my legs did just that. I was quite aware at that point in ournot-datethat he had full control of my body.
Leaning my head back against the headrest, I closed my eyes and enjoyed his touch.
“Fucking hell,” Travis cursed, pulling up outside my building. He twisted around, grabbed my face and slammed his mouth down on mine as I clenched around his fingers. “You are the dirtiest, sexiest little slut I’ve ever fucked. And I want more of you.”
As my orgasm exploded, my bruised lips silenced by his demanding mouth, I reminded myself that this was just sex and I couldn’t go liking anything about him.
But I do like him.
I like his cheeky humor, how he can meet my banter and make me think. I like his home and how he’s decorated it simply, but without it being cold and unwelcoming like a lot of single men’s homes.
I like how he touches me even when it isn’t sexual—despite that being most of the time.
I like how dominant he is.
How his clothes drape off his muscular frame with ease, and he looks strong, healthy, and powerful in a pair of sweats or a suit.
Travis opened the car door after that, walked me to the door of my apartment, kissed me, squeezed my ass, then stood in the doorway until I closed the door.
Then he knocked.
I opened it, he pushed me inside and up against the wall, then kissed me for about three solid minutes.
I smile remembering the way my heart beat so hard, delicious adrenaline roaring in response to this man desiring me so much. After hours in his bed.
Panting, we pulled apart and stared at one another. A knowing in his eyes. One that was mirrored in mine, I’m sure. Do we...is this...?
