“Great.”
“I’m not being a bitch, Ol. It’s just what would happen.”
“I know. I just…” Oliver scrunches up his face, closing his eyes. “Fuck it. Do you want me to kiss you?” Before I can react, before I can shake my head and tell him no, Oliver saves me. “Oh shit. Don’t even answer that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought nothing would change. I thought I could ignore it. I thought hanging out would be the same. It’s not. I just...I gotta go.” He picks up his jacket and flings it over his shoulder. “You wanna come down with me now?”
I can tell he doesn’t want me to. I can tell he just wants to run away. “No, that’s okay. I’m just gonna sit here and—” Freeze to death? Shiver so violently that my teeth grind into dust? Anything but have to bid you an awkward farewell downstairs in the parking lot. I love Oliver to death, but it’s pretty clear to me that things can never be as they once were between us. There’s no going back. That makes me suddenly, overwhelmingly very sad.
“Okay, Romera. Well make sure you get home safe, okay? Make sure you catch a cab.”
“I will. Good night.” I tuck my chin into the crook of my arms, hugging myself as I wait for him to go. I’m ridiculously cold by the time I head back inside myself. My clothes make wet slapping sounds as I kick out of them and toss them on the locker room floor.
Chapter Seven
Sloane
My head is pounding when I crack my eyes open. Too bright. Too damn cold. The room pitches a little as I pull the covers up around my shoulders. “There she is,” a voice says softly beside me. Zeth. His hands find me underneath the blankets, moving firmly over my body as he takes hold of me and pulls me close to him.
“Jesus, girl, you’re burning up. You feeling okay?” he rumbles into my neck. A violent shiver rocks through me as his mouth moves languidly over my skin. The sensation is wonderful, but the shiver isn’t because I feel good. It’s because I’m feeling bad. Really, really bad.
“Oh, god. Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Zeth bites at my ear lobe? his arms tightening around me.
“I think… I was out in the rain last night. I think I’ve caught a chill or something.” Sure enough, when I breathe in through my nose, I’m all congested and stuffy. Damn it!
“I know what’ll make you feel better.” Zeth turns me slowly onto my back and climbs over me, his face hovering a couple of inches above my own. He looks deliciously tousled from sleep; his hair is much longer than I’ve ever seen it. He could style it now if he wanted to, yet at this particular moment it’s sticking out in every which direction, begging me to tease it between my fingers. I do so, groaning at the ache in my joints. Movement is not my friend.
“Oh, boy. It must be bad. The great Dr Romera is moaning like the world is coming to an end.” His mouth moves to the hollow of my neck? where he grazes his teeth against my skin. I’m so torn between pulling the cover tight against me and clamping my eyes closed until the awful spinning in my head passes, or pulling the sexy guy on top of me closer and letting him have his way with me.
Thing is, I’m feeling very delicate right now. “I don’t think I can handle sex with you right now,” I moan. “Your usual ministrations might just break me.” I can’t even believe I’m saying this. I never thought I’d be turning Zeth Mayfair down.
He kisses my chin, then the apple of each of my cheeks in turn. “Sloane?” He continues to kiss me, gently lowering himself onto me, so I can feel just how badly he wants me. His cock is hard, pressing gently against my stomach, making me even more conflicted. “Sloane?”
“Mmm?” I hiss when he rubs his cheek against mine, his stubble scratching at my skin in the most delicious way. “You shouldn’t kiss me,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to get si—”
He cuts me off, pressing his lips firmly against mine. I think he may not have been paying attention to what I’m saying at first, but then I realize he’s done it on purpose. His tongue teases the crease of my lips until I eventually give in and open my mouth to him. The kiss is deep and sweet and wonderful. He tastes so incredible, even first thing in the morning before brushing his teeth. Not too long ago, I couldn’t have imagined this. He waited to kiss me for so long. Weeks and weeks and weeks. It was pure torture. Now, it seems like he doesn’t want to stop.
Eventually, he has to.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper.
“If being sick means I still get to kiss you and be inside you, then bring it on. And also,” he says, gently rocking his hips against mine, “who said anything about my usual ministrations?”
“What, no black bag?”