And then, I yelp, “Ow!” His teeth have come down on me. He’s bitten my right shoulder. Before I can ask for an explanation, he sucks the wound. Pain mixes with pleasure, arousing me.
“That’s going to be a souvenir of this bath,” he whispers in my ear. “I want you to always remember it.”
Believe me. “I will,” I murmur as he kisses me again.
“Are you on birth control?” he breathes against the nape of my neck between little nips and gnaws.
“Yes.”
“Good. I want to f*ck
you again. Can you—”
“Handle it?”
“That’s not what I was going to ask you. You don’t have much choice in that department. I make those decisions.”
The control he exerts over me turns me on. A surge of desire hurtles through me. Apologizing, I ask him what he was going to say.
“Zoey, can you trust me?”
He’s used that word a lot tonight. And I’ve fallen for it each time. Suddenly, it’s an ambiguous word I distrust; it frightens me. The image of Katrina comes back to haunt me like a specter. Despite the hot bath, a shiver slithers down my spine. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“I’m not wearing a condom.”
Oddly, a condom was the last thing on my mind. Reservation plays an unexpected game of tug of war with want. He’s probably been with hundreds of women…
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m clean. When I was in the hospital, they tested me for everything.”
“But you’ve been with Katrina.” Just breathing in the bitch could result in a sexually transmitted disease.
“I haven’t f*ck
ed her since my release.”
“But you said sex with her sucked.”
“That’s not what I meant. Semantics. It’s been non-existent.” He pauses. “Please, baby, let’s stop talking about her. She’s six thousand miles away. I’ll deal with her when we get back to LA. For all intents and purposes, she doesn’t exist.”
She does exist. It still disturbs me that he didn’t break up with before our trip. There must be some reason, but I can’t ask him. I know him too well. He may be hung like a horse, but he’s as stubborn as a mule. End of discussion.
I force Katrina to the back of my mind as he smothers my back with more kisses and puts a hand between my legs. The caress of my aching clit magically makes her disappear into thin air. In my mind, I hear my p*ssy
crying out for him. He’s all that exists.
“So, baby, are you cool with me f*ck
ing you unprotected?”
He applies more pressure. I throw my head back and moan. My answer. Sweet surrender.
“Sit on me, baby.”
Gripping my hips, he shifts me a little and then lifts me up several inches. I feel the tip of his dick at my entrance. Just as I begin to lower myself on his magnificent length, the doorbell sounds through the intercom.
“f*ck
,” grumbles Brandon. “That must be room service.”
I silently curse. Of all times to come! Lifting me off him, my beautiful lover stands, making a splash, and then steps out of the tub. My eyes stay glued on his gorgeous body dripping wet with sudsy water and his enormous erection, committing every slick contour to memory, while he wraps an oversized fluffy white towel around his hips. It’s low enough to showcase his washboard abs and his perfect pelvic V. He’s just so f*ck
ing sexy. Pure manly perfection. Seriously, he’ll be People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” even when he’s dead.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He shoots me a cocky smile. “We’ll pick up right where we left off.”
“I’ll be waiting, Prince Charming.” Hurry!
“Aren’t you missing a word?”
I quirk a knowing smile. “Monsieur Prince Charming.”
Satisfied, he blows me an air kiss with those kissable lips and dashes out of the bathroom. Humming “Unforgettable,” I relax in the tub, stretching out my legs and leaning my head against the backboard. I close my eyes and let glorious memories of the last twenty-four hours dance in my head to make up for my emptiness.
Five minutes pass, and my sweet memories are interrupted by angry voices coming from another room. My eyes flutter open. Is Brandon having some kind of argument with the hotel help? Maybe they forgot something? Knowing Brandon as well as I do, that would piss him off.
“Why the hell didn’t you let me know?” I hear Brandon yell.
The hotel kitchen ran out of whipped cream? Concerned and curious, I get out of the steep tub and grab one of the plush terry cloth robes hanging from a hook within arm’s reach. Without towel drying myself, I shrug it on and loosely belt it. It feels yummy.
“Brandon, is everything okay?” I ask upon entering the spacious living room.
And then I shudder to a halt and my jaw crashes to the floor. All air leaves my lungs.
Standing at the doorway is Katrina, dressed to the nines and clutching Gucci. Her cat-green eyes clash with mine as she reddens with fury.
“Brandon, what the hell is she doing here?” she shrieks as Gucci jumps out of her arms and runs over to me. He laps my bare toes with sweet kisses, but I’m too paralyzed with shock to acknowledge the affectionate little dog.