When the splintering pleasure finally ebbs, his thumb slows and he eases his fingers out before capturing my face between his hands for a bruising kiss.
“Fuck, you have no idea how incredible it was to see you fall apart like that,” he says, dropping his forehead against mine. My breaths are still coming out in short pants and the world seems a little hazy around the edges, but his cock is still very hard beneath me. I would love nothing more than to yank the zipper of his pants down and sit down on his dick, but a realization hits me.
I can’t fuck him. Even if I want to, even if he wants it, I can’t do that. Not when I have no idea where this is going between us. Not when he clearly isn’t just looking for a fuck buddy. Not when he can’t give me what I need.
Reluctantly, I pull my head away from his and I glance down at my dress, now shoved up almost to my panties. I yank it back down toward my knee, clear my throat and quickly stand, turning my back on Savage.
“Danika?”
I peek back at him as I straighten my dress. He hasn’t moved an inch, but written all over his face is recognition that the mood has shifted.
“Um, I have to go. I’m sorry. I have to finish an article before tomorrow morning.”
LIAR!
With a quick turn, I make a break for the sliding glass door and immediately beeline for the kitchen to grab my heels before dashing toward the front door.
Shit. This isn’t me. I don’t get ashamed or shy after sex. I never run. What the fuck am I doing?
My stomach roils and I flatten my hand over it, taking a deep breath before I stop by the front door to bend down and slip on my shoes.
I see him approaching in my peripheral vision, but keep my eyes on the floor. This man has me so off balance, I don’t even trust myself to look at him right now.
Because you know running is WRONG!
As soon as my shoes are on and I grab my purse from the table near the door, I’m out of excuses. Turning to face him, I plaster on a smile I hope is convincing.
He smiles back, but I see the question and disappointment behind it.
Cold-hearted bitch.
I step over to him and bend down to place a kiss on his cheek. Pulling back, I smile again.
“Thank you for dinner. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He nods, but otherwise doesn’t respond.
I turn my back on him and slip through the door and out into the hallway. The second it clicks shut behind me, I slump back against it, dropping my head into my hands.
What the hell is this man doing to me?
“What crawled up your ass today?”
I cast my death glare toward the other end of the table and my baby sister, Skye.
“Skye!” My mother’s chiding of her only grates more on my already tortured nerves.
“What?” Skye asks, throwing her hands up. “It’s not like you aren’t all thinking the same thing.”
I glance around the table at my oldest sister, Storm, her husband, Ben, and their daughter, Angelina, then at my mother, who gives me a sympathetic look.
“Well, honey, she does have a point. You have kind of been out of sorts today.”
Tossing my fork onto my plate with a clank, I drop my elbows to the table and run my hands back through my hair, tugging on the ends and looking to Storm for help. She’s the most level-headed of the Hawke kids, and she always tends to be the mediator. She purses her lips and frowns slightly.
Shit, I really have been a dick today.
“Savage, come on, what’s going on?” she asks, pushing her empty plate away from her and focusing her grey eyes on me. I don’t move or say anything. I really don’t need the entire family involved in my love life. I don’t know why I’m stupid enough to think they will just let it go.
“Well?” she probes. “Come on, Savage, last week in California you were happier than I’ve seen you in years, and now you are biting everyone’s head off anytime we talk to you and sulking around like your dog ran away or something. So, what the hell happened?”
She’s too perceptive for her own good sometimes.
I huff out a resigned sigh and lean back in my chair.
“It’s a woman.”
“Ha!” Skye yells. “I knew it!”
I glare at her again. “Shut up, Skye.”
The little brat sticks her tongue out at me and goes right back to eating. For a twenty-seven year old who constantly complains we treat her like a child, she certainly doesn’t do much to change our perception. Sometimes, I swear she’s intentionally childish because she knows she can get away with more that way.
Lord knows, we have been letting her get away with a lot since Star’s death.
“A woman, huh?” I look to my mother, reigning over our Sunday dinner from the head of the table with a glass of red wine in her hand. “Well, that would certainly explain the change in moods.” She gives me a small smile before taking a sip and setting her glass on the table. “You never mentioned you were seeing anyone.”
“That’s because I wasn’t. I’m not. Hell, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”