All the things that normally put me in that blissful state of “I don’t give a fuck” and just let me be.
At least, they did before I met Savage. I let myself get way too involved with him way too quickly. The phone calls and videos lured me into this semi-relationship status when I barely knew him—clearly—and when the last thing I need in my life right now is the complication of a full-time man.
I need quick and easy. Well, not necessarily quick.… There is definitely something to be said for slow, torturous, unhurried sex. Sometimes that is exactly what I need, but more often than not, a rapid, hard pounding is just the ticket.
I’m sure that’s all I need to get Savage out of my head for good.
Staring out the cab window at the rain-soaked streets, buildings, and people of D.C., I’m barely able to contain my annoyance at the cabbie’s choice of route to the hotel. We’re at a dead standstill in some roundabout and I’m ready to bite his head off after a long four days of interviews and writing. All I want to do is get back to the hotel, yank off my heels, throw on my sweats, and down about half a bottle of bourbon.
At least this asshole isn’t blasting music in here. The last thing I need is a headache.
I hate politics, and I hate politicians and lobbyists even more. These people are the true scum of the Earth. I honestly think my version of hell would be living and working with these people and having to hear them spew their nonsensical horseshit all day.
Four days of it already has me at my boiling point. I thought Mayor Dunne was a scumbag, but he pales in comparison to some of these people. I need that story done, just like I need to figure this Savage situation out. Both have been weighing heavily on my mind. One, the Abello/Dunne story, is out of my control—I’m at the mercy of Paul and him getting me what I need. But the other—my indecisiveness about Savage—is completely on me and I need to suck it up, be a big girl, and figure out what I’m going to do.
I pull out my phone for the millionth time during the trip to check my messages. My heart sinks when I see nothing has changed.
No texts.
No voicemails.
No videos.
None from Savage, at least.
For the millionth time, I open our text conversation. The last one we had, the Friday before my disastrous performance at his condo. He was still in San Diego, and I was still blissfully unaware of the fact that a relationship with him would be, well, a little complicated.
> I can’t wait to get my hands on you. <
< I can’t wait to have your hands on me. >
Shit. He was good with his hands, so damn good.
A shudder rolls through my body as I remember his hand blazing a trail of fire drifting up my thigh. His fingers sliding my panties to the side and gliding through my slick folds…
I have to clamp my thighs together to help ease my throbbing clit at the memory.
Damn.
I quickly close out the message screen and check my emails. Doug—wanting to know when I will be sending him the notes from today. My mom—wondering when I’m going to visit her. They can wait. I slip my phone back in my purse and refocus on the rain outside as we finally start moving again.
Five minutes later, I’m slamming the cab door outside my hotel and racing in through the rain. As I walk through the lobby, I focus on the bar. Any other trip, I would be spending my night in there, hoping to meet a guy who would bang the ever-loving shit out of me in his room or mine, and not even bother asking my name.
Hot.
Rough.
Hard.
That’s what I need.
I am hornier than a goddamn teenager and I have absolutely zero desire to find my usual business trip bang buddy. I wasn’t even able to seal the deal when Caroline and I went out to the club the night before I left for this trip. I tried—boy, did I fucking try, anything to forget about the Savage situation—but when the beautiful man I had been dancing with all night kissed me, it felt all wrong and I couldn’t suppress the rotten feeling in my stomach.
After slipping into the empty elevator, I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, trying desperately to let the synthesized version of some pop song being piped through the speakers lull me into some semblance of relaxed.
Just as the ding sounds, alerting me I’ve reached my floor, a familiar ringtone sounds in my purse. Caroline. What the hell does she want?
I dig in my purse for my phone and stumble out of the car, making my way down the brightly lit hallway toward my room.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask while I pull my keycard from my wallet and slide it in the door.
“Hey, girl, what are you up to?”
“Nothing.” I toss my bag onto the chair next to the small table in my room and kick off my heels before dropping back onto my bed. “I just got back to my room.”
“Are you alone?”
Fuck.
I hate that she knows me so well. “Yes, I am alone, thank you very much.”
“Well, that’s a first.”