“Talk,” I snapped.
“I know what it means,” he shared. “Though, just to point out, I want you coming back to me so we can eat, get our second wind, and because we don’t have a lot of time before we gotta check out, you can suck me off. Then we can go. Later, when we hook up again, I’ll return the favor. That’s us being just fucks to each other. Now, room service shows and you wanna drink champagne, eat fruit and do it silently until you get on your knees between my legs, have at it.”
That was both titillating and funny.
I didn’t get a chance to experience either to its fullest (not that I’d allow myself to do that).
Nick kept talking.
“You wanna be quiet, that’ll be a nice change. Most bitches talk your ear off, either determined to drill it into you how interesting they think they are or cover how little they got between their ears by talking relentlessly. Honestly, this is part of why I like you being just my fuck. Not that you get that we’re just fucks, which is definitely a bonus. But you’re quiet and I could use the break.”
This was not amusing.
“I feel the need to be offended for the sisterhood,” I informed him snootily.
His amusement increased significantly.
“Have at it,” he allowed. “Though, you intend to do that with a lecture, maybe I’m good you leave before room service gets here.”
“And yet now, I have a burning desire to stay.”
He let loose another smile.
And I again knew I should go.
There was a knock on the door.
Nick twisted his head to look that way and then turned back to me.
He gave me a quick kiss, then, “It’s fruit plate, champagne and blowjob time.”
Without another word, he slid out and knifed off me and out of the bed.
He nabbed his jeans on the way to the door.
He disappeared down the hall.
When he did, I shot out of bed, snatched up the closest piece of clothing (which unfortunately happened to be his Henley) and darted into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I cleaned up.
I used the amenities provided to brush my teeth.
And I did all this knowing when I walked out of that room I should get dressed and walk out of the Hotel Teatro never to walk in again unless I was dining at the Nickel.
This meaning never seeing Nick again.
He could be playful. A smartass. Honest. Hot. Funny. He could look out for me.
And he’d seen my scar and he didn’t find it hideous.
I needed to disappear from his life.
I didn’t do that.
Like my mind was not my own, my body controlled by that mind, I walked out of the bathroom, sipped coffee, drank champagne, nibbled from a fruit plate and lectured Nick Sebring on the fact that women who talked incessantly were probably very attracted to him and therefore nervous and he should be kinder.
I also shared some other things about the sisterhood I felt he should know, particularly my views on men smacking women’s asses.
He’d grinned at me through some of it. Said sarcastic things through other parts. Was a definite smartass on more than one occasion. And throughout this, he was playful.
And highly appealing.
So after room service, I got down on my knees and sucked him off.
But truthfully, I liked his dick. It was pretty and he tasted divine.
So I would have done that anyway.
Chapter Nine
Aesthetic
Olivia
Late that afternoon, after leaving Hotel Teatro (checking out ten minutes after Nick and I battled it out in a final kiss before he walked out our hotel room door), I was at my computer in my home office paying my bills.
My phone rang.
I looked to it, my stomach flipping, my heart leaping and I closed my eyes tight.
What was the matter with me?
Don’t answer, Livvie. Don’t answer. Do NOT answer, Livvie.
My hand darted out and I answered.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Nick replied. “No salons open tonight. I’m not feelin’ the Teatro. Come to my place. Seven. I’ll feed you before I fuck you. I’ll text the address.”
His place?
He’d feed me?
Not a chance.
“Sebring—”
He interrupted to ask, “You like spaghetti?”
Yes, I liked spaghetti.
But more, I desperately, even feverishly wanted to know if he was a good cook.
Naturally, I didn’t share either of these.
I stated, “It really shouldn’t matter to you if I do or don’t considering I’m your fuck for the evening.”
“An evening when I intend to eat spaghetti,” he returned.
“If that’s the case, I’ll come over at eight,” I replied.
There was a brief hesitation before he suggested, “I think we should define this fuck business you think you got goin’ on.”
For some reason I found that funny.
I could not allow him to make me laugh.
“A fuck hardly needs defining, Sebring.”
He ignored me. “You seem to be good with climbing on my dick, climbing off it and going home.”