Chapter 13 #2
I’m one hundred percent sure she rolls her eyes, the snort that sounds between us solidifying my assumption. “I disagree. If something bothers you to the point it’s making you act completely out of character, then it needs to be a thing.”
I scowl. Grind my teeth together. Refuse to respond.
Her chuckle is low. Menacing. Obviously, a prelude to chaos.
She jerks her arm, wrenching her wrist from my grip and immediately sliding down to once again grip my dick. She squeezes with great intent, her low chuckle turning into a giggle, and I find myself torn between rolling away from her and rolling toward her.
“Come on, Cass. That’s not fair.”
She laughs, but this time her laugh is breathless. “Then tell me what the hell your problem is so we can get some sleep.”
I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want her knowing that I’ve fallen off a cliff into crazy town.
Racking my brain, I try to think of some kind of reasonable excuse that doesn’t come off as ridiculous caveman nonsense, but I fail miserably.
Because deep down, that’s exactly what it is.
Finally, after a brief mental struggle, I manage to confess, “I didn’t like you being out.”
Her grip on my cock eases, but she doesn’t fully release me. “What are you talking about?”
Sighing, I give up pretending I didn’t have a moment of sheer male insecurity and explain, “I didn’t like the fact you were out partying it up with God only knows who.”
She rolls away slightly; the arm she had wedged between us coming up as if she’s trying to show me something.
Her hand moves from my dick to my wrist, and she pulls until I allow her to move my hand, and she presses my palm against what feels like her wrist. I stroke her soft skin, my fingers running into smooth, round objects looped around her wrist. “What’s this? ”
“Bracelets,” she replies happily. “From the beads we picked up at Michaels.”
“Excuse me,” I croak, then clear my throat, not wanting to sound as stupid and sheepish as I feel right now. “You got them from where?”
Her arm lowers and I release her, and we settle back into our previous position with our hands overlapping on my stomach. “From Michaels. You know, the big craft store.”
“You went to a craft store and then made bracelets?” She nods, and when she says nothing further, I ask, “Is that all you did all night?”
Her cheek moves against my skin, and I know she’s smiling again. “No, then we also caught a magic show, which at first we thought might be hokey, but it truly was a good time.”
“Michaels and a magic show, huh?” My words come out reserved as I internally curse Tony Andersen and his misleading interpretation of the information provided to him.
“I mean,” she says slowly. “We were planning on attending the Magic Mike show, but someone had a problem with it…”
I cringe, her words trailing off, the implication of what she knows hanging out in the universe unchecked. Wincing, I close my eyes, then whisper, “Oh, one of the ladies didn’t want to go?”
Her bark of laughter cuts through the quiet like a whip, and I inadvertently jerk in response as she crows, “Don’t play innocent with me, Mr. Rafferty.”
Embarrassed, a nervous chuckle breaks through, but I manage to keep my tone innocent as I reply, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cassidy slaps me playfully on my stomach then her hand moves south, but I manage to snag her wrist before she can reach her intended target. We tussle a for a moment, but I manage to overpower her, force her onto her back, one of her legs pinned beneath me, holding both her hands up over her head.
I barely dodge her half-hearted head-butt, and I keep my grip tight as I wait for her to relax and her laughter to die down. She’s breathless, still releasing the odd giggle and I shake my head, wishing I could see her face while also grateful she can’t see my own.
“How’d you find out?”
“Declan sent Issa a text.”
“That fucker.”
She laughs again. “I bet he gets that a lot.”
Sighing, I release her wrists, brace myself on my forearms so I can maneuver my hips between her legs. She moves with me, her hands ghosting along my sides before settling on my lower back.
Then she lifts her hips, pushing her pussy against me. “You should give me a little missionary under the covers to make up for the inconvenience of having my plans changed.”
“Is that so?” I ask, thinking my pissy tone might make her a little less sassy. I shift my weight to one arm, intent on reaching the headboard where a light switch is hidden.
“Yeah,” she responds with even more sass than before. “And leave the light off.”
I pause, my hand hovering in the air. “What? Why?”
“So, I can pretend you’re one of those hot Magic Mike dancers.”
Pure unadulterated jealousy zips through my veins. I stab at the button, turn back to her as the light flickers on. “Over my dead fucking bo—”
She’s grinning. A beaming, self-satisfied smirk of a grin that has my eyes narrowing. She could not look any smugger if she tried, and the fact she’s not even trying to hide it does something to me I can’t quite place.
Which means I need to shut her up.
With my dick.