Chapter 13
Troy
Boom.
A crack of thunder shakes the house, coaxing me from a deep sleep.
Rain hammers the windows in a relentless assault as bolts of lightning streak the dark sky. The wind whips outside, bending the palm trees at unnatural angles. It’s a dreary, ominous morning. The only positive is the woman lying beside me.
Dahlia’s strawberry-hued hair is spread across the white pillowcase, her lips pressed together in a sweet pout. I woke up at dawn and watched her sleep for an hour. She’s so peaceful, so fucking beautiful, that it’s hard to comprehend.
How is she real? How is she here, in this bed, with me?
I lie quietly and mull over yesterday. I wait for a moment of panic to rip through me. But it doesn’t come.
By all indications, I should be extricating myself from this situation. My ass should be on the phone with Ford, requesting someone take my place because the majority of yesterday afternoon was highly inappropriate and unprofessional. I have never, not once, even considered getting involved with someone I was hired to protect.
Never.
I didn’t consider getting involved with Dahlia either. Have I thought about it? A million times. Have I wished it could happen? Every day since I met her. But I know that can’t happen. I know I’d ruin her—taint her world with a stain she doesn’t need. So why in the hell did things get so out of control? Why did I ask her questions about her sexual preferences, for fuck’s sake?
And why am I still in bed with her?
I study the curve of her lips and the bend of her neck. Her jawline is soft and smooth. Her lashes are dark and long. She’s the epitome of beauty in every way, and being near her, interacting with her, and sharing her space makes me feel something strange.
It’s a way I’ve never felt before.
It’s a way that, if things were different, I could get used to.
“Ah.”
Her lips part, and a soft moan slips through the room. The sound, sweet and sexy, sends a shot straight to my cock.
“Oh.” She lifts her chin, the corner of her eyes creasing. “There.”
The word is mumbled but discernible.
She moans again, squirming beneath the blankets. My heart hammers in my chest. My balls tighten so hard it hurts.
The edge of her shirt—my shirt—rides up her side. She kicks the blankets until they sit just above her hip and expose her bare skin from below her navel to just below her tits.
Every cell in my body is on high alert as I watch her hand slide between her legs.
This can’t be happening.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be watching this … but I’ll be damned if I get up.
She sucks a breath in through her teeth, arching her back off the bed. Her knees spread. The blanket dips again, lower this time, until her pussy is barely covered.
My God.
I fold my hands on my chest, refusing to let them go anywhere near my cock. I grit my teeth and watch her hand move against her clit just inches from me.
It’s torture—complete, absolute fucking torture.
Dahlia hisses, sliding a hand up her shirt. The material lifts and sits on her chest, exposing her tight nipple and round, heavy breast. She palms herself, rolling her nipple between two manicured fingers.
I blow out a breath slowly, trying desperately not to touch her. But fucking hell, it’s hard—in every way.
“Troy,” she whispers on a moan, her legs falling farther apart.
My teeth grind together, my eyes glued to her mouth.
I can’t do this. Should I do this? Do I need to get up?
Will it wake her if I do?
I don’t want to embarrass her—and there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’d pay for this experience.
I lift my head off the pillow, planning on slipping out of the room and jacking off in the shower. But as I move, she moves. And as she moves, the blankets move. And as the cool air touches her damp flesh, her eyes open … and gaze straight into mine.
Her pupils widen as she realizes what’s happening. Panic begins to set in.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“What was … what’s happening?” She looks down, watching as her hand slips from between her legs. “Oh my God.”
She grabs the edge of the blanket and pulls it over her body.
My brain is a cacophony of thoughts. The one side reminds me this is inappropriate and probably against work protocol in several ways. The other voice points out that we’re already here, it’s going to be even more awkward if I just get up … and that we both want to fuck.
There are a million reasons that’s a bad idea, but as she looks at me—begging me to fix this situation, I can’t remember one of them.
I pull the blanket off myself, showing her my dick stretching against the fabric of my sweatpants.
“Oh,” she says, her lips parting.
I gulp, waiting for her to fully awaken. If this goes anywhere, I need to know she made the choice coherently.
I need to know she wanted it … that she wants me.
“I didn’t touch you,” I say softly. “I wouldn’t do that.”
She licks her lips. “I know you didn’t.”
“How?”
She brings her eyes to mine. “I didn’t come.”
Her words ignite a firestorm inside me, and I suddenly don’t give a damn about whatever reasons I had not to touch her.
I want her.
I need her.
I have to have her … now.
“Do you want to come?” I ask, my heart striking my ribs with every beat.
“Are you offering to help?” She pulls the blankets off so hard they fall off the side of the bed. “Or do you wanna watch?”
Fuck.
Dahlia rolls onto her back, bending her knees and letting them fall to the side—giving me full view of her pussy. She holds my gaze as her fingers drag between her tits, over her stomach, and between her thighs. Her eyes flutter closed as she whimpers.
It takes everything I have not to pull her beneath me and sink into her as far as I can go.
But I don’t. Even though I can’t recall why I’m not supposed to do this, I know that if I do, things won’t be the same.
If I touch her, she’s mine.
There will be no going back.
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice rough.
She giggles, fluttering her lashes at me. “I couldn’t be surer.”
“I’m serious. This is going to complicate things between us infinitely.”
“Troy, if you haven’t noticed, things are infinitely more complicated between us now, whether I come on my fingers or on your cock.”
I shudder at the energy centering in my groin. My stomach’s clenched so tight that I grimace.
“I don’t have any condoms,” I say.
Her jaw hangs open, and her hand pulls away from her clit. It rests on her stomach. Wetness coats her fingers, and I force myself to look away.
“How?” she asks. “How do you not have a condom?”
I chuckle at the look on her face. “This was a work trip.”
“And you don’t always carry some around with you?”
“No, I don’t,” I say, my chuckle becoming a laugh. “I don’t normally fuck on the clock.”
She grins. “That’s good to know.”
“This is your call.”
“I went to the doctor when I broke up with Freddy to ensure things were good. All clear. I prioritize my birth control appointments. I assure you I’m ninety-whatever percent unable to get pregnant today.”
The thought of impregnating her turns me on.
What the fuck?
“What about you?” she asks.
“They ran every panel available on me when that guy sliced me with a knife at Laina’s concert a couple of months ago. I haven’t had sex since.”
Her lips break into a wide smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Then you have two choices, Mr. Castelli.”
I grin. “Give them to me.”
She sits up with her legs tucked under her. Her hair brushes against her shoulders in wild waves. The way her tits hang, the soft curve of her stomach, the bend of her hips—she’s an irresistible picture that’s burned into my mind.
A picture of perfection.
“Option one,” she says, smirking. “Fuck me.”
I groan, holding myself back. “And two?”
“Get off the damn bed.”