CHAPTER 29 #2
Dave had thought of the meanest thing to say and said it. He knew how much she wanted a baby. Relationships had an ethical duty of confidentiality, and he’d broken it.
She glared into his olive-green eyes. “Fuck off, Dave.”
Cary chose that moment to weigh in. “We’re waiting until my tour’s over, but believe me, buddy, we’re practicing. And not for nothing, the problem with your band isn’t the drummer. Your songs are shit.”
A short while later, Tyler and Cary left the bar and walked in silence down San Jacinto Boulevard toward the Four Seasons. Was he upset about Dave? She didn’t know he’d be there—if she had, she would’ve stayed home.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked as the hotel elevator doors closed.
“Wait until we’re in our room, please.” His gaze locked onto the call buttons and didn’t move an inch.
This silent treatment is bullshit. Then again, she’d ignored him for two weeks straight when she was mad at him.
Cary beeped them into their room, closed the door, and removed his glasses. “Have a seat.”
“I swear, I didn’t know he was here!” she said. The last thing she wanted was for them to meet.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked, sitting on the desk chair and kicking off his shoes. “I looked like an idiot.”
“He looked like an idiot.” She grabbed a beer from the minibar and sat on the couch. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you when I saw him. I kind of freaked out.”
He stood from the desk chair, opened a bottle of red wine, and poured a hefty glass before sitting back down. “Would you have told me?”
She shrugged, not sure of the answer. “I’d like to think yes, but I’d just as soon forget it—and him. Are you seriously mad at me right now? Because I can stay with Kim.”
“No, not mad.” He took a sip of wine, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling, to be honest.”
“Are you jealous of my loser ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah, maybe.” He sank into the chair. “I kind of feel like punching him in the head.” Join the club. “And, for what it’s worth, his band is terrible.”
“I love you, Cary.” She stood from the couch and walked over to the desk. “Not him.”
“I know, babe.” He swiveled the chair and tugged her onto his lap. She laughed, light and surprised, just before his lips found hers. The kiss was soft but lingering, his tongue tasting faintly of something fruity—definitely not Penfolds Grange, but something similar.
“I want you,” he whispered, sliding down her bra strap. He touched her bare breast with one hand while the other hand skirted up her sundress. She stopped him mid-thigh and shook her head. “What’s wrong? I know I acted like a jerk, but please let me make it up to you.”
“I got my period a few hours ago,” she said, almost apologizing. “But we can do other stuff.”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“No, I feel fine.” She brushed her hand over the front of his jeans and his zipper almost busted open. “Let me take care of you.”
“I want you,” he said again, his hand sliding up her thigh until his fingers grazed the cotton between her legs. “You should really consider wearing dresses more often.”
“Lousy timing,” she said.
He lifted her head until their eyes met. “I still want you.”
“What about . . . you know?”
“Your period?” He shook his head. “I don’t care if you don’t.”
“Really?” she asked. “I’ve never—”
“You’ve never had period sex?”
She bit her lip, cheeks flushing. “I mean, I’ve wanted to.”
“Didn’t you live with that asshole for, what, five years?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Then let’s change that.” He scooped her up and headed for the bedroom. “I kinda like the idea of being your first.”
“I just need to freshen up,” she said as he set her down.
“You mean take out your tampon?”
“If you must know, I use a menstrual cup.”
He smirked. “Of course you do. You and your cups.”
“Don’t judge. Just give me a minute.”
He winked. “Hurry up, period-sex virgin.”
She laughed, shaking her head as she disappeared into the bathroom. “Be gentle with me.”
“No promises.”
She stepped out of the bathroom wearing only the hotel robe, the belt cinched loosely at her waist. A towel was clutched to her chest like armor. “Is this okay?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.
He was already stretched across the bed, propped up on his elbows. “It’s perfect.”
She hesitated. “What if it gets messy?”
“I’ll buy the hotel,” he quipped. “Get over here.”
She flattened the towel across the bed and shrugged out of her robe, pulling the covers over them. He caressed the back of her neck and pulled her mouth onto his while his hand reached between her legs, and she twitched.
“Relax, babe.” He teased her with slow, deliberate strokes before his middle finger disappeared inside her.
She gasped, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss in sync with the curl of his knuckles.
The covers lay in a heap, and she stole a glance at his arousal—thick, rigid, demanding.
Her fingers trailed down his chest, but he caught her wrist before she could go lower.
“You first—always,” he murmured, his voice rough with need.
As the tension mounted, she spasmed, and he eased his finger out. “I love you,” he rasped, latching onto her nipple as her core clenched. His lips and hands worshiped every inch of her stomach before he parted her legs.
She lifted her head. “Cary! No . . .”
He looked up and nodded. “I want to.”
With a sigh she flopped her head onto the pillow and didn’t argue when his tongue stroked—slow, even, leaving no inch untouched. She arched her back as he sealed his mouth over her sex, and she erupted like a dam breaking, releasing the tension in a flood.
“Fuck me,” she said, spreading her legs.
He smirked, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. With a slow, deliberate stroke, he dragged himself over her, teasing. Then he gave her exactly what she wanted.
No tenderness. No sweet nothings. Just need—feral and unforgiving.
He drove into her, each thrust rocking her body. The bed lurched beneath them, the headboard slamming the wall like gunfire.