Chapter 9
MILLIE
I’m sweating. It has to be dripping from my skin like water at this point.
My heart is hammering so loudly that I can’t hear myself think as I rush down the stairs and out the door. The cool temperature of the night doesn’t help. The wind sticks to my slick skin, making it feel all the more sensitive.
“Oh, God,” I groan.
The heat from Shade’s gaze lingers, even once I’ve made it to the street in front of the studio. His rasped, rough voice replays in my ears, and I try to shake it free. My breasts feel tight, constricted in my bra and blouse that I’ve been debating ripping clean off.
This is new. I’m not used to having such a raw reaction to someone like this.
It’s like he’s picked the lock on some hidden, lustful part of me that I’ve kept tucked away. Only he didn’t even have to try to pick it. I handed him the key and begged to be broken free.
Licking my dry lips, I touch my hot cheeks and suck in a long breath.
I’ve got to slow down. He’s not beside me anymore, which I’m as grateful for as I am annoyed.
The sooner I got out of there, the less of a chance there was that I was going to make an even bigger fool of myself and try to what? Get on his lap and maul him?
Another low noise escapes me before I unlock my car and follow the glow of the headlights. My heels clap against the sidewalk, and I ignore how fast my pace is.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is sooooo fine.
“Were you just with Shade?”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Wild eyes searching through the dark, I spot a woman a few steps away. The scowl on her face is a big enough giveaway that I should not be answering her with the truth.
With a hand on the sliver of bare waist exposed from her cropped shirt, she asks her question again. “Were you just upstairs with him?”
“Upstairs? No. I was just, uh, getting a tattoo consult,” I ramble, growing more uncomfortable by the second.
“This late? He’s never open past seven.”
I glance at my car, preparing an escape route in case I’m the one about to get mauled. “Are you meeting him tonight? I’m sorry if I caused a delay.”
“No. I was just . . . stopping by.” She squares her shoulders, eyes rolling with annoyance. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yeah. That’s my car,” I say, jabbing my thumb behind me.
She pulls her lip into her mouth before pushing it back out. “And he’s inside? He wasn’t answering my texts.”
At least I’m not warm anymore. Suddenly, my temperature chills.
“Yeah, he’s inside,” I mutter.
“Thanks.”
I force a smile and abandon the studio. Once I’m in my car, I crank the heat and get the hell out of here before my confidence can dive any further than it already has.
The cabin is freezing.
I stand and stare at the fireplace, willing the wood that’s been placed inside of it to magically light.
There’s no thermostat in here, and I expect that these places are too old to have a furnace or air conditioner for the summer heat.
This may be as bad as camping in a tent, which .
. . I’ve never done. But that’s not the point.
For the cost of this place per night, I didn’t exactly expect to have to freeze half to death every night.
The blankets that were folded on the bed when I arrived are scratchy and thin and have done nothing to keep me warm at night.
It’s only going to get colder too, and unless I plan on turning into an icicle while I sleep, I need to figure out what to do.
First, I want to shower.
The clothes I purchased today are still scattered where I dropped them on the couch earlier, and right now, I’m glad I took Lacey up on her offer to give them a wash before I came back here.
I grab the hair care products still in their bag and make my way to the bathroom.
The tiny space has a slightly musky scent, but it’s clean.
Unfortunately, that’s not enough to keep me from missing my bathroom from home.
The Jacuzzi tub and glass shower with the three waterfall heads and the bench in the corner feel more luxurious today than they ever have.
I miss my electric toothbrush and the heated tile floor.
If I could go back and change one thing, it would have been stopping at home and packing before setting out on this journey.
After stripping out of my new clothes, I stand in front of the vanity mirror, staring at myself.
I’m beautiful, I think. I’ve never hated the way I look, and at one point, I was confident enough to easily snag the eyes of men whom I’d meet at various functions.
Their attention didn’t last, though. Not when I couldn’t manage to hold a conversation with them or lean in for a kiss when they did.
I’ve always been terrible at reading men and situations where I should have done one thing or another.
I’m not a virgin by definition, but I may as well be.
Darting my eyes away from my reflection, I run my hands over my hair and haul my shampoo and conditioner to the shower. With the water running as hot as it can be, I spend a long time massaging the products into my hair before moving on to my body.
The soap runs down my torso, and I watch it pool at my feet. Inhaling deeply, I stare at the rivulets cascading over my peaked nipples. They’re a deeper pink in this lighting, or maybe it has nothing to do with the lighting at all. I swallow and bring a finger to it, slowly tracing the soft tip.
My toes curl in the soapy water as my breath thins, reminding me of being on the couch with Shade. Hearing his blunt, dirty words . . . I’ve never felt that intense of a pulse between my thighs. It was like he had slid his huge hand between them and stroked me there.
My belly blooms with warmth as I bring my thumb to meet my nipple, pinching it. A breath explodes from me, and I press my thighs together, searching for a friction that I know I won’t find like this.
The water turning ice-cold above me turns my arousal to panic.
I gasp and slap my hand back to turn it off.
Chilled, I hop out of the tub and wrap myself in a towel as fast as I can.
My teeth chatter as I rush out of the bathroom and snag the black hoodie from the bed.
It doesn’t matter that I’m still wet because once I have the heavy material over my head and falling to cover the majority of my body, I can breathe normally again.
A few minutes later, I’m slipping beneath the scratchy blanket and curling up in bed. With the hood up over my wet, unbrushed hair, I grab my phone and unlock it. The one and only message waiting for me is from a number I don’t recognize.
Hey. It’s Shade. Just wanted to make sure you got home okay.
I squeeze the phone tight and stretch my legs out along the cold sheets before I text back.
I did. Then a shower tried to kill me off.
The lag in his reply has me tossing over in bed, unease creeping into my mind. Maybe he didn’t want to start a conversation and really only wanted to check up on me.
Oh yeah? How?
There’s not much hot water. I enjoyed it while it lasted.
The message goes through quickly, and I hate that this phone doesn’t let me see once he’s read it. Sighing, I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, my toes close to turning into ice cubes.
I remember it being the same way when I’d stay there as a kid. They haven’t upgraded that place in years.
Do you know if there are heaters in the cabins by chance?
Only fireplaces.
Of course. So, I’ll either need to ask someone for help or try to figure it out on my own.
Did you find the woman who was looking for you?
I did.
And?
And what?
I tap my fingers to my hip, contemplating asking what I really want to know. If I do, he’s going to tease me about it. But honestly, that wouldn’t even be the worst thing.
Did you invite her inside?
No. I didn’t.
Aw, I’m sorry.
If I did, we wouldn’t be talking right now. Is that what you’d prefer? She didn’t have an invite to my place.
I’m tired.
The quirk of my lips is unstoppable as I send my message and stare at the screen, waiting. I make sure my hair is tucked fully into the hood and lift my knee beneath the blankets.
Well, how do I keep you awake?
I remember something about 21 questions.
Shall I go first?
Something about this feels dangerous. Like I’m poking the bear and waiting for the swipe of his paw. Typing out my reply, I wiggle against the mattress and try to relax.
Only if you have a good question.
Why did you really run out earlier?
My mouth goes dry as I stare at the message, rereading it. The heat crawling up my body is welcomed, even if I’m now too hot beneath the blanket.
I already told you why.
That was an obvious lie. I just didn’t want to push you too hard by demanding a real answer.
How generous of you.
Princess . . .
Playboy.
The hoodie doesn’t smell like him anymore after Lacey washed it with my other clothes.
But as I zone in on the rapid rise and fall of my chest, I swear I can smell the manly cologne still lingering on the fabric.
The heavy weight of it feels uncomfortable on my breasts, and I swallow thickly when my nipples rub beneath it.
The game is about answering the questions you’re asked, not ignoring them.
Fine. I was overwhelmed.
Did I do something wrong?
No. Not wrong. I’m just not used to hearing things like what you said.
It’s an understatement, but still the truth.
What exactly was it I said that freaked you out?
You know what I’m talking about.
I need you to say it just in case I’m wrong.
It was about you sleeping with women.
What about it?
Stop trying to rile me up.
Is it working?
I blink at the screen and then look down at where the hoodie has risen up my stomach.
I’ve unconsciously kicked the blankets down my ankles, and my panties are exposed, the pale pink lace soft instead of rough.
I palm my abdomen and follow the warm skin up beneath the heavy fabric.
My breast is large despite my smaller stature and overflows in my hold.
Replying with only one hand is complicated, but I can’t get myself to bring the other one back.
Is that the only time you do it?
The only time I do what, princess?
Sleep with someone.
Usually.
But not always?
My fingers dance over my nipple, resuming their soft tug from the shower. I clench between my legs before pressing them together, rubbing lightly.
There are always exceptions to every rule.
Like what?
Is that your question?
Yes.
It would depend on who the exception is for.
A moan slips free of me when I pull a bit harder on my nipple. The pleasure zips down my body to swirl at my centre.
I see.
That was answer enough for you?
I only get one question at a time.
Alright.
His first text barely arrives before a second follows.
Would you want to be the woman in question?
My vision grows blurry. I move my hand from my breast to the waistband of my panties, hovering there. This isn’t what I expected for tonight. It’s not polite or respectful. I shouldn’t do this. If I did, I’d surely regret it.
How would I look at him at the studio tomorrow, knowing that I’d pleasured myself to nothing more than the thought of him here and a few somewhat innocent messages shared between us?
My fingers move on their own. I feel the soft, waxed skin beneath my panties and keep going lower. The slickness waiting there shocks me.
That depends on what your exceptions are. My heart isn’t broken.
I can always hear his chuckle in the room with me when his message appears, and I dip my touch between my hot flesh, searching for the only spot that I know brings me pleasure.
Tell me what you like and we’ll go from there.
I don’t know what I like.
There it goes. The complete truth.
What do you mean?
The next question is mine.
Ask then.
Have you ever been with anyone who didn’t have a lot of . . . experience?
How little are you talking?
Only once.
I bite down on my lip to hide the noises that try to escape when I circle the ball of nerves between my legs. My thighs grow tight with the effort it takes not to allow them to close. Maybe I’ll actually be able to come like this.
No.
Oh.
Would you like me to make that exception?
Shade . . .
The pleasure swells, an orgasm hovering and exciting my pulse. I abandon my phone on my chest and bring my other hand to my breast, rolling my nipple quickly while giving the same treatment to my core. I’m nearly there. Closer than I’ve gotten—
The rush drops. My pleasure morphs into a frustration so sharp I can nearly smell it.
My phone buzzes twice, and the drop continues. A wave of embarrassment and disappointment in myself hits me so hard that when I grab my phone again, it’s with shaky hands. Two messages wait for me.
Answer the question, Millie.
I already know my answer.
It won’t be one that I’d like. A man like Shade isn’t interested in teaching me about sex. The only reason I let myself go along with this was because of what I was doing, and that’s wrong on so many levels. Hearing his answer would have only hurt my feelings.
Maybe my body working against me was a blessing in disguise.
Before he can send through another message, I turn my phone off and toss it onto the small side table. I’m never turning it on again. Especially not before heading into the studio tomorrow. At least this way, I won’t have to pretend not to be upset in front of him. Instead, I can live in ignorance.
I’m good at that by now.