Chapter Sixteen
Jo checked her jeans, T-shirt, and the yellow panties she’d worn property hunting. She’d found them on Avery’s dresser. Her jeans were still too damp to wear.
She shut the dryer, pushed the button, and leaned against the washer, listening to the seductive hum of Avery’s voice.
He was still on the phone in his office across the hall.
“Marcus’ old room, from before he moved in with Charlotte,” he’d told her when he gave her the tour of his condo last night.
Yesterday had been tougher than she’d expected, with the exception of finally getting her V-card punched, which had been like a dark chocolate chili cupcake—spicy hot and deliciously sweet.
She’d tried to coax Avery into an encore, but he’d kissed her breathless, said he had work to do, and told her to “rest.”
Rest? Her body had been humming with energy again, her mind a frenzy of doubt. Avery Preston did not turn down sex. Maybe her virginity was a turn-off. Or he’d gotten what he wanted. Challenge met. He was bored. Time to move on. Either way, fuck him. She wouldn’t beg.
Instead, she’d dressed, popped in her earbuds, and tuned out the world as she finished cleaning her bedroom.
The Christmas picture of her with her grandma and the one of her and Brooke at the beach were replaceable.
They were on her phone. The lamp was a garage sale find.
No big deal. And while she’d hoped to repair the damage to the mattress, it would have to go.
That stain wasn’t coming out, and it would forever be a reminder of Avery.
Not that I’ll ever forget him.
“Make them an offer they can’t refuse.” Through the laundry room door, Avery’s shadow darkened the hall, then retreated back into his office. “I don’t care. I want it.”
Jo had no doubt he’d get whatever it was he wanted. Brooke had said she was made of steel, but she turned to putty in his hands. Strong hands. Magical hands. Hands he’d denied her since leaving her bed.
And yet here you are.
She snorted. Just like all the What’s Her Names.
After avoiding both him and the task of cleaning up the remains of her grandma’s mixer for as long as she could, she’d put on her big girl panties and gone to face both.
But rather than finding him working at his laptop, she’d found a clean kitchen and Avery heading out the door with several trash bags, one presumably concealing the bits and pieces of her grandma’s mixer.
When he’d returned, she thanked him, and he’d shrugged it off. “It was something you didn’t need to deal with.”
Damn him and his not so surprising attempt to protect her and the effect it had on her. She’d almost melted into the floor.
Then he’d helped her clear the rest of the apartment, taking the sting out of it by making it fun, dancing with her broom, then exchanging the broom for her and spinning her around the living room.
He’d played basketball with anything trashcan worthy and tried to teach her how to free throw, though that probably had more to do with getting up close and personal.
Afterward, they’d packed what was left, which didn’t amount to much, into the tubs from her bedroom, and when all was said and done, she finally admitted what she’d been denying all afternoon.
She’d given him more than her virginity.
The second she’d looked through the peephole to find him sitting in the hall, she’d lost her heart.
It was the stupidest thing she had ever done, but there was no taking it back.
And she wanted more of Avery before their arrangement ended.
Not just more of what Grandma used to call the horizontal hokey pokey, but more of his time, his bad boy smiles, his naughty teasing, his easy laugh.
But there’d been none of that. No poking either. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
They’d eaten, he’d handed her one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers, showed her where the towels were, and said he was taking the couch. That announcement had made her feel more alone than if she’d stayed at her apartment.
She could handle alone. Rejection? Not so much.
She shouldn’t have let him talk her into coming back here. She’d been weak. Needy. On the verge of another fucking meltdown. Unable to be alone. And…fucking besotted.
Jo pushed off the washer. She didn’t have time to dwell on what she couldn’t have. She had things to do. Like finding an apartment, shopping for a new wardrobe, preparing for tomorrow’s cannoli order, and putting some space between her and Avery before she lost all self-respect.
Dry or not, Jo grabbed her jeans, slammed the dryer door, and stalked out of the laundry room, the socks she’d borrowed silent on the plush carpet.
Avery stepped from his office into the hall, blocking the way to his bedroom. He held up a finger and spoke into his phone, “And the other thing?”
She hugged her clothes to her chest, hiding the way her nipples poked through his T-shirt, but his gaze was busy elsewhere, flowing over her legs like hot fudge. His boxers didn’t hide much.
Part of her, the rational part, tried to tell her that, in his mind, she needed time to adjust to a perceived trauma of losing her virginity.
He’d seemed to take it as something he inflicted on her.
But the part of her that dealt with every rejection she’d ever felt, the one that saw hurt at every turn and avoided it at all cost, had a hold on her she couldn’t shake.
“Thanks.” He hung up and pocketed his phone.
“Excuse me. I need to change.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” He grinned. “You look hot in my shirt.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t wear it to the mall, can I?”
He frowned. “You okay?”
It’s all relative. “Yeah, I just have a lot to—”
“What are you doing with these?” He snatched her panties from the top of her jeans and lifted them to his nose. “You washed them?”
“They were dirty.”
“They aren’t yours to wash. They belong to me. I stole them fair and square.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he laid a finger on her lips. His free hand gripped her hip as he walked her backward.
The wall stopped her and cut off her gasp. He dragged it from her with the light touch of his lips against hers. Her tummy tumbled, then did a reverse somersault as his fingers drifted under the rolled up waistband of the boxers. “Here’s how it’s going to go, Legs.”
She clasped his wrist but didn’t stand a chance against his strength or the fog of lust this aggressive side of Avery stirred. “If you think one afternoon of sex gives you the right to dictate—”
His hand cupped her pussy.
“Avery…” She’d meant his name as a warning, but it landed somewhere in the zone of a breathless plea.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m going to let you wear them.”
“Let me?” She tried to bite the finger over her mouth, but he was too fast. He collared her throat, instead, and she swallowed against the thin silk in his hand.
“That’s what I said.” He dipped a finger inside her pussy, her arousal lubing the leisurely glide. “Ah, look how wet you are.”
She shoved at his hand, but her thighs betrayed her, parting for deeper penetration.
“I want you to think of this and imagine what else I’m going to do to you tonight.”
“You’ll be sleeping on the couch again.” Her fingers fisted his crisp white shirt.
“I did that for you, Legs, to give your body time.” He pulled halfway out and doubled up. “One night of torture was enough, don’t you think? You should be good to go by tonight.”
“I was good to go last night, fuckboy.” She tilted her hips on the next thrust. “I’m… Oh god, Avery, I’m good to go right now.”
His lips slanted over hers in a languid kiss, his tongue slowly fucking her mouth while his fingers ravaged her pussy with gentle strokes. Even in his aggression he took care not to hurt her.
With no warning at all, the orgasm slammed into her like a drunk driver with no regard for their life-altering impact.
The world had barely righted itself when he withdrew his fingers, ended the kiss, and stepped back. She almost slid down the wall.
He dangled the yellow silk in front of her. “Before I get home, I want these back where you found them, covered in cream”—he held his glistening fingers to his nose—“and smelling like your pussy.”
Jo snatched her panties from him. “And if I don’t comply?”
He licked the length of one finger and smiled. “I’ll just have to steal them again.”
His tongue slid between his fingers, sending a tremor of aftershock to her clit. Fuck, he was all kinds of naughty. And so fucking full of himself. But she loved it—him.
Shaking free of the sensual hold he had on her, Jo pushed off the wall and lifted her chin. “My underwear are not going to become part of your panty collection.”
The twinkle in his dark eyes faded as he took another step back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “One pair hardly counts as a collection.”
The doorbell rang, and he looked at his watch. “Right on time.” He started past her. “Go get dressed while I get the door.”
“Avery.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
But how could she not? That bad boy charm hid a lot of other not-so-happy feelings, making it easy to forget they were there, and she fucking knew it.
Yet she’d gone too far, lashed out because of her own damn insecurities.
She’d apologize again when she got back from shopping and running errands, maybe make him dinner.
For now, though… “I’ll be out of your way in fifteen minutes.”
He sighed and closed the fraction of space between them, his hands framing her face. “You’re not in my way, Jo, but unless you want everyone to see you in my boxers, you’d better get a move on.”
With a quick kiss on her lips, he let her go and walked away.
Regret lingered as she hurried to get dressed. That wasn’t all that lingered. Her panties were already wet from the ache he’d stirred with that orgasm. Her pussy was still hungry. And the aggression, the way he’d taken control… Fuck, that was hot. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be as gentle.