Chapter Thirty-One #2
She rises on her toes, gliding her heat along my length, and my need takes over. I reach around, palming her breast with one hand while the other slides down her stomach, returning between her legs. She rocks against my palm, pleading, “Yes, like that.”
The motion has her perfect ass rubbing against my dick. Her quiet pants become loud moans. I lick the shell of her ear, murmuring, “Are you close?”
“Yes,” she whimpers. “So close.”
She twists her neck and kisses me with wild, desperate lips, her body stiffening. She sucks in a sharp breath and I press my hand in hard, giving her more friction. My name becomes her chant. I move my fingers in a circular motion, and the cries of her orgasm drive me to the edge of control.
Twisting in my arms, she slides down my body and takes me into her mouth. “Rosalia,” I groan between clenched teeth, gripping her damp locks and forcing myself not to thrust down her throat.
Looking up at me, she skates her lips along my length until only the head of my dick remains between her full lips. Then her gaze locks with mine, and the unbridled lust in her eyes damn near makes me come .
She runs her tongue along the bottom of my length before sucking, taking me deeper and deeper. My knees lock, and I slam my palms against the slick shower wall. This is going to be over way too soon, but I’m powerless against the ecstasy.
I shudder, my muscles tighten, and my pulse races. Her hands grip my thighs as she finds the perfect rhythm, pushing me closer to the edge.
“You need to stop. I’m going to come,” I groan, on the brink of losing control.
I make to step away, but she holds me tighter, taking me so deep that my pleasure explodes through me and down her throat. “Fuck, Rosalia,” I gasp, nearly blacking out from the force of my orgasm.
She doesn’t stop until I’m completely spent. Then she stands and I wrap her in my arms, kissing her neck. “You’re absolutely incredible.”
Her hot breath caresses my ear as she purrs, “You bring out a side of me I didn’t know existed. I can’t get enough of you.”
“Christ, the way you touch me,” I rasp. “You’re intoxicating.”
I capture her lips in a searing kiss. My hands roam her curves possessively, mapping every inch of her silky skin. My hand moves down her body with deliberate slowness, teasing and stroking her. “I never want to stop discovering new ways to drive you wild.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She runs her hands up my chest. “But my dad will be here in about half an hour. And he has a key to my place…”
I sigh, turning toward the showerhead. “Naked is not how I want to meet your father.”
Closing my eyes, I tip my chin into the spray. What the hell am I saying? She might have referred to herself as my girlfriend when she’d been grinding on my lap during the fireworks, but in the light of day, I doubt she sees me as her boyfriend.
Less than ten minutes later, we’re out of the shower, dressed, and collecting our things to leave. “I’ll walk you to your truck,” she tells me, her cute ponytail swinging in front of me. “There’s a bagel and coffee place around the corner. I have time to pick up something for my dad and me.”
I follow her, mentally running through my packed schedule for the day. From the breakfast meeting I’m already late for, to the quarterly projections I need to review and calls with international partners that will likely run into the evening, my mind is a tangle of obligations and deadlines.
But then I’m distracted by the way the morning light catches in Rosalia’s damp hair, and everything else falls away. A sudden, almost painful ache hits me. I’m going to miss her. Not eventually, but immediately, the moment I walk away.
“Wait,” I say.
She turns, hand on the doorknob. Her gaze meets mine with that inquisitive look I’m coming to know well. The slight narrowing of her gaze, the tiny furrow between her brows that appears when she’s intrigued.
“Have dinner with me on Monday,” I tell her, stepping closer. Not a question, almost a plea. “I don’t want to wait until the party to see you.”
Her lips curve into a slow smile. “Monday? Don’t you have a busy week? Isn’t derby time like the Super Bowl for distilleries?”
I laugh. “It is, but I’ll make time. Hell, I’d suggest Sunday, but I’ll be tied up with Oaks Day events.” I’m barely able to keep from begging, but manage to hold on to a little self-respect.
She steps toward me, closing the distance between us. “I’d like that,” she says softly. “Monday sounds perfect.”
Unable to help myself, I kiss her, slow and deep. Her arms wrap around my neck, and for a moment, I let myself imagine a world where there are no wagers, no secrets, no Thorne between us. Just this. Her warmth, her smile, the way she makes everything else fade away.
When we break apart, I inhale her citrus scent coming off her warm skin, needing to take a piece of this moment with me.
Reluctantly, I step back, and she turns toward the door again. That’s when I notice the mark on her neck, right at the slope of her shoulder. It looks like I enjoyed the noises she made when I nibbled on the spot a little too much.
“Um, you might want to wear your hair down,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks, opening the door .
“I accidentally gave you a hickey.” I kiss the spot. Her body stiffens, and I look up—right into a man’s eyes, the same color as Rosalia’s. Only this set has deep crow’s feet.
The cozy bubble of intimacy that had enveloped me bursts, and my body tenses, preparing for a confrontation.
I see surprise on Mr. Manchester’s face, then his lips press into a thin line.
In that look, I know the weight of my past; the reputation that precedes me isn’t doing me any favors with Rosalia’s father.
My hand twitches at my side, instinctively wanting to reach for her to show a united front. But I hold back, unsure if such a gesture would be welcome at this charged moment. I step from behind Rosalia, determined to face whatever judgment or disapproval her father throws at me.
I offer my hand. “Mr. Manchester, I’m Sebastian Blackstone. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her father looks at my hand for a beat too long. Then, he shakes it, saying in a flat tone, “Paul. Paul Manchester.”
“You’re early,” Rosalia says to her dad.
“Traffic was better than expected. Are you joining us?” he asks me. His clipped tone makes it clear I’m not welcome.
“No. I have a breakfast meeting this morning,” I reply.
The relief in the other man’s eyes would be funny if he weren’t someone important to Rosalia. Where did her dad’s dislike for me come from? From the media or something else?
She claps her hands. “Okay, well, we better get moving.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I tell her, unsure if kissing her goodbye under her father’s disapproving gaze is a good idea. She nods without meeting my eyes, so I turn to her father. “Again, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Manchester.”
Stepping into the hallway, I walk down the stairs, pausing at the bottom, and look up at her closed door.
I hate that her father sees me as someone unworthy of his daughter.
I hate it more because he’s right. As long as I’m trapped in Thorne’s wager, I am that man.
I need to escape our bet to untangle myself from this fucking web.
There has to be a loophole or a way to negotiate.
It won’t be easy, but I’m determined to do whatever it takes to free myself from my past mistakes.
Because for the first time in a long time, I have a reason to fight, a chance at something real.