And Loren is aware of my hesitance. A part of me wonders if he feels badly for Connor, knowing that I’m not putting out after such a long time together. But maybe Loren’s just trying to provoke a reaction out of me.
Which everyone is about to see.
“You don’t think I would do it?” I ask Connor. I’m not sure I could grind on Connor. In public. Without being humiliated. I am confident in all areas except these: Being sexy, being skilled in bed, being great at sex. I believe, wholeheartedly, that sex is not something you can study to ace. No, you have to learn by experience.
And I have none.
So I have a feeling that once I do have sex with Connor, our relationship will be different. Any attraction that pulls between us will be cut with my sloppy moves and my inability to please him.
So far he has never pressured me to have sex, but I wait for the moment when he walks out—when he’s had enough of my high-octane personality and my obsessive compulsive behavior.
Hell, I want to walk away from me sometimes. My therapist even hates me. She’s prescribed me Alprazolam, Paroxetine, Fluvoxamine, and Clomipramine, drugs that I have taken and then disposed. On them, I feel so high I could be floating through life or I’m so heavy I could be sinking into mortal hell.
I am not the girl you want to sleep with every week. I’m the chase. The one you catch and then release. And once Connor has sex with me, he’ll be done. He’ll have won the hardest challenge of his life—de-virginizing the biggest virgin.
I know this. It’s how all men work with me.
And I never, ever let them win.
But Connor is getting close.
He watches me scrub my skin harder, my whole body tense and unmoving except for the bristle brush in between my fingers.
“Don’t answer her,” Loren warns him. “It’s a trick.”
Connor doesn’t move his gaze off mine. “I can handle her, Lo.” Yes, he may be the only one. He edges close and shuts off the faucet.
I turn it back on. “I’m not finished.” There’s a thin layer of sauce underneath my nails still.
“We both know you won’t give me a lap dance. So let’s stick to the thousand dollar bet.” His voice is unreadable. If there’s disappointment, he won’t ever let me hear it.
I feel defeated in some huge way. “I can do it,” I retort.
“I’m not trying to use reverse psychology on you, Rose. I really don’t think you should.” He shuts the faucet off again, and when I go to turn it back on, he slips in front of me, blocking the sink, and he wraps a towel around my hands.
“They’re clean,” he says.
I glance down at my romper, which is still stained. “I need to change.”
Loren cuts in, “So have we established whether or not we’ll be seeing a lap dance tonight?”
“Only if I lose,” I say.
Connor’s jaw muscles twitch, the single sign that I can read. He really doesn’t want me to do this, but I don’t like the way he’s staring at me. Like I’m a scared little bird.
I’m not frightened. Yet. “And if you lose,” I say, “what do I get in return?”
Connor gazes at my mouth just as I did him. He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip and says, “What do you want, darling?”
My heart pounds. I want to be great in bed. I want to please him better than he pleases me. I want to beat him.
But I know when it comes to sex, I’m never going to win. I’m at such a disadvantage. So I say, “If you lose, I don’t have to give you a lap dance.”
“Boo,” Lily says.
Loren nods. “Boring.
But the only one who matters says, “Deal.” Connor ignores my sister and her boyfriend. He finishes drying my hands. I just now notice how raw and red my skin is. I sometimes get carried away without realizing…
“Whose idea was it to hire a fortuneteller anyway?” Loren asks.
“Production planned it,” I remind him.
Both Brett and Ben give me wild looks at mentioning production. We’re not live. This isn’t Big Brother.
“Oh please,” I say right at the camera. “Scott, if you’re hearing this, delete this portion.” I glare at Ben. “There you go. He won’t spank you for your misbehavior.”
And like good cameramen, they stay mute.
Loren watches short stubby Brett for a long moment. He finally catches his attention. And then he runs his tongue along the nape of Lily’s neck, eyes pinned to the camera as if he’s seducing the onlookers. Lily practically melts beneath him, her breath hitching into an audible moan. Loren grins wickedly, especially as Brett stumbles back in shock.
And then he sticks his tongue into Lily’s ear.
They are toying with the cameramen.
And it’s only day two.
CHAPTER 3
CONNOR COBALT
A lot has changed since I was nineteen. And then again, things are always the same. I have the girl, but not entirely. If it were that easy—that boring—I wouldn’t still be here. Add Scott Van Wright into our lives, a threat on some serious level, and keeping Rose is going to be problematic.
But I’m going to put up one hell of a fucking fight.
He even rescheduled the “magical” party with the psychic, citing some bullshit about time, but really he wants to increase the production value of the entire reality show—I just haven’t figured out what he’s going to do in order to achieve that.
I rinse shampoo out of my wavy brown hair, the water blanketing me in warmth. I’ve never lived with another girl. Never shared a space with someone else, not even at my boarding school.
What’s mine has always been mine.
Expensive perfumed soaps line the shower ledge. I share the bathroom with Rose. I share the bedroom. We’ve been at each other’s throats for so many years that becoming a team isn’t exactly set in the future for us.
We’re still, very much, rivals in bed.
I crank the heat, the steam gathering and beading my chest with water. I lower my hand, picturing Rose as I’ve never seen her. Undressed. Bare. Wanting. She won’t let me in that far.
Not yet.
I place my hands on her bent knees, spreading her open quick and hard. She chokes on a gasp, a pleasured scream locked tight in her chest.
“Please…” she cries.
In the shower, I stroke my cock that tenses with each rhythmic movement, hardening at the flashes of my fantasy. Her body bucking. The fullness of her breasts and hips underneath my strength. She attacks me with the same intensity, but I push her roughly back on the mattress. And her face lights with fire.
I dominate her and give her everything I know she’ll adore.
That’s the thing about being fucking smart—I understand her better than she understands herself.
My muscles pull tight, and I rub up and down my shaft, an involuntary sound escaping my mouth. I rest a hand on the tiled wall, quickening my movements. Fuck yes.
And just as I’m about to come, the bathroom door flies open.
I see her feminine shape through the misted glass, and she can see my form just as easily. A grin overtakes my features, and I watch her turn towards the shower with her hands on her hips. I can practically feel her hot, unbridled anger steaming off her body.