He chuckles, the sound seeming to have a direct line to my clit. “Okay, I see your trauma and raise you: my ex-girlfriend fucked my dad while I was on the Argonautica tour. Well, while we were on that tour. She was sleeping in my hotel room at night and fucking him in his suite every morning.”
My eyes pop open, images of his ex, with her shimmering copper hair and model figure, swimming through my mind. “Sylvie Michaels? With your dad? And you still talk to him?”
Shrugging, he drops my foot and stretches his arms out over the sides of the bathtub. “That relationship was more of a PR stunt than anything else.”
He watches as I chew my bottom lip, then leans forward to grab my hips and pull me toward him.
Water splashes around us as I land on my knees, straddling his hips; his cock brushes against my pussy, and arousal spins tight in my stomach, excited by the position.
“There was no overlap, if you’re wondering.” He speaks against my mouth, our breaths mingling and getting lost in the steam.
“I wasn’t, but good to know.”
It hits me that I definitely should’ve been wondering, but for some reason, all logical thought seems to cease when I’m around him.
That feels like a red flag, but with rose-tinted glasses, I find it difficult to care.
Regrets are for the future self.
Brushing the hair off my shoulder, he dips his head, pressing a kiss to my collarbone. “You didn’t try to cover yourself when I came in, you know?”
I blink, pulling back to ask what the hell he’s talking about, and then it hits me.
My scars.
They hadn’t crossed my mind even once since he appeared in the bathroom.
For what feels like the first time since I got them, they weren’t the dominant thought ruling my brain.
The realization is as terrifying as it is freeing, so I don’t give it too much time to expand into worry.
In answer, I cup his jaw in my hands and tilt his head back, fusing our mouths together in a gesture of thanks.
39
Balancing my guitar pick between my teeth, I quickly jot a note down on the napkin beside me, closing my eyes and letting the melody breathe through me before I forget it.
When I open them back up, I see a flash of pink hair across the street, and my heart does this weird flip inside my chest at the sight.
Rubbing at my pec, I disregard the implication, watching as Riley ignores my presence and heads straight inside the art gallery.
Irritation crackles in my bones, and I slide my guitar strap over my head and push to my feet, crossing over to where she’s just gone inside. Peering in through the slightly tinted windows, I scan the main lobby, releasing a breath of relief when I spot her standing in the back corner.
Alone.
The breath gets sucked back inside, though, when Caleb steps out in the next second, arms crossed over his chest. He looks pissed, and moves in close to speak to her, their noses almost touching.
My nostrils flare, but I stay glued in place, continuing to watch so I can see what she does, and punish—or reward—accordingly.
She sighs, putting her hands on her hips as she replies, but then he’s stepping forward again, reaching out to cradle her face in his meaty palms.
Anger bounces around my chest like a bundle of helium balloons, pumping furiously from my heart to the rest of my body.
It’s a rage I don’t fully comprehend, because somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I know Riley’s as obsessed with me as I am her.
If she’s proved anything in the days since I fucked her in my living room, it’s that.
And yet, the singular thought remains that I trusted her once before.
I walk inside, forcing myself to remain casual as the door swings shut behind me. Both faces turn in my direction, with Caleb’s immediately souring.
“Can’t you read?” he snaps. “I’m fucking closed.”
My stare fixates on where he continues touching her, possessiveness spearing through me like a poisoned knife. I don’t address him, just meet her dark-blue eyes and lift my chin.
“Could I speak to you for a second?” My voice is calm. Stiff. Her brows shoot into her hairline and then crease into a terse frown.
“We’re in the middle of a conversation.”
Ignoring Caleb again, I reach up, pulling my guitar off, and prop it on the floor against the wall. Lifting my arms, I clasp my palms at the back of my skull and wait.
No one moves.
Pushing my tongue into my cheek, I sigh. “Riley.”
Caleb’s face contorts. “Who the fuck is Riley—”
Tearing away from him, she marches over and grabs my wrist, dragging me to a bathroom behind the register. She slams the door shut, sliding the barrel bolt lock so we can’t be disturbed, and then whirls on me.
“What the hell?” She’s fuming, shoving at my chest.
Good, now we’re both mad.
I lean my shoulder against the door, crossing one ankle over the other. “What’s the matter?”
“Fake ignorance does not look good on you.”
“Ah, well. Like calls to like, doesn’t it?” Spinning the bloodstone ring on my thumb, I watch the orange jewel orbit slowly, then raise my gaze back to hers. “He had his hands on you, Riley.”
Her mouth parts, confusion knitting her brows. “So?”
“So?” Securing the ring back in place, I curl my fingers into a fist, imagining plowing it right into Caleb’s smug face. “Do you make a habit of letting men who have feelings for you put their hands on your body?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she says, her chin tilting up defiantly.
My nostrils flare, a bull with its red flag in sight, ready to charge.
Sliding my feet toward her, I take note of the outfit she’s wearing as I invade her personal space—a maroon sweater dress that clings to her curves, and a pair of sheer black tights that disappear into thigh-high boots, laced up at the knee.
It’s almost like she dressed to get fucked.
“The second you let me shove my cock inside your wet little cunt, you became my business.”
Backing her into the wall beside the porcelain sink, I slam my palms down on either side of her head, trapping her in front of me.
“Actually, no. When you let me tattoo my name for you on your skin, and then spread those pretty thighs so I could have a taste of what I’d been craving all night… three years ago, you became my business, Riley.”
“That night was a mistake,” she mutters, eyes volleying back and forth from mine to my lips.
“And the one at my cabin? When I came so fucking deep inside you that you smelled like me for days? What was that?”
“Lapse in judgment, you psycho.”
“I’m only a psycho where you’re concerned. You bring it out in me.” My nose dips, brushing her hair, and my grip on the wall slackens slightly. “If you only knew the things I want to do to Caleb, just for daring to speak to you.”
She swallows; I hear the gulp work down her throat, feel the echo as it zings to my dick, straining obscenely against my zipper.
“What kind of things?”
Satisfaction weaves around my insides like a glittering tapestry. “You wanna know how I’d hurt your friend?”
“I don’t want you to hurt him,” she insists, though her gaze travels down to my lips again, and then back as she says it. “But—”