“You’re fucking delicious.” I reach for the sash of her robe and tie the two ends together, closing off the view of her delectable body. “If Karla doesn’t set up another appointment with your sister, let me know. I’ll make sure her pitch is heard.” I cup her cheek, studying those mesmerizing eyes of hers. “Have a good night, Lottie.”
Still hungry—now for the fucking incredible taste of her—I release her and return to the dining room. I can smell her on my fingers. On my hand. I can taste her on my tongue. As if she’s still millimeters from my lips. And I want to taste her some more. I want to fuck her against that wall.
She’s. Not. For. You.
My mind races with what she might be thinking. Does she want me? Does she still hate me?
Do I still want her to hate me?
Chapter Twelve
LOTTIE
Taking a deep breath, I knock on Kelsey’s door.
Coffee and donuts are in hand as I wait nervously outside.
I didn’t text her last night, I didn’t even bother contacting her, because I know how my sister works. When she gets mad, she needs time, and she needs space. I’m hoping a night away was all she needed, because, Jesus Christ, I need someone to talk to.
I need someone bad.
After what happened in the hallway with Huxley, I need to get it off my chest, and Kelsey is the only one who knows what’s actually going on in my life.
Last night, I felt . . . defeated. I felt as though I let down my entire family, and the last thing I wanted to do was have dinner with Huxley. I knew if I didn’t show up, he’d make a big deal about it, so I did the absolute minimum. And then I left. I didn’t think he’d chase after me, and I certainly didn’t think he’d attempt to take off my robe, let alone make me come all over his fingers. I’m not really sure if wearing the robe had been to tease him, if I’m honest.
I nibble on my bottom lip, still thinking about the way his strong, commanding voice felt right up against my ear, how his hand felt so large on my body, how desperately I wanted his lips to trail up my neck and across my jaw.
I truly do hate the man, there’s no question about that, but, oh my God, is he hot. He knows exactly how to use his voice, his body, in a way that will make anyone fall at his feet—me included.
And that orgasm . . . Christ. It was with just his fingers, and yet, it felt as though he attacked me in a way I can’t even describe. I felt as if I were under a spell and the only way to snap out of it was with an orgasm. And that orgasm delivered. It was so good, so satisfying, that I was still turned on when I went back into my room, and I had to ride it out on Thor one more time with the memory of Huxley’s dominant voice playing over and over in my head.
But what’s really rocking my world is not only what he said after, but the way he said it to me. Gently, holding my chin so I was forced to look him in the eyes, he made sure I understood that he’d take care of my sister. That he’d make sure she was heard.
When he left, I stood there, stunned.
There was no harsh tone, there was no sarcastic jab, it was as if I was back in Chipotle, talking to the man I first met. It was confusing. It’s why I need Kelsey to forgive me and open this door.
Impatiently I shift my feet until the door unlocks, and I hold my breath. Kelsey appears on the other side, but instead of wearing her usual boss-lady attire, she’s in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top.
Oh God, what happened?
I swallow hard, smile, and hold up the coffee and donuts. “I’m sorry.”
She eyes the items in my hand and then opens the door more to let me in.
Step one complete: I’m inside the apartment. I go to the kitchen, grab plates, and set everything out on her dining table. She takes a seat across from me, pulling one of her legs against her chest, and watches as I carefully take out each donut, put it on a platter between us, set the bag on the ground, and then hand her the coffee I know she loves—a house blend with frothed milk and a splash of caramel. She takes a sip and I hold up the plate, which bears a giant bear claw, an apple fritter, a maple Long John, and of course, the classic Boston cream. As predicted, she picks up the apple fritter and I go for the Boston cream.
“I’m really sorry, Kels. Yesterday wasn’t my best showing, but I promise, it won’t happen again. I worked all day on the website, and I have some things to show you, some things I think you’ll—”
“Karla called.”
I pause. Why do I know that name? Karla . . . Karla . . .
“Huxley’s assistant,” she offers.