His laugh is low and unrestrained, drawing attention from the few crew members still working nearby. When his gaze meets mine again, it’s sharp and knowing.
“How could I forget the best fuck of my life,and the woman who stole my lucky boxers?”
A shiver races down my spine. Damn him. Because as much as I hate to admit it, that night was one of the best for me too.
“I didn’t steal your boxers.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Then explain how they weren’t in your friend’s apartment when I woke up? Do you know how much fun I had hopping around his place naked searching for my clothing while your friend and his boyfriend ate their breakfast? I don’t think they enjoyed the show.”
I snort, remembering the way that Leo yelled at me the next morning for ditching my one-night stand in his apartment and not making him get dressed first.
“You can blame static for that,” I say, deadpan.
A low chuckle rumbles out of him as he shakes his head. “So, they just… stuck to your clothing and you didn’t notice when you left?”
“Yes. Exactly. I was wearing a sweater dress, remember?”
He lowers his voice, dark and teasing. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten a single detail from that night.” His tone drops further, warm and filthy. “I replay it often in my mind. I just assumed you had a weird collection of cum-stained boxers as a tribute to your dry-humping days.”
I laugh, tossing my head back. “You know I love a good dry romp, but taking your boxers was entirely accidental.”
“Hm.” He hums again, rubbing his jaw, eyes dragging over me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
Even from a few feet away, I can smell his cologne, sharp and expensive, the same scent from the night we spent together. It covered my dress when I put it on the next morning, and somehow his boxers still smell like it. I would know since they’ve stayed in my bedroom in Brookhaven ever since.
“You want to get out of here, Rhiannon?” he asks, drawing out my name, savoring it like he’s tasting it for the first time, and enjoying that he finally gets to know and use it.
I shouldn’t. I should get home to prep dinner for Gabriel and Eden. I should swing by the thrift store and check in on Natasha and the inventory rotation we planned to push out some of our older product. I should,fuck,take a nap or something since I never have time to even sleep these days.
But Leo never mentioned that Cain asked for my name after our night together, and that tells me this won’t turn into anything more. And honestly, sex with Cain is fun. It’s satisfying. And I never get to have fun or satisfaction these days. What’s the harm in one more night of pleasure before I’m back into the grind of dollar signs and city commutes?
“Fine. But same rules as last time,” I say, flicking my hair over my shoulder as I walk past him.
He chuckles, low and rough, catching my wrist to stop me before I can escape.
“I hate this game. I can’t stand the way your ass looks in those denim shorts. And I definitely wasn’t staring at your tits thinking about sucking on them the whole time you were on that horse.”
I laugh and flash him a wicked smile. “I’m glad to see you’ve remembered. Good job, suit. Now let’s go play.”
Chapter 8 – Cain
If you’d told me that the woman from my one-night stand seven months ago would end up in my hotel bed—middle of the afternoon, sunlight pouring through open blinds, legs spread wide, naked and waiting for me to put on a condom and fuck her again—I’d have said,well fuck, I must be the luckiest bastard alive.
Probably would’ve stopped for a lottery ticket on the way home, too.
Because after that night spent with Rhiannon, nothing, andno onehas scratched the itch that she left behind.
I hadn’t even gotten her name that night, though I’d tried. I woke up the next morning sprawled out naked on her friend’s fancy couch, bare ass stuck to the fabric, still half-drunk, with my boxers missing and her long gone.
Her friend hadn’t exactly been chatty either. I’d tried, started to ask about the pretty brunette who I’d fucked into his carpet andgiven my knees some nasty rug burn to remember the night by, but he’d thrown up a hand before I could get a word out.
“Don’t even ask me about her. I won’t tell you a thing. Get your shit covered and get out of my apartment.”
Fair enough.
I couldn’t remember what Rhiannon had said his name was anyway, but it didn’t matter. One night. That was the deal. A blur of lies and half-truths all bleeding together into the best fuck of my life.
A week later, the rug burns had faded and I knew it was for the best. I don’t have time for dating. You don’t get to have lasting, strong relationships when you work the kind of hours that I do.
