Every shudder and quiver rushes through me like molten lava as we come down from our high. My thrusts turn lazy, pumping languidly to ensure she gets every last drop.
I press my lips to her forehead as we catch our breaths.
I kneel before her, holding her skirt up and watching in awe as our combined liquid trickles down her inner thigh.
Leaning in, I kiss one knee, then the other, lowering her skirt back into place.
“Feel good?” I ask. My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
“It’ll do for now,” she says, smirking down at me.
Brat.
Reality slowly creeps back, pulling me from our haze. My thoughts race to the other guests. How long have we been gone? Has anyone noticed our absence?
“We should get back out there,” I say, reluctantly pulling away to stand.
Gemma nods, smoothing over her rumpled skirt. “Right. Yes.” She turns to fix her smudged lipstick in the hanging mirror while I straighten my shirt, refolding the sleeves.
“You go first. I’ll wait a minute or two, then follow,” I suggest.
Her jade eyes find mine in the mirror, and something vulnerable flashes across her features.
“As hot as that was, we should probably be more mindful next time,” she says.
Guilt spears through me. And it’s deserved. I did this to her. This wasmydoing,myimpulsivity. Not hers. If someone—especially Anna—caught us, she would be devastated.
This wasn’t the time, and this wasn’t the place.
“Agreed,” I say. This was rash and careless. It felt right, but the aftermath could have ended terribly for both of us.
Gemma steps toward the door and I reach out and clasp her wrist, stopping her. Her gaze drops to where my fingers encircle her and a frown creases her brow.
“I’m so sorry for putting you at risk like that,” I say, my tone earnest. “We shouldn’t have done this at all.”
Hurt flickers across her face. She pulls away and I see her rebuilding her defenses, brick by brick. The moment her guard rises, she tears her hand from my grasp.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Browne,” she says, her voice cold and cutting. “It was nothing.This”—she gestures between us—“is nothing, remember?”
The words land like a bucket of ice water, and I mentally kick myself for screwing up so spectacularly.
“Gemma, wait,” I say, stepping forward.
“No. Don’t bother. I’ll see you on Monday,” she says.
I watch as she swings the door open and walks through it without sparing me a second glance.
Fuck.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Max
I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but every minute since Saturday night feels as though it’s stretched into an eternity.
I slept like total shit the past two nights. Partly because I’ve replayed my thoughtless words to Gemma and her cold dismissal more times than I care to admit. And partly because her scent is everywhere—lingering on my sheets, my pillow, in my bathroom. Even if I wanted to, I can’t escape her. I’ve jerked off twice trying to purge her from my system. It didn’t work.
Her cutting words—this is nothing—flood me like a current, washing away any lingering afterglow. I didn’t even have time to hold her before I opened my mouth and ruined everything.
