I pace the living room, naked, my half-hard dick bobbing with each step I take.
There’s no way she’s not going to remember this tomorrow. Her eyes were wide open, they weren’t even a bit hazy. She didn’t even…
I march back into her bedroom. Basia is lying where I left her, still naked from the waist down, chewing on a fingernail. When she spots me, her mouth falls open.
“You didn’t drink your tea,” I accuse.
She shakes her head mutely.
“Why not?”
Basia opens and closes her mouth before finally speaking. “I suspected, but I wanted proof.”
I run a hand down my face, my calluses catching on the stubble there.
“Proof of what?” I ask hollowly.
“Well… that I didn’t dream what happened last night. I thought something was in the tea, so… I watered my Peace Lilly with it.”
My eyes cut to the potted plant, then back at her.
“You didn’t stop me,” I whisper, looking anywhere but at her exposed, glistening cunt.
“I didn’t want you to stop,” she replies, sparking my temper again.
“Well, you should have.” I start pacing her room now. “I don’t fucking deserve to touch you.”
Basia clicks her tongue. “Will you sit down. Please?” My eyes cut to hers, and I see her eyeing my rod. It twitches under her heated gaze, and her blush deepens. “I can’t talk to you while that’s—” she waves a hand at my groin, “—pointing at me like that.”
“That?” I mock. “You can’t even say dick?”
Basia bristles. “Oh, get off your high horse. I’m no delicate virgin.”
My hands clench at my sides at the thought of other men touching what’s mine.
“Stop acting like you’re defiling me,” she continues. “You’re just as bad as all the politically connected sons of powerful men my dad paraded in front of me before I got away.”
I round on her, straddling her legs and pressing her hands against the headboard before she can do more than gasp.
“I’m nothing like those rich, pretty boys, Basia. I’m a killer,” I hiss in her face. “I touched you with hands covered in gore.”
Basia looks at me like she’s searching for something. Then she shocks me by surging forward and kissing me. My teeth are still bared when her lips connect with my mouth, and for just a second, I’m so surprised that I kiss her back. But then reality invades, and I pull back.
“What are you doing?” I ask tonelessly.
Basia narrows her beautiful blue-gray eyes. “Are you saying I’m so shit at kissing you can’t tell that’s what that was?”
It’s my turn to glare at her. “You’re really fucking bratty for someone whose hands are restrained.”
“Maybe I like having my hands restrained,” she throws back.
I study her for a minute, the stubborn set of her mouth, her dilated pupils, the heavy, panting breaths making her nostrils flare. For the second time that night, I think to myself:fuck it.
I get off her and head to where I left my jeans before showering.
“Caleb, wait!” Basia whines. “Stop being a drama queen.”
“You’ll regret saying that,” I say over my shoulder as I pull my leather belt from the loops.
