Perish groaned in my ear as the orgasm coursed through me, then rocked deep and tensed as he came.
But as soon as the waves of pleasure ebbed away, all that was left were the feelings.
Perish held me for a long moment.
Until the sound of the bike rumbled closer and closer.
Fallon had arrived.
That was what had him releasing me, moving away, then handing me my pants and underwear before tucking himself away and heading down the ladder.
Alone, I pulled my clothes back on.
Then pulled my knees to my chest, leaned forward, and let the tears come.
I knew myself well enough to know that if I tried to hold them off, they would just come out at the most inopportune moments. Over a petty frustration. Watching a sad scene. Hearing someone say something nice. Anything could be a trigger.
So I just wrapped my arms around my legs and let the hopelessness of starting to fall for a man I could never have overtake me, draining from me tear by tear.
Then, when there were none left, I wiped my cheeks, blew my nose, and made my way down from the glass room.
I stopped only to dig in my purse for my eye drops. One pro tip I’d learned was that if you were going to be someone who cried a lot, you had to carry eye drops to get the red out. Or everyone was going to keep asking you if you were okay.
Satisfied, I squared my shoulders and made my way upstairs to fess up to Fallon about the party.
All the while trying to avoid looking at Perish, even though I could feel his gaze on mine, something intense there that I was choosing not to analyze. Because what good would that do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Perish
She was avoiding me.
I thought at first that she was just a little restless, always getting up and moving around the clubhouse.
Lord knew I was getting a little cabin fever too.
But on the second day of her seeming to find an excuse to leave the room every damn time I entered it, there was no way it was a coincidence.
Pair that with the memory of her coming up from the basement after we’d had sex in the glass room, with her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks, and, yeah, something wasn’t right.
Sure, I’d heard endless stories at this point—from Gracie herself and her cousins and uncles—about how much she cried over things, everything from birthday cards to TV commercials. But there was no way those tears weren’t connected to me.
If it was any other interaction, I would have worried I’d physically hurt her. I was a big fucking guy. Sometimes I worried I didn’t know my own strength, especially with someone more delicate like Gracie.
But in the glass room, I’d been soft with her.
I hadn’t hurt her.
Not that way.
It was something else.
And I was over the knot in my stomach worrying about it.
So I waited until everyone went to sleep or outside to do a sweep. Then I made my way down the basement stairs.
I expected her to be asleep, to have to wake her up and try to demand some answers. Even if the logical part of my brain knew I had no fucking right to ask for them.
