His hand left my breast to cup my chin, and he tipped my face up to his, hovering his mouth just a couple of inches from mine.
The kiss he gave me was almost sweet. Nothing like the one inCòctels, it was gentle, testing and I could feel him holding back.
I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him wild and demanding, not this man who was protecting me from himself.
Taking the lead was something I could do. I wasn’t Lala, grabbing everything by the balls, but I didn’t always wait to be done to. I reached my hands up, moving them to his neck spreading my fingers into his dark hair, pulling us closer together. Tommy’s hands went to my ass, digging his fingers in and straightaway the kiss went deeper, more demanding, more intense, more everything. I felt it through every fibre of my body, right down to my toes. The world had tumbled and I didn’t know which way was up, or who I was. For once I wasn’t living in my head, but my body instead.
I expected him to be rough, to take more than he gave, with his touches for him rather than me, but that wasn’t the case. He held me as if he was trying to stop me from being snatched away from him, and there was a reverence that I didn’t expect.
A catcall directed at us stopped the kiss. He lingered his lips close to mine still, his cologne overwhelming what was left of my senses.
“If you want your summer romance with the pretty boy, don’t let me stop you.”
His words froze my heart.
“Because you can’t promise me anything.”
His mouth curled into a smile. “Because you don’t want promises, Jameson. Promises mean jack shit. But I don’t think you want romance.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because romance isn’t dirty enough for you.”
He stole another kiss, this one rough and hard and brutal in how it left me needing more, and then he left, heading to an exit I’d never know was there.
Chapter Ten
Tommy
Ididn’t usually listen to dance music at seven-thirty in the morning, but my brain wasn’t convinced it was morning, given I’d had fuck all sleep.
Stupidly, I’d kissed her again, making it twice in a day. I didn’t kiss people, let alone girls who were too young and too precious to get fucked over with someone who had more baggage than an airport.
Jameson Kearney wasn’t someone I needed to get involved with. I didn’t get involved full stop, not since Leila. Getting involved meant having something to lose, and I knew from experience I didn’t manage loss well.
I wasn’t a monk. I owned a fucking bar; women interested in a quick fuck weren’t exactly in short supply on the island, but they didn’t last past sunrise, and never had a repetition, apart from Marielle, but Marielle had known Leila, which made everything all kinds of screwed up.
So why I’d not been able to fall asleep because of some bit of ass who’d given me the hardest cock I’d experienced in a long time wasn’t something I knew the answer to.
One solution was to find her and fuck her out of my system, making sure she was clear that it was a one-time only thing. I knew she’d be up for that, just like I knew if I’d put my hand up her dress last night in Buddhababa and fingered her, she’d have been soaked already.
I was getting soft in my old age. Treating her like some random hook-up wasn’t something I’d considered; toying with her, however, was a different matter. I didn’t usually get my kicks out of messing with women who were too young for me. They became clingy, needy, and I didn’t have the time or the inclination to let them down gently. I also didn’t want the hassle of dealing with their pissed off friends or older brothers who inevitably wanted to defend their honour, so I stuck to a type.
Older. Not always single. Only after a fuck. No emotional connection required and no need to offer breakfast.
Marielle had been different. I knew she used me for sex, more than I used her, if that was possible. She wanted nothing more from me than orgasms, not even conversation. I was her booty call, not even her friend, and even though I didn’t want more, it scratched a bit that if she didn’t have a response from me at some point, she probably wouldn’t care.
I’d slept naked, like I normally did. I ran hot; clothes at night just got in the way, and if I had to open the door at three am, then it was unlikely whoever had knocked would care. I didn’t have anywhere to be, not for a few hours anyway, so the gym was looking like an obvious answer, which almost defeated the point of showering. But the night had ran warm, and the lack of decent sleep meant I’d spent half the night tangled up in white sheets, too much movement and too much sweat.
I headed straight for the shower, a basic wet room with a couple of jets. It was the only part of the flat that had anything resembling luxury, and even then it belonged in a two-star resort rather than a five.
I blasted the water, getting under the spray before it had warmed up. The cold made me swear, but the shock only lasted a few seconds, waking me up properly. I leaned back against the tiles and let the jets blast at me, the burn of the cold turning to burn from the heat as the water warmed up.
As a kid, I’d been taught how to fight. I’d fought with Ash, and my older brother, Peter. We’d all fought on the streets and in pubs. A few lessons learned the hard way (through fists I couldn’t stop) made me join a gym, learn to box and lift weights. Now it was therapy.
Eyes closed, my head went straight to last night and Jameson. For many reasons, she wasn’t a good idea. There wasn’t one reason why shewasa good idea. Kissing her in my bar had been stupid, but I’d give myself a pass because I’d wanted to know how she tasted and whether she had that dark side I thought I’d had a glimmer of. Last night had no excuse. There was a man interested in her, one who would pay her more of the right attention than I would.
But for some reason that pissed me off.
