“This was good sex.”
“Excellent.”
She’s quiet as she traces her fingertips over my shirt. I’m smoothing her hair down her back now.
I wanna take her home so bad my teeth ache.
But we can’t do this again. One time only, remember? The danger of blurred lines and all that shit. But God, the thought of letting her go, putting her clothes on, taking her home—it feels wrong.
I don’t want my job to be done.
Which makes absolutely no sense. Neither does fucking your best friend’s baby sister, though, so I guess I wasn’t an arbiter of good sense to begin with.
“Darlin’.”
“Yeah?” Her voice is sleepy.
Aw, Billie, you got no idea how bad I want to take you home. Fuck you again and again. Then, when we’re too tired to keep going, I’d watch you fall asleep in my bed.
I never invite women to sleep at my place. Told myself it’s because I wouldn’t be able to sleep next to someone else. People snore. They toss and turn.
The magic dissipates real fast when you wake up drooling next to someone else who’s drooling too.
Now I’m wondering if I’d sleepbetterwith someone next to me. Sure as hell not sleeping great alone, am I? And I weirdly like the idea of Billie drooling on my pillow. Means she’d feel totally at ease at my place. Comfortable.
At home.
What the fuck is happening to me right now?
“Much as I want to hold you like this all night, I don’t want you getting a UTI. Can I clean us up real quick?”
She moans, turning her head. “Yes. But please don’t make it quick.”
“Too late.” I chuckle. “Sorry, bad joke.”
“You weren’t too quick, and you didn’t disappoint me, you know.” She sits up and looks at me. “Really, I think you just made every other man seem disappointing in comparison.”
My heart has wings. That image alone should send me running for the hills. I don’t do mushy.
Here I am, though, feeling real fucking mushy. I don’t hate it.
“I’m not satisfied unless it’s a job well done.”
She smiles, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. “It was very well done.”
Colt would hate that we’re sneaking behind his back like this, though, wouldn’t he?
Only if I didn’t treat Billie right. I think about what Duke said back at the Rattler—that I wouldn’t know if I could treat her the way she deserves to be treated until I tried.
Now is my chance to try. But is treating her right giving in to the mushiness? Or is it keeping boundaries clear?
I find some napkins in my glove compartment—Colt and Sawyer have trained me to always keep some handy in the car—and after I take care of the condom, I put Billie on her back on the front seat.
Peeling off her ridiculously tiny underwear, I part her knees and hiss when I see her pussy. In the red and green lights of the dashboard, she looks slick, swollen. Pink.
I gently run my fingers over the birthmark on her thigh. “This is cute.”
“You’re cute.”
