Chapter Twenty
KIT
I’ve had some fun fucks in my time. Some intense nights that completely blew my mind. Yet somehow, it feels like it was all building up to this.
A night like never before. Not because it was particularly kinky, but it was just... perfect.
Fuck. That’s a bit intense. Maybe I’m still on a sex high? And I still didn’t find out her name—her real name.
Oh well, there’s always next time. And I mean that because I’m nowhere near done.
For now, she’ll just remain my honey bee. Because God knows, I feel like I’ve been stung. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, though —quite the opposite, really. A piece of her has wedged its way under my skin. It’ll take time for it to work its way out as nature takes its course.
I’d left her Saturday morning by walking her back to her own room. In contrast to the chaos we’d left in my suite—bedding everywhere but the bed; the littering of condom wrappers which she insisted on disposing before we left, no need to be boastful, apparently; towels scattered over furniture, and the water pooling on the bathroom floor after some wet almost-sex—her room seemed unwelcoming.
Not that I hadn’t wanted to push her through the door and begin all over again. But I must be sensible about this if I was ever going to get her out of my head.
Weekend bag in hand, I’d kissed her just once—but properly, of course—and as I’d pulled away, she’d wrapped her fingers in my lapels and pulled me in for another, much more inappropriate kiss.
I find myself hardening at the memory. Her soft, willing mouth under mine as I’d whispered I wanted to see her again. I’d taken the small smile curled into her mouth as an agreement, pulling away and kissing her forehead.
At least I now have her number, and she has mine. Of course, I’d had to explainhowI had her number. She seemed pleased to hear I hadn’t breathed a word of my plans to anyone by basically suggesting to Rory that her telephone number might help me to arrange Fin’s upcoming birthday gift. That her birthday isn’t for months didn’t seem strange to him, but then that’s Rory.
He’s not known for his deep thinking.
It’s strange how someone can absolutely know you, and also not.
Same goes for Bea. I know we’ve been acquainted such a short while, and while it’s thrilling that I can know her so well in the fucking sense, it’s annoying that I can’t seem to make headway in other aspects.
I know where she lives by default. I know she’s a doctor but not where she works. Though it’s safe to assume she’s employed at St Thomas by proximity to where she lives. I know she’s a natural blonde, and I know she has a thing for piercings.Prince Alberts, especially.I know she likes a little pain with her pleasure.Bonus.And that she’s more open-minded than she thinks.
And as well as now knowing her phone number, I also know her phone rang late last night.
Jon cell, the display read.
Right there and then, I contemplated answering and advisingJon cellthat she was sleeping.
Worn out the fuck out. Literally.
Non-compos mentisby way of my cock.
It’s probably just as well that as I’d reached for her phone on the nightstand, my fingers had fumbled sleepily and dropped it on the floor.
The call rang out.
Whether it was divine intervention or a missed opportunity to find out exactly who he was, I’m not sure.
But I want to know exactly who he is to her. And why he was calling.
There was mention of aJonat dinner before she’d confided they were over. Not that this stops the niggling feeling that I’m missing something.
Niggling and irritant. Like a bee sting.
Instead of waking her, I’d stared at her sleeping form a while, trying to decide if she were the unfaithful kind.Was the split a lie?I’d decided not, though in the absence of concrete answers, I’d kissed her, and she immediately roused to my touch. Arching her back, she’d rubbed against me, opening her legs around my thigh. She’d rode.
The woman is almost addicting.
I’m not interested in cheaters. An odd stance for someone who’s most recent connection was with a married couple, I suppose, but it’s mine, all the same. Life is complex enough. There’s no need to flay yourself on thorns.
