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  Because shit, she’s a soft and slow, make love not just fuck kind of girl and I’m the exact opposite. Physical overriding emotional every day because I can’t do emotional. And she deserves so much better than me. I might be a selfish prick but I know this much.

  The problem is she’s so goddamn addictive that even though I’ve occupied my hands, I allow myself one small hit. I rest my forehead against the curve of her neck, nose buried. My chest heaves for air. The scent of her perfume and shampoo make my balls tighten and use up my last ounce of control.

  “Sweet Jesus, Rylee.” I lace kisses along her shoulder while my body aches painfully to have her wrapped around me. “We need to get out of here before you unman me in the hallway.”

  I raise my head and look into her eyes. Last chance, Ryles. Escape while you can. But she stands her ground, unwavering, accepting of the warning in my eyes and the dominance in my stance.

  “Come.” God help me because when all is said and done, I think I’m going to need it to walk away from her. She bites her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Even she knows I’m inviting her into the lion’s den.

  I give her a soft smile, pretending I can’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, ignoring it as I draw her further in … and that makes me even worse of a man than I already thought.

  We walk, desire leading us and desperation owning our thoughts. I think I mumble an explanation that I have a room, but I’m not sure because my thoughts are consumed by every single thing about her. Fucking consumed when I’ve never been this way before.

  I usher her into the elevator, unlock the penthouse all the while my dick is begging me to push the red button, halt the elevator right here, right now and take her on the floor. Feed the greed and be done with her.

  Return to familiar ground and be the asshole I know that I am.

  I reach out to touch her back, begin the process, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t treat her like she’s inconsequential and prove her right. I mutter something about her hair, asking why she’s changed the curls I’ve thought about holding in one hand so I can watch while my cock fucks her mouth. She responds about not fitting a mold but shit my mind is back onto the image of her bobbing her head up and down with hollowed out cheeks and I can’t focus.

  “Sometimes change is good.” She’s staring at me when I break from my thoughts.

  I mumble a response about liking her curls, sounding so innocent but really being anything but because my mind is thinking about how fucking bad I want her right now. And then her comment breaks into my thoughts … sometimes change is good.

  Is that what this is? A change from my typical so it’s got my dick in a twist?

  Gotta be.

  The warnings flood my head again. I need to tell her I’m in uncharted territory, that I don’t know what the hell is going on but the one thing I do is that she deserves a chance to leave before I can’t turn back.

  “You have one chance to walk away.” The elevator dings, shattering my concentration that’s scattered as it is. I stare at her, need to see her eyes and hear her tell me she wants this without hesitation. “I won’t be able to walk away, Rylee.”

  And that’s exactly what I need to do to ease the unsettling I already feel deep down in the parts of me I buried so very long ago. In the dark recesses where the promises I made to myself feel like they are beginning to unseat themselves.

  Am I doing the right thing here when I know that fucking her just might hurt … both her and me?

  Fuck. That’s exactly what all this is. I turn from her, needing a minute myself to decide whether the discorded peace in my soul is worth disturbing.

  Snap out of it, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy. You have a woman willing right now. The same one you’ve passed up Raquel and her blow job skills for twice. You obviously want this. So fucking take it. You know how to walk when the sex turns to emotion so get your shoes and put them by the door for an easy escape.

  But fucking hell take what she’s offering. Man the fuck up. Tell her how it’s going to be and then do it. Give her the option to only say yes because sweet fucking Jesus, if her kiss is that goddamn sweet imagine what the fuck her pussy tastes like.

  Problem solved. Everything back on its mental shelf.

  I stab the button with my finger for the elevator door and then hang my head as I figure out how to say it all. “I want to take my time with you, Rylee. I want to build you up nice and slow and sweet like you need. Push you to crash over that edge. And then I want to fuck you the way I need to. Fast and hard until you’re screaming my name. The way I’ve wanted to since you fell out of that storage closet and into my life. Once we leave this elevator, I don’t think I’ll have enough control to stop … to pull away from you, Rylee. I. Can’t. Resist. You.”

  My confession is cathartic. Allows me to fuck her without the guilt because I’m giving her a choice. More steady in my shoes that I momentarily stepped out of, I finally turn back to face her. I need to see her eyes when I give her the only choice I’m going to until after we’ve come and are panting out of breath and spent.

  “Decide, Rylee. Yes. Or. No.”

  The night after. Rylee and Colton finally have sex and then he gets out of the bed like she burned him, made it apparent he’s made a huge mistake sleeping with her. Rylee gathers her dignity and pride, throws the caution flag up, and walks out.

  She has a restless night filled with nightmares from her past. She and Haddie have a come-to-Colton talk about how it’s okay to have mindless sex with him to get over Max, about how it’s okay to clear the cobwebs and live a little.

  Rylee wakes up with a new resolve from the tearful woman who left the hotel the night before. She’s going to try to just go with the flow when it comes to Colton. See what happens. She goes for a run and when she returns, guess who’s standing in her driveway waiting for the woman who ran out on him?

  There was something humorous in figuring out Colton’s reaction to Rylee’s transformation from the upset woman the night before to this confident temptress challenging him with her words and her body. It was also a hard scene to write because once again, Colton’s motivations were almost schizophrenic in nature. His continual need to explain to himself why he’s there, that he’s just trying to be a good guy, apologize for being an ass, makes you want to shake him so he sees what’s right in front of him.

  Why the fuck am I here? Seriously, Donavan? Chasing her like a damn chick after last night. After I fucked her and then freaked the hell out and basically pushed her away. Like that doesn’t have douchebag written all over it.

  Walk away, Donavan. Lift the right foot, then the left, and walk around the fucking Rover. Leave the complication alone and ease what-the-fuck-ever is that weird pressure in my chest.

  Do it.

  Now.

  Move your ass.

  I look up, conviction in my head but resistance in my soul, and the air punches from my lungs. Lead now weighing down my fucking flip-flopped feet.

  My God she’s gorgeous. Like knock me to my knees gorgeous. What girl can be sweaty in workout gear, jeans and a T-shirt, or dressed to the hilt like last night and be hot as fuck in all three?

  She runs the rest of the way toward me and hell yes I look at the way her tits bounce in her snug little tank thingy. I groan inwardly as I remember the weight of them in my hands. The taste of them on my tongue.

  “Hi.” She breathes out and although she looks winded I like to think her quickened breath is because of me.

  “Hello, Rylee.” It’s all I can manage to say. Thoughts flicker through my head. How I should apologize. How I should demand to know why she makes me feel like this when I don’t even know what this is.

  “What are you doing here?” Confusion mars her gorgeous face as those eyes of hers search mine for an explanation I can’t even give her. One that I know but am not able to put sound to the words because then it would make her … make this too fucking real.

  And I don’t do real.
I do quick. I do easy. I do rules and draw lines that never get crossed.

  So why the fuck am I here, then?

  I look at her, such a goddamn contradiction in everything she is, and have the urge to tell her the truth but know the truth will push her away. I want to tell her she burned me last night. Fucked me into feeling more than just the physical when I’m so used to being numb. Made me feel raw and vulnerable when I’m always guarded.

  And I couldn’t handle it. She looked in my eyes so deeply I could see the truths she saw there reflected in her own eyes and it scared the fuck out of me.

  Demons best be left untouched or else they destroy. Collateral damage be damned. Been there, done that shit.

  She angles her head at me. Her eyes still reflect hurt, but I also see surprise and thank fuck for that because it means I still have a shot. The question is after last night and the goddamn hurricane of emotions that ripped through me during and after we had sex, I’m not quite sure what the shot I’m looking for is.

  Redemption? Apology? Forgiveness? Another chance?

  Pick one, Donavan, because she proved last night she doesn’t play the games you’re used to so figure out the answer to her question, the one you don’t even know the answer to yourself.

  “Well, according to you, I took the checkered flag last night, Rylee …” I say as I take a step toward her trying to snap my thoughts in line, make up a reason for being here besides the need to make sure she’s okay when I could have just picked up the fucking phone. I resist the urge to reach out and touch her because I know if I do, my dick will rise to the occasion and do the talking for me. And fuck if I know what it will say.

  She licks her lips, dick beginning to win the internal thought process, when I suddenly figure out my angle … my in … my stupid-ass excuse for showing up the morning after like some pussy-whipped douchebag. Because Christ, you can’t get pussy whipped after just one taste. Shit like that takes time to acquire.

  Or so I’ve heard.

  This man might be drawn to the pussy palace but fuck if its queen will hand out orders that I’ll obey.

  I take another step toward her, still undecided about my excuse for being here when I glance down momentarily and see her nipples harden through her tank. That’s always a plus. At least I know she’s still attracted to me. Let’s see if I can make her like me again. Give me another chance.

  Bingo. Truth shall set me free. There’s the answer. I just want another chance when I’ve never wanted one before.

  And therein lies the second question, another chance at what though?

  I shake the thought, her eyes asking me to finish the question I left hanging. “… but I seem to have neglected to collect my trophy.”

  “Trophy?”

  Hmm. Maybe not such a good idea, now that I think about it. Fix this, Donavan. Fix how you just compared her to something that sits on the shelf and collects dust.

  Play, player, play.

  “Yes. You.” I reach for her hand and pull her into me. Her breath hitches: check. Her heart’s pounding: check.

  I’ve still got my game despite feeling like she knocked it off its field last night. Thank fuck for that.

  And then she looks up at me and that damn defiance is back, and I know we’re about to go a round. She might be affected but fuck if she’s going to back down. Let’s see if this gets us where we need to be.

  Bring it on, baby.

  “Well, Ace, I think you’ve got your eyes on the wrong prize.” She pushes against my chest and steps back, a smirk on her face. “If all you’re looking for is a trophy, you have your bevy of beauties you can pick from. I’m sure that one of them would be more than willing to be a trophy on your arm.” She steps past me and when she turns around, our eyes meet and she holds her ground. “You could probably start by calling Raquel, is it? I’m sure she’ll forgive you for last night. I mean, you were … decent. She’s probably thrilled with decent.”

  Knee-jerk reaction has me grabbing her arm and spinning her around when she goes to walk away again.

  Decent? Decent? You want to play dirty, huh? I have a whole chest full of toys we can use if you want to go that route, but first things first.

  “Decent, huh?” I step in closer to her, wanting so bad to taste the defiance on her lips but refraining. I came here today expecting to find her hurt and all I’m getting is obstinance. I’m confused how the woman who left me last night with tears in her eyes is the same fucking one that stands before me. What has happened in the last ten hours? Shit, I came here to apologize, salvage the chance to have her again so I can figure out what the fuck kind of hold she has over me. Try to see what it is about her that has me coming back for seconds when I prefer my meals to be more varied because shit, if you keep on moving, keep on sampling, no one can get too close.

  I’m trying to figure this all out and then she goes and calls my abilities on the carpet when we both know last night was anything but decent. Hell, she blew the doors off the damn bedroom and chiseled away at everything I guard. She wants to pretend I was decent, that she’s wasn’t affected? Go right ahead because I know avoidance when I see it and fuck if she’s not using this newfound confidence to cover something up. The question is what?

  And that in itself is comical since I’m the king of avoidance.

  Interesting.

  She stares at me as I try to make sense of this new set of unspoken rules. Her eyes flicker with amusement, her words still hanging in the air between us, still taunting me, still tempting me.

  And fuck it. I’m all in. Play me, Ryles, because I’m just getting warmed up. The two of us can pretend we’re whole, void of baggage, and see how far that gets us. Objective just went from getting another chance at who the fuck knows what to working that sweet spot between her thighs again so she has no option but to admit she’s wrong. Admit that her description of decent would be fan-fucking-orgasmic if she were speaking about any other man’s skills. And then even though I don’t want to care, don’t want to fuck with another person’s demons, I’m going to figure out what the hell she’s hiding.

  Decent walks away and doesn’t care. Decent gets themselves off without thinking of the other person’s needs. Fucking decent, my ass.

  She bites her bottom lip deliberately and flutters her lashes like she’s innocent. Damn tease. “Hmm, a smidgen above average, I’d say.”

  I step into her, my mouth close, our chests touching, and just stay there. Taunting her with anticipation until I hear her exhale the breath she’s holding. “Maybe I need to show you again. I assure you that decent is not an accurate assessment.”

  She pushes against my chest again because it appears she can’t handle the heat. She can talk the talk but she sure as fuck can’t walk the walk. Then again, the way she’s strutting her ass toward the door right now makes me take the statement back.

  Fuck. I know how those curves feel beneath my hands, riding my cock, milking my orgasm. We were so fucking far from decent it’s not even funny.

  “I need to go stretch. Are you gonna come?”

  Sweet Jesus. Seriously? “If you keep moving your ass like that, I am,” I mutter under my breath, feet following without a second thought.

  I follow her into the house, eyes scanning the interior. Clean, classic, just like I’d expect from her. I sit on the couch wondering where our little charade is going to lead us now. I spot a few possible surfaces that I can more than prove my point on.

  But my attention and thoughts are pulled to Ry as she settles on the floor in front of me and proceeds to spread her legs as wide as they go before leaning forward and pressing her chest to the floor. My dick hardens immediately at the sight of her, her impressive flexibility, and the memory of the tight, wet pussy sitting within that V of her thighs.

  Shit, she’s fighting dirty trying to jog my memory of how she fucks like a sinner and feels like Heaven, as if it wasn’t permanently scored into me.

  So why am I looking at her eyes and not her tits? W
hy am I anticipating the next round of verbal sparring when I should be using smooth lines to lure her back so I can prove her wrong?

  “So, Colton,” she says, breaking through my civil war of thoughts and my absolute focus on her proffered tits and stupendous ass. “What can I do for you?”

  Shit, we can start with you on your knees, me on the couch, and your mouth on my cock. The immediate image makes my head spin with need.

  “Christ, Rylee!” I bark the words out, trying to stop her stretching, stop my thinking, when I’m the one that’s supposed to be taking control of this conversation so I can prove my point in more ways than one. And hell if every ounce of testosterone in my body says “please don’t stop.” Fuck getting the upper hand in the argument because when all is said and done, all that matters is that I get to bury myself in her regardless of how the point is made.

  “What?” She bats her eyelashes again. Innocent façade front and center.

  “We need to talk about last night.” I change the subject. Need to think of rainbows and unicorns and shit to calm my dick the fuck down. Allow me to give my apology for last night. Set one wrong to right before diving right into the next with her because deep down I know we are one of those disasters waiting to happen. Beautiful and devastating all at the same time.

  The quick fuck I wanted to ease the ache for her turned out to be so much more than that. It’s moved into uncharted territory for me, and no matter which way I look at this, she’s added a complication to my simple, fuck-more-care-less lifestyle. She’s made me want her more than once, made me pursue when I don’t chase, and has me here apologizing when I’m a take-me-as-I-am-or-get-the-hell-out kind of guy.

  But fuckin’ A, if complicated is flexible like that, I’ll take it.

  And there she goes again. Making me lose my train of fucking thought as she lies on her back, pulls one leg up, and lifts her head to look at me over the mound of her pussy.