Tangled (Playing With Fire)

Unfortunately he had a distinct feeling she wouldn’t let him. Which only made the chase sweeter.

“Come for me, Scarlett.” He took her silence as her answer. She was meeting his thrusts with her hips, her body moving against his hand, her back arching off the loveseat. Close to falling apart. “Come all over my hand, sweetheart.”

She shattered with her orgasm, the inner walls of her pussy clenching around his fingers, her clit throbbing beneath his thumb. A wail escaped her, low and shaky and long. She leaned her head back against the armrest of the couch, her body slowly going limp.

Trevor withdrew his hand from her body and brought his fingers to his mouth, inhaled deep. Her scent, musky and sweet, filled his head, made him dizzy. He licked his fingers, tasted her, savored her. When he heard her moan he glanced up, caught her watching him.

“You taste like heaven.” She did. He wanted more.

Her eyes slid closed, and she shook her head. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He laughed, he couldn’t hold it back and when she cracked open one eye to glare at him he laughed some more. “You don’t believe in me whatsoever, do you?”

“No. I don’t.” Just like that her expression shuttered closed, her lips straightening into a tight line. She withdrew from him, both physically and emotionally and he watched, helpless as she swung her legs to the floor and climbed off the loveseat.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” She straightened her clothing, tugged her skirt into place. Dipping down she grabbed her shoes, clutched them in one hand. “It’s been real.”

She was halfway to the door before he caught up with her, yanking her arm so she turned to face him. The look of pure disdain on her face confused him, frustrated the shit out of him, and he didn’t get it.

He had her coming over his fingers two minutes ago, and now she was walking away from him as if he was nothing. An afterthought, nothing more. Just trash she could use and toss.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Leaving.” She shrugged out of his grasp and started for the door once again.

“Hold on.” He grabbed her again, his hold on her looser this time and the tingles that shot up his arm at the feel of her soft skin made him want to growl in irritation.

The attraction between them was real. He couldn’t deny it. Yet she could, and in a big way.

What the fuck?

“Hold on for what? What do you want from me? Do you want me to grovel at your feet and call you master? Tell you that you just gave me the best orgasm of my life? Well, it wouldn’t be true.” She took one step toward him, then another, and then another until she was so close he could kiss her. “It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t the best either. How’s that for your ego?”

He flinched, released his hold on her as if she burned him. “What the hell have I ever done to you to make you so goddamn angry?”

“Sucks to be used, doesn’t it?” She smirked, and he was sure she caught the guilty flash in his eyes. “You use women all the time. I watch you. I see what you do. They toss themselves at your feet and you have your pick, a new one every night. It’s always so easy for you, isn’t it?”

“Why the hell should you care?” Her words hurt because they were true. Maybe he was nothing more than a user of women. He certainly could never commit to one. It was so much easier, so much more exciting to be with a different woman night after night.

And the occasional man. But he kept that close, to himself.

“I don’t. That’s why I’m walking away.” She started toward the door again, her hand resting on the door handle before he spoke.

“I can find someone else, you know,” he called to her. “I can walk out of this room and find someone and fuck her brains out.”

She stilled, her delicate fingers clutching the handle, her entire body tense. But she didn’t turn around to look at him. “I’m sure you could. I know you could. I hope that makes you feel better. I hope when you’re fucking her, it’s my face you see and not hers.”

And with that, she opened the door and walked out of the room.

Her instincts had been correct. Trevor Braxton was a complete asshole with an ego twice the size of Texas.

Scarlett strode through the halls of Tom’s, headed toward that doorway she should’ve exited through long ago, before she ran into Trevor. She clutched her shoes in her hands, grimacing as she walked across the cold, bare wood floors and she wished she hadn’t taken them off.

But then she wouldn’t have been on the receiving end of that fabulous massage. And she wouldn’t have had that most amazing orgasm either.

When she told him that orgasm hadn’t been the best of her life, she’d kind of lied. It had been a long time since she’d come by someone else’s hand. Oh, she spent time here at Tom’s but she was strictly a watcher. She rarely indulged even though she had permission to do so. Well, on occasion she’d participate but more as a background figure, unnoticed.