Low Pressure

He ran his fingers through his hair, which minutes ago she’d been about to rip from his scalp. He blew out a gust of air. “Yeah, I kinda got that.”

“This was a bad idea. I’ll move to another room.” She started toward the dresser where she’d left her large shoulder bag.

“Leave it,” he said. “You’re staying here.”

“Haven’t you heard—”

“Yeah I heard. About a dozen times. You can’t. What do you think I am? It’s hands off. I get it. Okay? Okay?”

Still wary, she hesitated, then, after a moment, bobbed her head.

“Okay. But I’m not going to let you be by yourself when you’re one degree away from a total meltdown.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not going to—”

“Bellamy, we are sharing this room, this bed, for the rest of the night, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Like you have a say in what I do.”

“Tonight I do,” he said with heat. “And if you ask what gave me that right, I just might tell you in language so graphic it would cause you to blush like you’ve never blushed before. So ask at your own risk.”

She didn’t say anything.

“All right, then.” He motioned toward the bed behind him. “Which side do you want?”

It took him a long time to go to sleep. Despite her flipping out, which should have doused any and all amorous inclinations better than a cold shower, he didn’t immediately recover from his throbbing lust. Because, although he’d given his word not to touch her, he was aware of her being within touching distance, aware of everything about her.

He knew the instant she fell asleep. Her body, which had been as unyielding as an I-beam, eventually relaxed. Her breathing became steady and deep and—What the hell was wrong with him?—sexy.

In order to get even halfway comfortable, he had to unbutton his fly again.

Which wasn’t such a good idea, because when he came out of a sound sleep hours later, he was masturbating. But then he realized it wasn’t his hand, but Bellamy’s, that was feeling around his alert cock.

He moaned pleasurably and turned onto his side, laying his arm across her waist, his leg over her hip, and pulling her against him.

“Dent.”

“Good morning,” he mumbled, smiling lazily, eyes closed.

She planted her other hand firmly against his chest. Now the woman couldn’t take her hands off him. How great was that?

“Dent.”

He took her groping hand, drew it to his straining erection, closed her fingers around it, and released a long, low sigh. “Tighter. Yeah. Like that.”

“Dent!” She wrested her hand away. “It’s your phone.”

“Hmm?”

“Your phone.”

He jerked his head up and back, eyes springing open. “What?”

“I was trying to get to your phone. It could be important.”

The jingle penetrated the passion that had fogged his mind and muffled his ears. He flopped over onto his back and lay gasping for breath and cursing liberally. Feeling blindly, he angrily yanked his cell phone from where it was clipped to the waistband of his jeans and blinked the calling number into focus.

He didn’t recognize it, but he had words for the person on the other end. “Who the fuck is this?”