“What do you care about Carmen?” he asks. “You don’t know her.”
“I don’t have to. I just—I just don’t want to be in any form of soap opera.”
“And how would that happen? You think Carmen’s worried about you?”
I manage to pull my arm from him. “It’s—it’s...bad juju.”
Okay, that wasn’t the most sophisticated thing to say, and it’s clear that Tony doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but I couldn’t think of a better response.
I improve in the next statement. “And it speaks to the type of person you are.”
He crosses his arms after he gets to the bottom of the stairs. “Which is what?”
I stop on the last step. My gaze is nearly level with his. “A cheater. If Carmen doesn’t know what you do, then you’re a liar, a deceiver.”
“And why should Carmen know?”
His question confuses me, but I reply with the obvious, “Because she’s your fiancée. That’s reason enough.”
My words give him pause. Surely he gets what I’m saying?
He uncrosses his arms and looks almost amused. “Carmen and I aren’t really engaged.”
That’s an awfully convenient excuse, I think to myself. Aloud, I say, “I saw a news article and a photo. You were about to kiss her—or something.”
“That was staged. We secretly broke off our engagement weeks ago, but her grandfather had been thrilled about our engagement. He’s on his deathbed, and while he is still alive, we’re pretending we’re still engaged. The engagement shouldn’t have happened in the first.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Tony grabs my jaw and pins me to the wall of the staircase, trapping my backpack uncomfortably against me. “Don’t believe me. Believe I’m a cheater and a liar. And those are my nicer qualities. You should run from me, ma petite. Run very far.”
I might do just that, but I’m still in his clutch. And then his mouth is on mine, smothering me. My senses fill with him, and it’s not a bad way to drown.
No! I didn’t agree to this yet.
But my body is already warming, already succumbing. And he knows it. Somehow he knows it. He presses his body to mine, and currents shoot up my spine. His mouth plumbs the depths of mine. He’s ruined kissing for me. I know I’ll be comparing all future kisses to his.
I want so much to pull him to me, to wrap my arms about him and thread my fingers through his hair. But I left him for a reason.
And that reason was?
His engagement.
Oh, right. I’m in trouble.
“I told you, you should have walked away from me,” he murmurs atop my lips with anguish. “I was trying to be better. And now...I can’t.”
His lips still locked to mine, he picks up my legs and grinds himself between my thighs. And I miss this. I miss feeling his ardor thick and hard against me. I kiss him back. My arms encircle his neck, pulling him closer as he dry-humps me.
Holding me by the legs still, he carries me into Cell Three. He kneels on the mattress and sets me down. He cups my face with both hands, and his lips move almost reverentially over mine. I haven’t been out of his presence for twenty-four hours, and I’m starved for his touch.
His hands drop to the straps of my backpack, peeling them down my arms. After removing it, he puts it aside on the floor. He wraps a hand about the back of my neck, massaging away the last of my feeble resistance. His mouth takes mine once more, and I wish I had worn something sexier than my flannel shirt, sweater vest and jeans. He looks sexy and dreamy in his button down shirt beneath a beige pullover sweater with the sleeves rolled up. Of course he looks sexiest with nothing at all on...
Deciding I want him in that state, I thrust my hands beneath his sweater and start to unbutton his shirt. That makes him kiss me deeper and harder. Feeling like a horny teenager, I unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. My sex throbs. The soreness is practically gone, and I won’t be satisfied till I feel him inside me.
He whips off his sweater and sheds his shirt. I happily run my hands over his pecs, brushing over his scar, and then his midsection, down to his crotch. He’s wearing boxer briefs. Tight boxer briefs. I rub his erection through the cotton/spandex fabric.
He takes off my sweater vest and pulls open my shirt, sending buttons flying.