Dirty Secret

Every part of her tuned to every part of me.

I savor the sight of her for a moment, then I fill her with a steady thrust.

Slow to start.

Then faster.

Harder.

Hard enough her groans fade together.

Her lids get heavy.

Her nails leave red marks on her palms.

And I lose it. Forget all about fucking control.

I hold her in place and I drive into her again and again.

Until her groans fill the room.

Fuck.

I pull her back, so I can bring my hand to her clit.

I rub her with my thumb and I fill her with hard, deep thrusts.

I fuck her.

There's no other way to explain.

There's nothing else I want. There's nothing else in my universe.

Only Sienna's body against mine. Her brimming with more bliss than she can take.

I go too hard, too deep, too fast.

But that only makes her groan louder.

She comes quickly, groaning my name as she pulses around me. As she pulls me further and deeper.

It's too much to take.

With my next thrust, I come. I dig my nails into her thigh, groaning her name as I work through my orgasm.

Fuck.

When I'm finished, I pull back. Take care of the condom. Unbind her.

She sits up with a hazy expression.

Her eyes fix on me. Her lips curl into a soft smile.

She climbs up the bed. Stands. Wraps her arms around me.

It shouldn't be strange, holding her after I've fucked her.

It shouldn't steal every ounce of my breath.

But it does.

It really fucking does.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cam

I expect to feel relief when Sienna excuses herself to clean up.

But I don't.

I want to be there, in the narrow space, my body pressed against hers, the two of us warm and wet and wrapped in each other.

It's a pipe dream but it's a new one.

She showers without a word. Emerges from the bathroom clean and wet, terry-cloth robe draped over her shoulders.

It's cinched at the waist, but just barely.

She doesn't wear a lot of makeup, but she still looks younger without it. Smaller. More in need of protection.

It's ridiculous. She's an athlete. Tall, powerful, strong.

Stronger than I am in every way but one.

How can I be obsessed with that single way? She's faster than most men. She can get away from someone who wants to hurt her.

She can fight back.

She won't need to fight back. There's no one out there trying to hurt her. She doesn't go to dangerous corners of the city.

And I—

Fuck, I need to get ahold of myself.

Tonight.

This is only tonight.

"Do you have anything to eat?" She brushes her wet hair behind her ears. "I'm starving and exhausted."

"I can order something."

"This late?"

I nod.

"Hmm…" Her brow furrows with concentration. "No. I think I'll go to bed." She moves into the main room. Pulls her cell from her purse. Taps out a text. "But you owe me breakfast."

"Of course."

She sets her cell down.

I bring her a glass of water. Ask her to drink.

She looks at me like I'm silly, but she still does it. "What do you think happened with the dancers?"

"Did they have an orgy?"

She nods.

"Ty wouldn't."

"Would you?"

"It's never appealed to me."

"But you've had a threesome?"

I nod.

"Why?"

"Do I really need to explain why?"

"Was that all it was?" She finishes her last sip. "Extra tits and ass?"

No. It was like every fucking thing I've tried. An attempt to feel what everyone says they feel after sex.

Even the most womanizing arseholes in the world feel something. A thrill, a sense of pride, a satisfaction.

No matter how well I perform, how many times I make a woman come, I feel the same after: empty, worn, used.

It's ridiculous. I'm the arsehole using women to get out of my head. Where the fuck do I get off feeling like they used me?

I don't know. It's not what happens. But it's the same every time.

Only right now…

I don't want to sleep on the couch. I don't want to leave before Sienna wakes. I don't want to put a wall between us.

I don't hate her.

"Cam?" She stretches her arms over her head as she lets out a yawn. "Was there something else?"

"It's complicated."

She nods uh-huh, sure.

"I thought it would excite me."

"Did it not?"

It did. That's not exactly right. "I thought that excitement would change things. I thought I'd feel differently after."

"But you still hated yourself after?"

I nod.

"And now?" Her eyes meet mine. "Is this different?"

"I don't know."

"Oh." She picks up her glass. "Do you hate me?"

"Not yet."

"But maybe later?"

"Maybe."

"Okay." She does nothing to hide the disappointment in her voice. "I think I might hate you in the morning. When I wake up with a massive hangover. Who's idea was it to have all those sugary drinks?"

"Yours."

"Dammit. I was afraid of that." She smiles. Rises to her tiptoes. Presses her lips to mine.

It's soft, but I feel it in my bones.

"One more of these. Then I'm going to bed." She kisses me again. "Can I wear something of yours?"