Page 116 of Mr. Wicked

But I wanted him to desire me in a way that went beyond a physical need.

I wanted him to crave me emotionally.

I wanted his care as much as I wanted his mouth.

I smiled as large as my lips would pull apart. “Get used to that feeling. It’s going to be a very long time before anything down there”—I nodded toward his lap—“goes anywhere near me.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Grayson

Once we returned to my condo after a hellish dinner at the pub, where I’d done everything in my power not to fucking strangle the waiter, who continuously flirted his ass off with Jovana during the entire meal, I went to the wet bar and poured myself a vodka.

Jovana disappeared to her room. She didn’t even take a box with her. They were still all lined up in rows, untouched, making a goddamn mess of my place.

Move-in day.

It wasn’t as bad as I’d suspected. She was already here almost every night anyway, leaving little things around my condo, so it couldn’t get much worse than it already was. The only difference was that this was officially her place now. Her mail had been switched to my address. Her name was in the call box outside the front of my building. If she got mad and stormed off, she would still be here; she’d just be on the other side of the living room in her wing.

A question I’d been asking myself all day, from the moment the movers unloaded the first box, was if I really minded having her here.

Damn it, I didn’t know why that was such a hard one to answer.

As I sat on the couch, I lifted the glass to my lips, holding it there long after I swallowed.

The answer wasn’t as much of a debate as it was admitting the truth.

We bickered like siblings.

She annoyed the shit out of me.

She wasn’t the neat freak that I was.

But I didn’t mind watching her walk around my place, braless, in her short shorts and tiny tank tops. I didn’t mind cooking eggs and bacon for more than one.

I didn’t mind the lack of quietness, where she always started conversations even when I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

I didn’t know why coming to that conclusion was so difficult.

It should be as easy as thinking, Yes, fuck, I enjoy being around her.

But it wasn’t.

It was hard.

Muddy.

Layered.

It took everything out of me to just let those thoughts pass through my head.

But they were there.

They existed.

And they were spreading, like the glass of water Jovana had dropped on my hardwood floors this morning that seeped into the cracks between the wood, expanding across several planks.

The water was gone once it was wiped away.

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