Page 14 of Fool's Gold

I slowly pull my finger out of her and, holding her gaze, lift it to my mouth and suck her juices off me.

FIVE

The one-bed thing is less than advisable.

Forced proximity, my ass. I never thought it was realistic until I was trapped in a hotel room with one bed and Marcus Ortega wearing my desire like lipstick.

I mean, it’s pretty great to have him all to myself, close enough to touch, but it’s also a huge burden. I’ve got to keep my hands to myself because what almost happened in the bathroom can’t be allowed to be repeated.

He’s really good at digging beyond my boundaries and bringing walls down where walls need to stay.

Last night, after the oral sex in the bathroom, saved by the miraculous interruption of room service, I sat on the bed and ate while Marcus took a shower. When he finished, he sat at the small desk on the opposite side of the room and ate his own dinner with only the smallest snippets of conversation.

Whenever I tried to ask a question, he mostly grunted.

Whatever assurance he gave me about forming a plan, last night wasn’t the right time to talk about it, apparently.

I thought it was my turn to withdraw, but apparently, after expending too much energy eating me out, Marcus decided he needed a little hermit time of his own.

I memorized every whirl of design on the ceiling and finally fell asleep with his heat seeping into my skin and the memory of his stubble scratching between my legs. Falling asleep wet and aching for cock really isn’t a good look for me.

Or for anyone.

We’ve been dancing around each other this morning, me with my head ducked low to hide from him and Marcus dutifully burying himself in scrolling through the TV guide. Which is totally fine with me.

It’s safer if we keep our distance. We might be stuck together, and my life might be in his hands, but Marcus is not good for me.

On any level.

I grind my teeth together, lost in thought. It’s clear he only wants my body. Those papers were in the works and ready to be signed, no matter what pretty excuses he offers to the contrary. He never wanted to be my guardian when my parents died, and he’s made it painfully clear what he thinks of me.

The stories and articles online aren’t true, and he’ll never let them be true.

Letting him go down on me and creaming all over his tongue can’t happen again. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere for my peace of mind.

Today, he seems to respect my need for distance. Which means he’s probably planning on doing something crazy later.

It’s better not to trust him. Trusting him has gotten me into nothing but trouble, and it’s not like I need any more of the stuff. I manage to get into enough of it on my own.

Room service delivers another cart full of plates for breakfast. Instead of leaving me alone the way I want him to, Marcus joins me at the table with his features set in typical bulldog stubbornness.

“Can I help you?” I turn my nose up at him and, without looking, cut through the center of my egg white omelet with spinach.

No butter and no dairy, as per his instructions. And Marcus takes it very seriously.

He doesn’t touch his bacon as he places his hands flat on the table. “I’m going to lay it all out for you.”

“Oh, you’re finally ready to talk? How generous of you.”

“Everything, from start to finish, Empire,” he continues, ignoring me. “It’s up to you how you want to proceed. Do you understand?”

It’s the voice he uses when he thinks the other person isn’t really paying attention to him. I’ve heard it enough times over the years to be bothered by it, and right now, it makes my skin itchy.

“I’m not a child. This is a long overdue conversation, and you’re damn right. It’s up to me how to proceed.” Keeping a little bit of attitude is like having a security blanket.

We both know I have no real control, but I have to pretend. Otherwise I’ll go out of my mind.

He arches an imperious brow. Waiting for me to agree with him and stop whatever it is I’m doing.

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