Page 61 of Done with You

Oooh, his tone was like a glove slap to the face. He was challenging her to a duel.

Well, little did he know, but she brought her travel sword.

“And I also want my hosts to know how much I appreciate them putting me up.” She snagged her purse from the coat hook by the front door, pulled out her wallet, and grabbed a fist full of cash, slapping it down on the counter. “For groceries, gas, and the hot water I’ve used and will use for my showers and laundry.”

Rayma and Jordan’s eyes were wide, and their expressions very confused.

“Oona, take back your money. We’re not hard up. And you’re definitely not paying our utilities. “What the fuck is going on?” Rayma asked, slowly. “You two have been acting weird a lot. Why?”

“It’s nothing,” Oona dismissed, sashaying back into the kitchen to tidy up. She didn’t take her money back. “Just pulling my weight.” Aiden had brought out the tiramisu from the freezer. “Oh, let me.” She reached for the dish.

“I made it. I’ll dish it up.” His tone was cold and stern, along with his glare.

“It’s really no problem. You’ve already done so much. Been on your feet in the kitchen all day.” She tugged on the dish, but he tugged back.

“Sit. Down. Now, Oona,” he said slowly, the authority in his voice making her back snap straight. She turned around and went to her chair. “Good girl.”

Rayma and Jordan’s mouths dropped open until they looked like twin codfish who’d just been electrocuted.

“Something strange is going on,” Rayma said after a moment. “Something really fucking strange.”

“You’re telling me,” Jordan murmured, his gaze bouncing curiously between Aiden and Oona.

“I’ll tell you what’s weird,” Aiden said, slicing into the dessert and plating it on four plates. “What is with all the pineapples?”

Chapter Thirteen

He made sure to lock the door this time, but he did keep the light off in the bathroom when he went back in there later that night once everyone had fallen asleep. The way Oona had just snapped to attention and done as he said, then her reaction when he called her a good girl … he nearly came in his fucking jeans right there while dishing up the tiramisu.

But, fuck her, too.

That little stunt she pulled with the cash—offering to pay their groceries and utilities, that was fucking weird and so … out of character.

And yet, despite the way the woman irritated him to no-end, he found himself tossing and turning again, with a steel pipe in his boxers and thoughts of going into her room and sliding between her thighs at the forefront of his mind.

No. Fucking. Way.

So, he did the next best thing. He went into the bathroom, stood over the toilet, and jerked off while watching videos of Oona pole dancing online. The company she did the dancing with posted it to their social media and on their website. It’d been easy enough to find, and over the last week and a bit, he’d gone through every one of her videos more than once.

The Luna Love on stage was so different from the Oona Young he was forced to sleep under the same roof with. Luna Love was fun and confident, sassy and bold. She owned the stage, drew in the audience, and made them feel like she was giving each and every one of them their own private show. She commanded their attention with the shimmy of her hips, the flick of her ass, and the way she wrapped her leg around the pole and hung from it like a fucking flag.

But Oona … Oona was rigid and had a giant stick up her ass.

He kept telling himself that he was jerking it to Luna and that was okay, but he knew that they were the same person, which meant he was having all the wrong thoughts and feelings for entirely the wrong person.

He knew an addictive personality could be hereditary, it was one of the reasons he’d never touched alcohol or any hard drugs. If his father could so easily become a drunk, then maybe Aiden could, too. But just because he didn’t have drugs or alcohol to get addicted to, didn’t mean he couldn’t still get addicted to something else. And the more time he spent avoiding her, the more he started to worry that Luna or Oona or both were his addiction. He couldn’t get the woman out of his head.

She infuriated him. Was like poison. And yet, he wanted her so fucking badly, it made his gut hurt.

He finished himself off just as Luna Love finished her set on stage, doing the splits on the pole, then almost slithering down it head first, only to land on the ground on her belly, stick her ass in the air, and wink at the crowd. Yeah, that made him blow his load, hard.

He cleaned up his mess—not that he really made one—and exited the bathroom, praying that Luna Love’s alter ego wasn’t lurking beyond the bathroom door just waiting to catch him again.

The coast was clear.

He took one step, then another, out of the bathroom, only to stop in his tracks at the moan that came from the guest room.

That was no ordinary moan.

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