Page 122 of Whistle

My attention snapped up, narrowing enough to realize he’d asked me a question. I chased the words around in my mind, but all I could come up with was the growly, deep tone I so loved.

Love…

Fingers knotted in my hair, tugging the strands enough to sting my scalp. I made a sound, refocusing on him again.

“Did you mean it?”

I heard the words this time but still didn’t understand.

My nose wrinkled. “Mean what?”

“When you asked for all of me.” Those words caused a flicker over his expression, a spike in the otherwise relaxed energy around him.

“Why?” I asked, hurt pinching my heart. “Having regrets already?”

Couldn’t he have given me just five more minutes?

Burying the ache, I smirked. “Because the cum dripping out of me is still warm.”

Annoyance flashed over his face—and was that a hint of hurt?—and then the blankets were ruffling, cold air tickling my skin as he left me in the bed alone.

Suddenly, I felt I’d somehow failed a test, a very important one, and I scrambled to sit up, letting the covers fall where they landed. Regret fisted my chest, and panic urged me to make it right. Don’t let him go.

“I want all of you.” The words came out in a rush of air, chasing his back as he headed toward the bathroom.

He stopped midstride, the strong lines of his shoulders and back bunching slightly, but he didn’t turn around.

A sense of urgency throbbed in my temple like a ticking clock. “Not just sex,” I added, sucking in a shuddering breath. Forcing my voice to relax, I said, “Everything.”

His head cocked to the side, and my heart thudded as though I were suddenly awaiting some type of verdict that would shape the rest of my life.

His shoulders rose and fell. His voice was gruff. “Get dressed.”

The sense of failure was so heavy that I slumped. My shoulders actually ached, and I swallowed thickly, batting my lashes to try and expel the sudden dampness in my eyes. Not really seeing, I hung my head, the length of my hair offering concealment as my fingers curled around each other so I could hold on to the only thing I really had. Me.

Turned out the curtain of my hair was a poor shield because it parted easily to thick fingers that pushed in to brush over my cheek. Startled, I jerked back, staring with guarded eyes.

The soft touch from a strong man who’d just rejected me felt more like the searing sting of a wicked paper cut.

I jerked away, leaving the bed on the opposite side. The feel of him leaking down the inside of my thighs was hard to ignore, and it only pissed me off more. I couldn’t even enjoy it. I couldn’t revel in how possessed I felt. How owned. Now I just felt dirty. How dare he use me as a pump-and-dump, then tell me to leave?

And no! It didn’t matter that I came here. I was the wronged one. Me!

Incensed, I stomped around the side of the bed, pushing at my hair to find my clothes. And hell. They were all downstairs.

Wouldn’t be the first time I did the walk of shame buck naked.

Spinning on my heel, I went for the door. I’d just call an Uber from the sidewalk.

The door slammed shut the second I pulled it open. His presence, all warm and big, crowded in. I swear his breath whispered in the strands of my hair, and tingles raced across my scalp.

I let out an angry noise, ready to rain hell down upon him, but then that big, warm presence blanketed me. His skin against mine, his wide palm flattened on the wood right beside my head. What did he have such big hands for anyway?

“Where you going?” His voice was raspy, borderline threatening.

My knees turned weak. “Getting dressed like you ordered,” I snapped. “Ogre.”

He laughed. The kind of laugh that moved through his belly. I knew because I felt it. More tingles raced over my scalp, and my eyes watered again. Why was he doing this? Making it so hard?

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