Page 75 of Those Heartbreak Scars

Chapter Twenty-Eight

America

I’m still damp and cold when we stumble into the hotel room, though Gray pumped up the heat in the car and gave me a spare suit jacket he had on the back of his seat.

I can’t shake how awful tonight was. With my arms wrapped around my midsection to hold the jacket closed, I can still feel Everett’s grip on me as he held me in place on his lap. I swear the ghost of his dick is haunting my thigh.

He came so close to taking more from me than I bargained for. My stomach gurgles its complaint of my behavior. Of my decisions that led to me being on his knee like that. Covering my mouth, I hide a burp.

I’m lucky it ended where it did. I’m happy. Gray wants me, and I want him. But it still happened. And I can still feel Everett touching me.

Gray’s phone vibrates. It did that the entire ride home. He only looked at it once before he turned the ringer to silent. It has to be his boss. His ex-boss now. How long will it take Everett to complain? Has he done so already? Or is Gray’s boss wanting to know what the hell happened to make him quit like that?

I can’t go to sleep in Gray’s arms feeling like this. Tainted. “Can I use your shower?”

“Yes. Of course.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders from behind and drops a kiss on the top of my head. He lets out a pensive breath before removing his arms. “Let me see about a fresh towel.”

“Thank you.” I follow him through the bedroom and wait while he makes sure there’s a towel for me.

Turning on the water, he checks the temperature to make sure it will be comfortable. “Call out if you need anything. I’ll be right outside.”

I put my hand on his chest to stop him from walking out. After tonight how can he possibly want to touch me? Yet, I can’t stand to be out of his arms. “What if I want you to stay?”

“I…” he glances around and then rests his hip against the bathroom counter, “…can be right here.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I want him. Not just to talk to. But as close as two people can get. I don’t want to feel Everett’s touch anymore. I don’t want him in my head. I don’t want any trace of that stupidity left on my soul. He never really wanted me and I… I don’t want that to be the thing that I’m feeling. That I’m thinking about. He doesn’t deserve my sadness or my time.

I can only imagine what Gray is thinking about what transpired. He grew quiet in the car. Thoughtful. Perhaps the reality that I’ve been with someone else—almost in front of him—sank in. “It’s okay. I get it. It’s going to take some time before you’ll want more than kissing.”

“That’s not it.” His voice is gruff. “Damn it. I was holding myself back when I was kissing you. Do you think I don’t know that you don’t have any panties under that skirt? Do you think I forgot that I watched you take them off? It’s branded in my fucking brain. The way he touched you is branded in my head, and all I want to do is make sure that the only touch you remember from tonight is mine.”

“Then why are you hesitating?”

“I don’t want to push you.” He walks a circle away from me, putting an arm’s length between us. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything. After tonight I don’t want any of it to be because you think it’ll make you belong. You already do. If any part of you balks in anyway—”

I run and jump him. My hands around his neck, I crash my lips on his. “I will always want you. Have always wanted you. Ready is my perpetual state of being when it comes to you. If you need me to spell it out for you, Gray… Touch me, or I might die. Fuck me, or I might succumb to the darkest night. Fill me, or I might pass into the next life without ever having truly lived.”

“Poetic.” He holds me tightly. “And dramatic.”

“Shower.” I point over my shoulder at the glass door. “And I’ll suck your dick while you call me your dirty little cum slut.”

“Fucking hell, too far.” His reply is strangled.

I start to giggle. I can’t help it. Everything that happened tonight is too much. It’s all too much. My ribs start to ache. I can’t keep myself upright, I’m laughing so hard. I do the wrong thing, and I say the absolute worst things. No wonder I suck at relationships. Tears tip over my lashes. Stream down my cheeks.

Gray lowers me down his body. Holds me tight against his chest. His hand rests protectively on the back of my head as laughter melts into sobs. I cry until my head aches, and I have to gulp for oxygen. Then I cry some more.

Eventually the tears slow, and I settle. It’s longer still before speech comes back to me. “That was so not hot.”

“Oh, it was hot,” he says. “But I want no chance of you feeling bad about yourself tonight. So you’ll be my good girl. My sweet and filthy good girl, maybe. At most.”

“Oh, I like that one.” My eyes practically roll back in my head. The warmth that spreads through me is lovely.

“But we don’t need to go there. I can just hold you.” He lowers my feet to the tiles. His lips caress my ear as he parts the lapels of the jacket and slowly undresses me. Hooking his pinky under the strap of my bra, he lowers it from my shoulder. “After we’ve showered. Now be my good girl and unzip that skirt.”

I reach around and tug on the zipper, until my mini is loose and it easily glides over my hips. At the same time he unclasps my bra. Both end up in a pile on the floor.

I dig my fingers into the waist of his pants and yank him to me so that I can nibble on his lips again. He unbuttons them before breaking away to kick them off, revealing all those ridges and lines I find fascinating.

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