Page 9 of Promise Me Forever

She lies facing me in the king-sized bed, naked and looking completely sated after I fucked her for the second time. Despite making her come four times already, I’m still twitching to make her moan my name again.

She reaches out to stroke the hair on my chest and meets my gaze, but she seems different now. Hesitant even. It’s as though Scarlet has left the building and Amelia is unsure of the rules of the game. I’m not entirely sure of the etiquette here myself. I have a healthy sexual appetite and I’m never short of companionship, but I don’t usually find myself in situations like these. And I definitely don’t lie in bed with my sexual partners afterward like this, leaving myself open to the precarious risk of cuddling. It’s strange how having my face between her thighs and my cock inside her tight pussy somehow felt less intimate than whatever this is.

“What time is it?” she asks, then covers her mouth as she yawns.

I reach over her to grab my watch from the nightstand, pinning her to the bed as I do, and I don’t miss the way her breath hitches or the way my cock twitches to life at the feel of her skin on mine. “Almost three,” I say, grinning down at her.

She bites on her bottom lip, looking even more nervous now. And fuck me, but it’s adorable. “Um, I’ve never done this before.”

“What?” I tease, unable to resist making her blush. “Had sex? Because from the way you moaned and arched your back when I fucked you, I never would have guessed.”

“No! Of course I’ve had sex. I mean… this. Being with someone I’ve only just met. You’re probably used to women a lot more sophisticated than I am. I doubt I’m your normal type.”

I roll off her and prop myself up on one arm. I guess she’s right about not being my normal type, but I can guarantee it’s not in the way that she thinks. Beautiful women with sparkling eyes have always been my type. Her gaze drifts to my biceps, and she bites on her damn lip again before her eyes dart back to mine. Her blush deepens like she’s embarrassed of the fact that she was clearly admiring my muscles. Yeah, adorable. “That’s a bit presumptuous of you, Miss Scarlet. You have no clue what my normal type is. What is it that’s bothering you?”

Groaning, she hides her face with her hands. “Everything! Like… What happens now? Do I just get up and leave? How does this usually work? I mean, it’s a bit late for the subway, but I’m sure I could get a cab.”

How do I explain that this is new to me without her thinking I’m some kind of grade-A pervert who usually pays women to sleep with him? Yeah, there’s definitely no way to have that conversation without it sounding creepy. “There is no ‘usually’ about this situation. And as for what happens next, that’s up to you. I have no expectations of you. If you’d feel better leaving, go for it. I’ll even call you a car. But if you don’t want to leave, stay here.”

“With you?”

With me? I’m as shocked as she is about this development, but still I find myself agreeing. “Well, I’m pretty exhausted because I’ve spent the last couple hours fucking the brains outof this sex-starved bridesmaid I met tonight, and I have no intentions of leaving this bed. So yes, with me.”

I’m not used to this level of connection with a woman, and it isn’t even about the incredible sex. At least not entirely. I’ve had plenty of great sex before. It’s everything else that makes this different. We spent the entire night talking, and while I was very careful not to share or discover anything too identifying—no last name, no details about our jobs or where we go for coffee every morning—we shared things much more intimate and personal than I think either of us planned to. She’s the kind of person who’s just so incredibly easy to engage in conversation with. Sweet and warm and so vulnerably honest that it was hard not to open up to her. Ironically, she probably knows more about me than most people—outside of my family, at least.

So I allow myself the fantasy of being Charlie a little while longer. I pull her hands away from her face and drop a kiss on her lips. “It’s perfectly acceptable to spend the night and even have breakfast with me in the morning. I am a gentleman, after all.”

“You weren’t behaving like a gentleman about ten minutes ago,” she murmurs, and I can’t help but smile.

No, I definitely was not. And I’d like to not be a gentleman again before she leaves. “Maybe not. But I think we have one condom left for the morning, and it would be a hell of a shame to waste it.”

Her eyes sparkle mischievously. “I suppose it would.”

I wink at her, convincing myself this is all still part of the game we’re playing. And when she stares up at me expectantly, I find myself rolling onto my back and lifting my arm so she can snuggle into the crook of my shoulder. I can’t remember the last time I did this, although I recall who I did it with. That was another lifetime and another version of me.

I rest my lips on the top of her head and try not to think too much about how good her soft body feels curled up against mine. This ends tomorrow when real life begins again.

But just for tonight, I can be Charlie. A guy who has normal relationships with women, who likes to cuddle and spoon after sex, rather than Drake James—workaholic kinky fucker with raging commitment issues.

Chapter

Five

AMELIA

Oh dear lord, how much did I drink last night? My temples throb with a dull ache, and my mouth is drier than sand. I yawn my way back to consciousness and stretch out on the cool sheets. They feel expensive and luxurious and nothing at all like the bedding in my apartment.

My eyes fly open as memories of last night flood back. Shit. I’m not in my apartment, am I? There was the wedding. There was an incredibly hot guy. There was even hotter sex. Oh. My. God.

My heart flutters in my ribcage, and I look around for signs of him. The room is empty, but the shower is running. I sit up and smooth back my hair, noticing all the tender spots in my body as I move. Wowzers. That really was some night, and now I have to do the walk of shame for the first time in my entire life. And I’ll be doing it in a strapless bridesmaid’s dress, which is extra shameful somehow—yes, I was that cliché. I put my head in my hands and groan.

“Feeling that bad?” I hear him say in his perfectly smooth voice, and I look up to see Drake walking out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a white towel tucked around his waist. Hisskin is still damp, and he looks good enough to eat or, at the very least, lick.

When I was replaying last night, I wondered if the alcohol made him appear hotter than he really was, but no. Here he is, still hotter than the earth’s core. I suddenly feel very self-conscious, lying naked in his bed with wild hair and breath untouched by toothpaste. I must look like a hot mess, especially when compared to him.

“I don’t feel too bad, considering,” I say with a faint smile. “I’m just pondering the trip back to my apartment in last night’s dress.”

“Hey, this is New York. Nobody will even notice. But don’t worry about it. I’ll get my driver to take you home.”

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