Page 36 of The Good Girl

I bend down and press a kiss to her stomach before helping her to her feet. “Why don’t you jump in the shower and get cleaned up? There are some clothes in the closet up there, so find something comfortable to wear. I’ll warm up the pizza and get us something to drink.”

She looks up at me, but she doesn’t argue as I guide her inside and up the stairs. I show her where the bathroom is and head back downstairs.

I walk over to the kitchen and brace my hands on the counter. Leaning forward, I blow out a steadying breath, telling myself to calm the fuck down. If I don’t, I’m gonna end up in that tiny-ass shower up there with her. The urge to fuck her is so goddamn strong I’m not sure I could walk away if she said no. I want to pick her up and slide my cock inside her where it belongs.

I shake my head and look outside.

“I should’ve fucked her while I had the chance,” I mutter. Because once she realizes this is her home until I say otherwise, she won’t let me anywhere near her.

Which means I’ll have to get creative.

Chapter Eight

Nevaeh

The bathrooms small, and that’s saying something coming from me. Heck, it’s only a little bigger than the one in the RV, but it has a bath with a shower above it which is one thing the RV doesn’t have.

I lean against the cool tiles as the water runs down over me, wondering how I keep letting this happen. The first time, I could blame alcohol. But now?

I’m weak, dammit. So freaking weak.

In my defense I tried to be strong, but the man has magical hands. And just when I thought I was getting control of myself he went and played the ‘she’s so innocent card’ and tried to bullshit me with how painful his erection was and how I couldn’t get pregnant having sex outside rubbish. I write sexy books and watch porn like everyone else, for goodness sake. There is a big difference between innocent and naïve. I’d have laughed my head off if the whole thing hadn’t turned me on. I’ll admit, I’m a little confused by my reaction to it all, but clearly he got off on it as much as I did so I refuse to feel bad about it. I might even seehow this thing plays out. As long as I don’t have to wear pigtails and call him daddy, it might be fun.

“Ugh no Nevaeh, you’re supposed to be resisting him.” I mutter to myself. This is what Amity means when she says I’m the trouble maker. I don’t agree that I make trouble, but lord knows I find myself in the middle off it far too often.

Damn biker voodoo.

Frustrated, I turn the shower off and climb out. I grab a towel and dry off without looking in the mirror, not wanting to see my reflection and her judgy eyes looking back at me. Wrapping the towel around my body, I make my way to the closet and rummage around until I find a comfy-looking T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. The idea of wearing his underwear feels strangely intimate, but since he ripped mine from my body, I really don’t have much choice.

I shiver at the memory, and my cheeks heat up as I remember what happened after. I can’t believe I squirted. I mean, I’ve read about it, but I never really thought it was a real thing outside of porn—kind of like those fourteen-inch penises that somehow don’t end up sending women to the ER. Or the mythical G-spot that no real-life man can find without a map—and maybe the promise of a participation blow job just for trying.

Now I feel like I’ve been schooled—in the best and worst ways and I have some awesome ideas to add to my new book, if nothing else. I pause as a thought occurs to me. What if Havoc’s the exception to mankind? What if he’s just ruined me for all other men? Oh, God, what if I can never have an orgasm again?

“Okay, calm down, Nevaeh,” I mutter, realizing that I’m starting to spiral.

At least there’s something to put on the “con” list. Sexual contact with the man turns me into a crazy woman.

With a sigh, I put my bra back on and pull the T-shirt on over my head. It falls to just above my knee. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to wear the boxers. I pull them on, knowing they’ll be too big, but they’ll have to do. I don’t trust Havoc not to storm the fortress again. The boxers might not stop him, but going with nothing would be like leaving the door wide open for him.

I pause at that analogy and wonder, not for the first time, how I became a writer.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and head downstairs, my stomach rumbling at the smell of pizza. I walk silently into the kitchen and watch Havoc as he washes something in the sink.

Every time I look at him, I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. We might not work outside my dreams, but there’s no denying the man was created with sex in mind. His body is a work of art—muscles shifting with every movement, and a presence that fills the room. He’s gorgeous, but not in a conventional way. He’s far too rough around the edges for that. But there’s no denying the primal, unfiltered energy the man exudes that would have women around the world lining up to bend over for him.

“Like what you see?” His deep voice makes me jump, and I silently curse myself for not being stealthier.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Baby, I could feel your eyes on me. You were staring so hard I’m surprised my pants didn’t catch on fire.”

I shake my head and look away so he doesn’t see me blush. I hear him walk over to me, but I keep my eyes on the fridge magnet, which seems so out of place that I almost ask him where he got it.

“Cupcake, you can stare at me anytime you want. I promise I’ve never wanted to be objectified more than I do right now.”

Despite my best intentions, I feel a grin tug at my lips as I turn to look at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I think you mean sexy.” He smiles and picks up the two pizza boxes off the counter. “Table or sofa?”

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