Page 12 of The Deal

She’s currently in the bathroom freshening up as I lie here on my back, with my hands tucked behind my head, reliving the last few hours in my mind. I’m smiling again, which is odd, but I enjoyed my time with her tonight. She gave as good as she got, and I like that about her. Timid and shy is no fun.

My attention is drawn to the en suite door when it opens. She’s pulled her long hair back into a ponytail, which is a shame. Sometime during our sex romp, her thick, long locks became loose, and I enjoyed running my fingers through her hair while she bounced up and down on my cock.

My eyes skate down her body, and when I see she’s redressed in her bra and the black skirt she came in, the smile drops from my face.

I track her movements as she crosses the room and bends down to scoop up the white dress shirt I had on earlier.

“Where are you going?” I ask, confused, as she slides her arms into the holes and begins to button it up.

“Home.”

I bolt upright and frown. “What? Why?”

“I think we both got what we wanted from this … amalgamation.”

Amalgamation?The fuck!

“Stay … we can pick up where we left off in the morning.”

She takes a seat at the end of the bed and slips on her shoes. When she stands, she scoops up her handbag and slings it over her shoulder.

“I think we’re done here.”

My face rears back slightly. I’m the one who is used to leaving once the deed is done, and I’m suddenly realising it’s not that fun when the roles are reversed.

“Will you at least tell me your name or leave your phone number?”

“Don’t get needy on me now; it doesn’t suit you.”

Needy?

“Can I at least give you a lift home?”

“Nope.”

When she starts heading towards the door, I throw back the sheets and move to the side of the bed, suddenly feeling panicked.

She holds up a hand, halting me. “Don’t get up; I’ll show myself out. Oh, and thanks for the shirt … I think this makes us even.”

My mind scrambles for something else to say. If I let her leave now, I have a sinking feeling I’ll never see her again.

That thought shouldn’t concern me as much as it does.

Do I even want to see her again?That question has me scrubbing my hand down my face because, damn it, I do.

She’s right, I am acting like a needy little bitch.

“How are you getting home since you don’t have a car?” I know she doesn’t have much money to catch a cab. A bus? Possibly. But I don’t feel comfortable with that. Not at this time of night.

“Two feet and a heartbeat,” she counters, forcing me to swallow back the growl that threatens to escape.

I lean over the side of the bed and snatch up my trousers. “Let me give you some money.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“I’ll order you an Uber.”

“No thanks.”

---