Page 46 of Hate the One You're With
She shrugs, clearly relishing my discomfort. “Rules are rules, Caleb. Besides, Bentley’s harmless. Well, mostly.”
“Mostly?” I repeat, my eyes widening as Bentley starts kneading my chest with his paws, his claws grazing the fabric of the comforter. I make a mental note to start wearing a shirt or maybe armor to bed around this fur-covered menace. “Em, come on. I’m begging you here. Be a friend. Be a pal.”
Emmersyn tilts her head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, let’s see . . . I help you, and you lose, what? A piece of my precious inheritance? Or . . . I could just let Bentley have his way with you. Might be good practice for dealing with tough negotiations.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I grumble, wincing as Bentley’s claws dig in a little deeper.
“Maybe,” she says with a grin. “But think of it this way—you get to bond with Bentley. Isn’t that what you wanted when you demanded to keep him?”
“I wanted a car, not a cat,” I nearly shout, but I catch myself, not wanting to startle Bentley into full attack mode. “Fine. What do you want, Emmersyn? Name your price.”
She pretends to think, then leans back with a satisfied smirk. “How about this—you admit that this whole two-foot rule was a brilliant idea, and I’ll save you from Bentley.”
“Brilliantly evil,” I mutter. She glares at me then looks at her perfectly manicured hands. Okay, I’m desperate enough, so I nod. “Fine. The two-foot rule is brilliant. Now, can you please get this cat off me before he decides to go for my throat?”
With a laugh, Emmersyn gets up and walks over. “Come on, you little troublemaker. Your new owner doesn’t seem to understand how to handle you just yet,” she coos at the cat, her voice soft and teasing. “I’ll give you some treats later. Maybe even throw an extra episode of Golden Girls, but you have to let Caleb breathe, okay?”
Bentley protests with a low growl but eventually allows himself to be moved, giving me one last glare before sauntering over to Em.
I sit up, rubbing my chest where Bentley’s claws left tiny indentations. “I swear, that cat has it out for me.”
“Maybe,” Emmersyn says. “Or maybe he just knows you’re not a cat person.”
Huh, I never thought of myself as a cat or a dog person, but . . . “I’m definitely not now,” I grumble, though I can’t help but smirk as I watch Emmersyn stroking Bentley’s fur like she’s won some kind of victory. And maybe she has.
As I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, I catch a glimpse of Emmersyn’s tiny shorts hugging her curves in a way that should be illegal. Her body is practically begging for attention—myattention—and it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to close the distance between us.
The two-foot rule? No PDA. No touching her pretty cunt—my pretty cunt? She is mine. Fuck the two-foot rule. Right now, all I can think about is crossing that imaginary line and claiming the little tease.
My eyes trace the curve of her ass, the way those shorts cling to her hips, and my mind starts to wander, imagining the heat of her skin under my hands. I can almost feel the softness of her breasts pressed against me, her breath hitching as I kiss her neck, trailing my lips down to that perfect spot just above her collarbone.
My hands itch to reach out, to grab her and pull her close, to feel the way her body responds to mine. I can see it in my mind—her sharp intake of breath, the way her eyes would flutter shut as I kiss her, the way her body would melt into me. It’s a dangerous thought, one that has my pulse quickening, my self-control hanging by a thread.
I want to push her down onto the bed, to tear those flimsy clothes off and explore every inch of her body, to feel her arch beneath me as I take my time, savoring the sounds she’d make as I drive her crazy. I want to taste her, to hear her moan my name as I claim her mouth, her pussy, her?—
Bentley’s low growl snaps me back to reality, and I shake my head, trying to clear the vivid images from my mind. But damn, they’re hard to shake. Emmersyn is still standing there, looking so effortlessly sexy, and all I can think about is howbadly I want to close the gap and give in to everything my body is screaming for.
“Guess I’ll get dressed,” I mutter, more to myself than to her, as I head for my suitcase, determined to put some physical and mental distance between us before I do something we’ll both regret.
I pull out a shirt and jeans, trying to focus on the mundane task of getting ready for the day, but my mind keeps drifting back to Emmersyn and those damn shorts. As I start to change, I glance back at her. “You might want to get dressed too,” I suggest, keeping my tone as casual as I can manage. “We’ve got breakfast to deal with, and I doubt Max and Zoe will appreciate you showing up in . . . that.”
She looks down at herself, then back at me with a playful smirk. “What? You don’t think this is appropriate breakfast attire?”
My gaze drops to the tiny pajama shorts that barely cover anything, and I swallow hard. Every inch of her is a temptation, and those shorts aren’t doing me any favors.
“Eyes here,” she snaps her fingers and points at her eyes. “What’s wrong with my pajamas?” she repeats, her tone daring me to find fault.
“I mean, it’s fine, but . . .” I trail off, my brain short-circuiting as I try to find the right words.
“Glad you think they’re fine, because all my home clothing is like this,” she says with an air of innocence, though the gleam in her eyes is anything but.
“Is that a new thing? You usually like baggy clothes.” I eye her suspiciously.
“You’re too preoccupied with my clothes.” She chuckles,clearly enjoying my discomfort, before finally getting up and stretching, giving me another tantalizing view of her curves before heading to her suitcase.
“It’s just . . . different,” I say, instead of admitting that this is going to make me lose my ever-loving shit and that the no-PDA rule is going to go out the window before the end of the week. My cock is already hardening, and I can’t resist adjusting myself, the need throbbing low in my gut.
She catches the movement, her eyes flicking down to my crotch. A slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips as she deliberately lets her gaze linger. The heat in her eyes makes my pulse spike, and I can feel the tension ratcheting up between us.
