Page 46 of The Bloodfeather Promise
Chapter Twelve
Emerson
Greyson showed me what he wanted. What he liked best. He proved to me I needed the same thing. His hands holding mine. His lips on mine. His body deep inside mine.
We ended up against the wall of the bedroom suite, my legs wrapped about his waist, his hands holding me aloft. Hard fingers gripped the flesh of my bottom as he impaled me, over and over until I sobbed incoherently with pleasure. When he came, just seconds after me, he tore his mouth away from the arch of my neck and kissed me deeply, our tongues thrusting and tangling together in a fiery mating.
Once Greyson was done wrecking me, we fell back onto the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. It felt right, I thought drowsily to myself. The energy required for resistance, to roll to the other side of the mattress, to place distance between us, was nonexistent. Instead, my head drooped in the space between his upper chest and his bicep, my arm draped across his midsection. With his muscled arm coiled possessively around me, I thought of my departure. It would be difficult, leaving him, but Greyson’s deep, even breathing lulled me into a dreamless sleep and I didn’t think about it anymore.
He took me one more time, in a hazy, soft possession that I had always imagined making love would be like. Tender and sweet. Gentle kisses and murmured words that sounded like endearments. Greyson was so different from the other times, I was confused, wondering who was the real man behind the actions. He stroked my hair afterward, running his fingers through the tangles so carefully, I knew he was trying to avoid hurting me. I fell asleep like that. Curled against him.
The jarring sound of the hotel room’s phone incessant ringing jolted me awake. Momentarily disoriented, I rolled toward the sound, pulling the sheets up at the same time until my breasts were covered.
“What the fuck,” Greyson muttered, his voice muffled by a mound of pillows. He was on his stomach, head buried in those pillows, his arms cradling them.
My heart literally skipped a beat when his eyes opened, pinning me in place. The hazel depths glowed in the grey light of early morning. At least, I thought it was morning. It could have been nightfall for all I knew.
He made no move at answering the phone. In fact, he remained motionless until finally, whoever was calling accepted defeat. The room grew silent once more except for the music still playing softly in the background from his cellphone’s playlist. Time stopped, waiting patiently for us, hovering on fragile wings while we regarded each other. It appeared he could not place me, unsure who I was and why I was in his bed. His beautiful mouth turned down slightly with uncertainty.
Then that trademark smirk peeked out, slowly curving his lips and spiking my pulse with an emotion I couldn’t ignore. Giddy hope.
He was the predator. I was his prey. He was eager to pounce, hungry for his next meal. And I was ready to feed him, however he wanted me served up. The dull ache between my legs did not deter me from wanting him again.
The phone interrupted again, the bone-jarring ring even more maddening the second time around. Exasperation touched me, too, and I frowned at the intrusion.
“Goddamn it.” Flinging himself over, Greyson snatched the receiver from its base, holding it to his ear. “What?”
His bark was sharp, irritated. I didn’t dare move a muscle. In fact, I barely blinked.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Greyson unconsciously scowled at whoever had dared disturb him.
“Because I turned the ringer off, that’s why,” he said to the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, I hear you. I said I heard you, asshole.”
I wished I knew what was being said by the caller, and who it was. Was it his bodyguard? Ready to escort me out? Or one of the other band members? Maybe it was his manager. I only knew the longer Greyson stayed on the phone, the more agitated he became.
His head turned in my direction, and whatever desire was there moments ago vanished. It’d been replaced with annoyance and a simmering anger that froze the air with its intensity. It rolled off him, poking me with icy fingers of regret.
“Getting up right now.” He slammed the phone down, while at the same time rolling from the bed. It provided me a spectacular view of his firmly muscled backside. He disappeared into the living room, and I heard things rattling around. A tune by The Kills played while in the background came the clink of ice in a glass and the rattle of those pill bottles.
I jumped in surprise when the music ended abruptly, replaced by a comical alarm bell coming through a cellphone. It sounded like a police car siren from an old cartoon. Who in his contacts had been assigned such an undignified noise?
“I’ll be down in thirty. No, don’t wait on me.” Greyson stalked back into the bedroom, magnificently naked, the cell phone against his ear and a glass of pale orange juice in his free hand. My first thought was there was way more vodka than orange juice in that drink. “I gotta get a shower first. Fuck, get off my dick, will ya?”
Pausing in the doorway of the bathroom, his green-gold eyes slid over me. I still hadn’t moved an inch since the hotel phone rang, unsure exactly what I should do. Should I kiss him and thank him for a wonderful night? Would he walk me to the door and press his cell phone number into my hand with an invitation to call him later because he’d love to see me again? I had no idea, but when I caught the guilty spark in his eyes, my stomach clenched with dread.
The cell phone dropped from his mouth just the slightest bit.
His next words were a hot iron slicing through my tender heart. It cauterized any hope I foolishly held. Scorched my adoration until it fluttered away from me like feathers ripped from a helpless bird.
“Better not be here in my room when I get out of the shower.” Greyson stared at me, the bathroom door closing while he spoke. “I fuckin’ mean it…”
The door slammed, and my hatred for him split wide open.
For a long moment, I simply sat there in the midst of the bed we’d shared, absorbing the pain and regret. Letting it drench me.
I got up.
My boots were located where he tossed them after screwing me the first time. After telling me he loved the feel of them digging into his back while he was deep inside of me. I found my bra that he used as a makeshift restraint. And the cute blouse I purchased the morning before down on Rodeo Drive, the tiny leather skirt I wore for the Singles Mingle event Carly hosted at Belmont last month. I dressed, eyes stinging, then grabbed my purse from where it still sat in the Lucite chair. Locating a hairband from one of its little pockets, I gathered my hair up into a messy bun. Checking my reflection in the bar’s mirrored backdrop, I decided the look of devastation on my face could not be helped nor disguised.
