Page 31 of Bedding Rose
Does that mean she’s not wearing a bra? That just the dress and coat are hiding those cherry nipples from me?
I get even harder at that thought. The idea that I could sneak her into some hallway at this party, push her back against a wall and peel the dress down to suck those delicious tits fills my head. God, I want to shove my hand down further and find out if I’m right, but I can’t. Any more and I’ll start dragging her coat down.
But if I can’t touch her …
I take my hand from her neck and drop it to the seat. Watching her expression flicker with disappointment only amps me up even further. I love that she likes my touch. And I know exactly why she likes it. Because she belongs to me.
I type one last text.
Me:Want your phone back? Come and get it.
Then I set the phone down right on top of the very obvious tent in my pants.
Rose gives me the most exasperated look I’ve ever seen from her.
She gives a littlehmphand turns away to stare out the window, clutching my phone so tightly that her fingers grow white. Clearly, she’s not quite ready to play stroke the snake.
I sigh and pick her phone back up. Guess I’d better find something else to do with my time.
I swipe open her photos instead.
When my phone buzzes in her hand a second later, she looks down. The screen has locked, but my clever girl whispers, “Angelo,” and holds up the screen. I turn my head to glance at her, and my face unlocks the device.
I just smile as I send myself yet another text from her phone.
She opens the messages only to find photo after photo of herself popping up on the screen.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Picking a new background for my phone,” I respond nonchalantly.
I watch her tongue dig at the back of her lips, making them bulge out with all the savage retorts I know she’s just dying to say right now. Riling her up has always amused me but now it turns me on.
Rose stays silent, but her fingers fiercely jab at the screen as she deletes photos just as quickly as I text them. It becomes a game. I try to send photos twice as fast as she can delete them.
That’s how we spend the remainder of the ride to Santa Fe, ferociously and immaturely competing with one another. It ramps up my giddiness to a level I haven’t experienced since I was twelve and got to touch my first boob. I chuckle quietly and I hear a tiny giggle escape from her before she swipes her foot sideways and kicks me. I retaliate with an embarrassing photo of her making a stupid face. She gives a low gasp. This is more fun than a coaster at Six Flags. By the end of the ride, I’ve looked at every single one of her photos from the past five years.
I’ve learned that she loves to hike, screenshots all kinds of dirty lines from romance books, takes pictures of her desserts which seem to veer towards lemon-flavored anything, and that she has very few selfies. Almost all of her photos are group pictures. My Rose is not nearly vain enough given how beautiful she is. She needs eight thousand more pictures of herself on here.
I raise her phone as Quique pulls into a parking space, and her eyes narrow into dangerous slits that I ignore. I snap a photo of her just as the engine cuts out.
She immediately leans forward, trying to snatch her phone away but I hold it out of reach and grab my own back, pulling it easily from her tiny hands. I airdrop her entire photo album to myself before handing her back her own phone.
Her nails dig into my hands as she grabs them. “You bastard,” she seethes under her breath as her mother and Quique climb out of the car, none the wiser. Though her eyes are hostile, her mouth keeps fighting the urge to curve upward.
That’s right, Rosie. You loved this just as much as I did.
I wink as I unbuckle and open my door, glee tap dancing along my ribs at the way her fury and lust are filling up the backseat, as potent as her perfume. “Not bastard. Boyfriend, remember?”
I snap another photo of her resulting glare with my own phone.
Tonight’s going to be the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
ROSE
My mother has asked the impossible of me. There is absolutely zero way I can stand to be within five feet of Angelo, much less corral him all night. He can’t even be appropriate for five minutes!
God.
