Page 43 of Bedding Rose
“What are you doing?” Rose hisses, trying to walk faster than me so that my hand won’t stay planted on her back.
“You’re too cold. And you looked as bored as I was.”
Her eyes dart around, wondering if anyone heard me complain, worried about impressions as if she’s going to know the names of any of these people in a few years. “I’m not bored at all,” she lies.
I yank open the door to the lobby for her and let her proceed me into the heat. “Hmm, I suppose you wouldn’t beasbored. You’re probably still nice andrelaxed,” I say as I join her inside, letting my gaze dip slowly down to her thighs before gliding back up again.
My dirty reminder about what happened earlier sends a flurry of color to her cheeks and they grow as red as her namesake.
“Shut it.”
I smirk as I take my jacket off and move to drape it around her shoulders. She tries to step away but my reach is long enough to encircle her and I press the coat down on her shoulders.
“I’m fine now that we’re inside.”
“You’ll be fine when your spine doesn’t feel like I’m touching a popsicle,” I retort, placing a hand on her lower back and leading her towards the bar, where a mirrored wall and shelf upon shelf of liquor bottles serve as a backdrop for a solitary bartender in a suit. With his glasses and the set of his narrow lips, the guy looks like an engineering nerd more than a bartender, but I don’t really care about the quality of his drinks right now.
“Got any Irish coffee?” I ask.
“Piñon flavored okay?”
“That’ll do. Two. No whiskey for this one,” I tilt my head in Rose’s direction. “She’s too young.”
I slide some bills across the aged wooden bar top as he pours our drinks, and reflect on the fact that Rose is only twenty. Young enough to still want to please her mother even over silly things. Is she too young? Am I robbing the cradle?
I glance over at her, eyes tracing down her figure, enjoying the way only I can see it while she’s draped in my coat. Maybe I should care about our age difference. Maybe I should care about Quique being her brother more. But one look at Rose and I can’t muster up any sort of will to walk away. The knowledge that she’s mine thrums too powerfully through my veins, a truth I can’t deny.
“What’s that look?” she asks, innocently.
I don’t answer her as I grab our coffees and head over to a small alcove with seating. Two plush armchairs sit diagonally across from one another and we sink into them before I hand her one of the coffees.
Rose takes a big drink of hers and when her tongue darts out to lick a spare droplet off of her lip, I’m captivated.
“What?” she shifts nervously in her chair, reaching up and adjusting my jacket on her shoulders.
“Just picturing my cum on your lips later,” I tease.
Her face goes white and her eyes grow as wide as saucers as she stiffens.
Fucking shit, did I trigger her by saying that?
But then her expression shifts, eyes narrowing as she bites her lip.
That’s damn hot.
My mouth opens to feed her another dirty line but her scared expression returns as a hand smacks down on my shoulder and Quique’s voice reaches my ears. Shit. Did he hear?
“Hey hero, hope you’re not too good to talk to me now,” he says with a chuckle as he comes into my line of sight. His greeting clearly implies he didn’t hear my last words and I watch Rose sag with almost comical relief.
I give a casual shrug as I glance up at him and reply, “I suppose I can make an exception. Just this once.”
His girl chuckles and I give her a nod of approval as he chuffs in my direction, not truly miffed at all. He hands Candace his beer and walks over to two nearby chairs, dragging them over, and inviting himself and his date to join us.
For the first time in my life, I’m slightly disappointed to sit next to my best friend. I’d much rather still be whispering naughty things to his sister, especially now that I realize she was only scared that Quique overheard and not scared by the suggestion itself.
As we talk and joke around, I wish that my arm was around Rose, that I was warming her up instead of just my jacket. The urge to publicly claim her hits me hard. We keep sneaking glances at one another in a way that makes me feel like I’m in middle school again, crushing hard on a girl and trying to see if she likes me back.
Our secret lust shines between us like a jewel but we bury it with feigned disinterest, talking to the other pair, and making conversation as if we shouldn’t just be up in one of these hotel rooms right now devouring each other.
