Page 23 of Beauty & Chaos
No...Travis.
“Holy hell.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead, and then down between my breasts.
Luna lifts her furry head and glares at me from the side of the bed.
Holy hell.
I can’t believe I dreamed about him. As Lancelot, no less. I’m sure he’d find that amusing. I’m sure he’d love to know I’m wet between my legs and aching to do something about it. Stubbornly, I refuse to.
Who is Travis Warner?
Glancing at my dresser across the room, I spot the black business card he gave me and flop back down on my pillows. My ankle reminds me that I was injured, so I roll over and reach for my bottle of pain medicine and take one.
“Goddamn it.”
Getting around Manhattan is not easy on a bum leg. It’s a walking city, but looks like I’ll be catching a few cabs for the next few days.
Look at the card.
I fling my arm over my eyes. I am not ringing him. I am not going out to dinner with him.
I am not...letting himfuck me like a wench.
My thighs press together as my pussy clenches, wanting very much for that to happen. If he can create a response in my body by simply kissing the back of my hand, then imagine what he could do if I were naked and spread out on a bed, completely willing.
Because I would.
But I won’t.
I chew my lip, trying to remember why I shouldn’t.
Oh yeah, I’ve given up on men. I refuse to be hurt again, and therefore I am not dating.
If we’d accidentally fallen into bed drunk, then awkwardly waved goodbye to one another between the hours of three and six in the morning, that would be fine.
Why shouldn’t I?
The man is unreasonably good-looking, clearly wealthy, and amusing in a too-confident-but-makes-me-smile kind of way.
Which probably does make me a bit of a wench, but at least I’m not getting my heart broken again. Clearly there is something wrong with me that men do not want to commit to, and until I can undergo whatever therapy I need, I’m just not doing it.
Dinner is a date.
Fucking is not.
Those are my rules.
Are you looking for a wench or a queen? Because I’m not joking, I am not dating right now.
Brooklyn, I promise I won’t ask you to marry me or to move into my castle.
Him and his stupid Lancelot analogies. Anyway, the well-known and fictional knight never had a castle, but I have a feeling Travis might. A very nice skyscraping castle.
Can’t say I’m not curious ormildlyinterested in a night of passion with him.
I snort at the lie.
God, I would love nothing more than for him to be here right now fucking me. I can barely remember having an orgasm from something other than my hand or dildo.
