Page 58 of Fire
“I want you to make me come,” I tell him, feeling my voice shake and hating myself for it. Hating that part of me that still feels small.
But Hendrix doesn’t seem to notice. He just smiles as his fingers hook onto the waistband of my panties.
“And exactly how would you like me to do that?”
No one has ever asked me what I want in the bedroom. It’s empowering. It’s sexy, and most of all, it’s healing.
As my confidence swells with each heated exchange, I raise my heel and place it on his shoulder and apply a bit of pressure. A devilish grin spreads across his face as he takes the hint and slowly drops to his knees. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
And then he looks up at me through hooded eyes and says, “It will be my fucking pleasure.”
“Zara.” Hendrix’s sexy voice calls to me. So deep and rough.
“Mmm?”
“Zara.”
Wasn’t he just on the kitchen floor? I remember the way he looked at me, like the very idea of eating me out was makinghim crazy. I rub my thighs together just thinking about it, and suddenly I feel an arm snake around my waist.
“Jesus, Zara. You’re killing me here.”
A hand caresses my cheek, and my eyes flutter open. The light from the window feels blinding, and I blink several times, trying to catch my bearings.
And then I see him.
Hendrix. In my room, my bed. Wearing clothes?
“Did you have a good dream, Cupid?” he asks, sounding smug.
I blink a few more times, taking in the room around me. No kitchen. No counter. I glance down. Definitely no sexy red dress.
“I, um…” I lick my lips, my mouth feeling dry, but he just grins and holds out my phone, which I now notice is vibrating.
“Your mom is calling. Also, you said my name in your sleep.”
“I did, huh? My mom?” Talk about conversational whiplash.
He laughs. “Yep. Second time she’s called too, so it’s probably important.”
I snort. “No, she just doesn’t like to be ignored.” I try to wipe away some of the sleep from my eyes before grabbing it from him. Then I look at the screen. Oh, goodie. She’s FaceTiming me.
I swipe to answer and am not surprised at all to see not only my mom, but my sister teaming up on me in a group call. Seriously, who holds a group call at—I check my watch—noon? We slept in until noon?
Hendrix heads to the bathroom to make himself scarce. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday when we explored the city.
“Hi,” I answer. Oh, I sound rough. My voice has taken on that raspy quality only achieved through hard-earned sleep, and now that I’m looking at myself in the camera, the visuals aren’t too great either.
I quickly try to tame my hair and wipe away the mascara remnants under my eyes.
“Are you just waking up?” my mom asks. At the same time, my sister says, “Oh my god. Is that your room?”
I promised to call them when I got settled in and tell them how everything was going, but I never did. I’m not avoiding them. I actually like my family—a lot. And I replied to all their text messages, so they know I’m alive and everything. But things have been so busy that I’ve never really gotten to the point where I feel settled.
“Yes,” I answer, giving the room a cursory glance. It is quite grand. Not as flashy as the hotel in Nashville. My room—sorry, suite—was twice this size and reminded me of when our class learned about Hearst Castle, and I went home convinced California had a king and a queen like a fairytale, because only fairytales had castles. That was obviously before I learned how a capitalist society actually worked. “To both of those questions.”
My mom clutches her heart, looking panicked, and goes for the most obvious reason for my late morning slumber. “Please tell me you’re not doing drugs.”
Vi snorts out a laugh as I try not to roll my eyes. “It is my day off, Mom. I am allowed to sleep in.”
