Page 19 of The War Revision
“You know where the door is,” he says without looking at me.
Ouch.I can see I’m not welcome anymore—if I ever was. It doesn’t really make sense why I’m suddenly reluctant to leave. It must be a result of the amazeballs orgasm.
“I did scream your name in the shower, by the way.” I feel the need to say.
My confession is met with a long pause of silence. “I know you did,” he utters matter-of-factly.
More silence. My hand finally pulls on the handle.
“I’ll see you around.” I wave a finger at him, and force my feet to move.
I feel his gaze following me till I’m out in the hallway and his door closes behind me.
COLE
I wipe a hand down my face. My stubble is longer than usual, but today I feel too lazy to give a damn.
Maybe it’s because I woke up at five this morning with Kaiden’s voice coming out of my phone, shouting, “Lucifer, Lucifer, son of the morning.” Not a fun experience. How the hell did he get to my phone again? At least it was my alarm and not the irritating man himself.
Since the moment I met him, our relationship, ordislike-ship, has been based on poking each other and driving each other crazy—more him than me.
I placed him in my mental never-go-there box, and locked it tight. The latest sexy development changed that. It’s unsettling.
He calls me the Devil. Lucifer. Satan and so on. I’m not sure anyone has ever given me a nickname before—surely not my family, or the parade of nannies I had growing up. I’ve never cared about it. But now I like it. It makes me smile. And what’s with that?
Fucking Kaiden Donnelly!
A squeaking sound makes me wince. Fancy rats are still rats. He needs to get them out of here, or the snake option will become too tempting to resist.
That makes me think of the tattoo wrapped around his left bicep, the red twisting scaled body disappears beneath his shirt and comes out on his neck. When he lifted his t-shirt yesterday, he gave me a tantalizing glimpse of the bronzed skin beneath covered in more colored ink. And those fucking pierced nipples. Not touching him had been so damn challenging.
Especially when all I really wanted to do was pin him to the floor face down and yank his shirt up to reveal what other delights it was hiding. My tongue and mouth exploring that little dip at the base of his throat. My teeth pulling on his lip until he begged for more. Cock pumping furiously between his ass cheeks.
With his mouth slightly open and eyes dazed he looked so fucking off-balance. I must be nuts, thinking about him this way. It was a one-time thing, a momentary lapse. It didn’t mean anything. Not even the fact that I shot my load like a fire hydrant.
I can’t let myself act like I usually do. Kaiden is different from my go-to partners. I’m a possessive fucker. I expect utter submission from them, until one of us or both get fed up. It never lasts long. My interest fades away after a couple of weeks. Three at the most. I simply get bored.
With Kaiden it will never work. Even though it seems that he could be the perfect submissive subject, I demand exclusivity from my partners and that’s something Kaiden will never give. He likes to fuck around. I don’t judge him. I actually think that the most seductive thing about him is the way he feels comfortable in his own skin. His fuck-what-anyone-else-thinks attitude and his confidence is a huge turn-on. It’s intoxicating and equally dangerous to me.
Because I want to fuck him. I want to bend him over, rip off his too-tight pants and fuck him until he submits to me in every way. My cock goes rock hard at the image.
Shiiiiit!
My eyes fall on the hamper full of dirty clothes near the door. Today, I came back home during lunch time to go down to the basement and wash my clothes in the laundry room. The new red shirt lying on top of the basket gives me an idea. A witchy smile forms on my lips.
But it disappears as quickly when my phone lights up. My father’s name once again comes on the screen. I push thoughts of Kaiden and our prank war away. Giving real estate in my head to my family and the pile of shit they are dumping on me.
I know I’ll need a drink after this call.
A strong one. But it’s only one in the afternoon, and I have to go back to the office.
Tonight then.
When I finally get to Sally’s it’s past nine. The last appointment with a client lasted more than I predicted. And I’m in dire need of a whisky.
I ignore the looks directed at me—boys drop their boxers at the sight of the tight fabric of my sharply tailored, expensive suit pulling on my muscular ass and biceps. My confident strides and the air of dominance I exude surely help with that.
But I’m not interested tonight. My steps halt only when I reach the bar. Sally is behind it, looking busy. She still winks at me in greeting, and without being asked, quickly places a glass of Macallan in front of me before moving down to another client. I like her. She’s cool, honest, and she welcomed me into the building, like the rest of the tenants—all but one.
