Page 69 of Jagged Line Paradise

I lift an eyebrow. “So, I’m cliché because I wear suits now?”

She shakes her head. “No, you were always a little cliché.”

“Oh, come on. Give mesomecredit.”

The elevator arrives with a ping and she moves toward it with a shrug of her shoulder. “Andrés. Please. You were a classic emo kid. The black hoodies, the facial piercing, the dark, brooding stare, that generalthe-whole-world-is-against-meattitude.” She steps onto the elevator and turns to face the door, flashing me a good-humored smile. Then she twirls her finger through that damn, twisted strand of hair again, and fuck, it makes me want to kiss her on the elevator and prove just how goddamn cliché I am.

I step on beside her and turn, pressing the button to the third floor. The doors close and I look over to find that she’s already looking at me.

“Well, it’s not cliché ifIdo it.” She turns, puts her delicate hands on my chest, shoves me against the back wall, and plants her lips on mine.

It’s not a ferocious kiss, it’s almost chaste, sweet, a pressing of her lips to mine that lingers and surprisingly builds as much heat as if our tongues were lashing.

“Thank fuck for that,” I say against her lips and she giggles.

Dios mío, that sound. It’s perfection. It reminds me how fun she is, how easy she always was to talk to, to connect with…hell, I’m gonna enjoy her.

The elevator ride is brief, so nothing else happens, but I grab hold of her hand and lead her off the moment the doors open. We turn left off the elevator and I practically drag her behind me as I stride toward my room, her small steps struggling to keep up with mine. I glance over my shoulder and watch as she reaches out with her free hand, trailing her fingers along the chair rail that runs along the center of the long hallway.

She’sso fucking adorable.

I wonder how fucking adorable she’llbe with my cum on her face.

I stop in front of my room and wave my key card to unlock the door. I pull the handle and push it open just a crack but turn back to her before going inside.

“If you need an out, this is the only one you’re gonna get.”

Her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip and her forehead creases. “Doyouneed an out?”

“No.”

She smirks. “Then neither do I.”

I smile at her and give her a short nod. “Are you clean?”

She tilts her head a little. “Huh?”

“Do you make them wear condoms, every time?”

She nods. “Yeah. Every time. And I’m on birth control, so you don’t have to worry about—”

“I’m not worried about that. I can’t get you pregnant. I’m not interested in passing along this gene pool, so I made sure that couldn’t happen.”

“Oh,” is all she says in response, not surprised, not disappointed, just plain and simple acknowledgment. “Then…can I come in now?”

I push the door open, holding it wide for her with my back. I watch as she takes a deep breath and passes in front of me, my cock throbbing at the knowledge that she’s coming into this willingly. At the same time, my chest tightens with fear. Once this door shuts and I have her all to myself, it won’t be long before she unlocks the cage and releases the beast. I don’t know what will happen then.

I step forward, grab the“do not disturb”sign off the inside handle, move it to the outside, and release the door. I watch as it swings and the moment it clicks shut, the match strikes inside me, sparking a flame that burns for Avalon deep in my gut.

I turn the deadbolt, flip the swing bar on the latch lock, and turn around. I don’t know what I expected to see, but for some reason, I’m surprised that she’s not just standing there waiting for me.

Instead, she’s wandering around the suite. Come to think of it, I realize this might be the first hotel suite she’s ever been in. Unless her piece of shit ex-husband took her to a hotel for their honeymoon, which somehow, I doubt. I left Lonnie behind with no resources, no support, poor as fucking dirt, and that’s how she’s lived her whole life. It kills me to think of all the opportunities she’s missed, everything that’s passed her by.

I passed her by like a fucking fool.

She passes from the small living area of my extended-stay suite into the open bedroom behind it. She slowly approaches the pristinely made king-sized bed, standing at the foot of it for a few seconds. Then she reaches forward, tracing her fingers over the white down comforter. She puts her palms down on it and presses, testing its fluff.

She straightens, taking her hands off the bed and resting them at her sides. She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t move. So, I just watch her.

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