Page 49 of Cruel King

“I’m not used to being manhandled.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true.” I reached for the soap.

“Fine. I’m out of practice then. Women have much better manners.”

I snorted. “I have manners.”

“You just carried me into the bathroom like a Neanderthal.”

“And then? I wanted to get you clean. That sounds like manners.”

She made a noise of dissent, but it was half-hearted. I didn’t think that she actually cared. She was just making a fuss.

Once she was all lathered up, I gave her the spray of water and went to soap up myself. I was almost done when she took the soap from me and worked on my back. I wanted to fall to my knees for her right there. I didn’t know what it was about that simple gesture, but it did me in. Intimate, but not sexual, and I was a goner.

I cleared my throat when she stepped back, trying to cover the fact that my cock was lengthening again. Which was nearly impossible since we were both naked in the shower.

She snickered at me, shaking her head. “Again? You just came twice!”

“You’re naked in the shower with me. What did you expect?”

I reached for her, and she stepped into the spray. She was so short that I had to bend down to press my lips to hers. I could have taken her right there, slippery wet and somehow still horny. But I enjoyed the thrill of her tongue darting into my mouth and her soft, pouty lips against mine.

Whitley reached behind me and turned the water off with a smirk. She stepped out of the shower, handing me a towel. We both dried off, and she’d already thrown on panties and an oversize T-shirt by the time I was calm enough to come out of the bathroom again. If she thought that was going to help, she was sorely mistaken.

“Jesus, you’re sexy,” I said, crashing into her and knocking her back on the bed. Our mouths moved together again, and I pulled her on top of me. She leaned against my chest and ran her fingers along my collarbone.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Would you rather we talk about this?”

She froze. Her gaze flickered to mine. Whitley never wanted totalkabout anything. Everything was easier if it was a joke or a game or sex. Those things she could handle, but real conversation made her run in the opposite direction. That was why I’d hatched this elaborate plan to get her here rather than just ask her to be my actual date.

“Talk about what?” she asked hesitantly.

“This. Us.”

She pulled back, rolling off of me. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”

I came to my elbows. “Well, we could start with why you ran away three years ago and end with you being here as the perfect date, who my entire family loves.”

She swallowed hard. “Do we have to complicate things, Gavin?”

“Is it complicating things when you’re wearing my grandmother’s engagement ring?”

“As a cover up for you with your family.”

“Sure. It worked. I’m grateful. But three years ago, we had something. You know we did. Then, you went back to Robert. I didn’t begrudge you dating him again. Robert was … serious. He loved you desperately. I never would have come between you two, but then, after Fashion Week …”

She held her hand up. “Please, I don’t want to think about it. We had a great week. Can’t we just … figure it out after?”

I sighed. Of course she didn’t want to talk about it. Of course she was going to hole up at the first talk of something more than this. It was all fun and games until there was talk of more.

“We don’t have to talk about it today, but can we talk about it when we get home?”

Her big hazel eyes finally met mine, and I saw something I hadn’t expected there—fear. Normally, she was so reticent about all of this, but it was just her normal avoidance behavior. This was something else. This was actual terror in her expression, and I had no idea why she would ever look at me like that.

“What? What’s wrong?”

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