Page 12 of Just a Little Promise

Chapter Four

Skye woke upslowly the following morning, stretching in an unfamiliar bed and momentarily disoriented by her surroundings and the savory scents and muted sounds coming from another area of the apartment. Notherapartment, but Tripp’s, she quickly remembered as memories of last night came rushing into her mind. Those erotic recollections, combined with the way the muscles in her thighs ached, and how sated she felt, brought a smile to her face.

In a city as large as New York, Skye still couldn’t believe that she’d run into Tripp, but in the aftermath of many pleasurable orgasms she was glad she had—though it wasn’t just about the sex, but that connection she still felt with him. Being comfortable around Tripp and the fact that she trusted him implicitly, as a friend and a lover, was a nice feeling after being so cautious and reserved around men since her divorce.

It had been much too long since she’d experienced the kind of desire and need that Tripp so effortlessly coaxed out of her, and the entire night with him had been nothing short of amazing.

Sex with Jack, especially once they were married, had turned into a chore. Anything physical between them had been all about him taking what he wanted, even if it made her uncomfortable, and giving very little in return. He’d treated her like an object, devoid of thought or feeling, reducing her down to little more than a possession. At first, it had been easier to just go through the motions than deal with his snide remarks, his verbal abuse, and the belittling that made her feel flawed and inadequate.

Pleasing Jack, in any aspect of their marriage, had been impossible, and eventually she’d made excuses not to be touched—which hadn’t gone over well with him at all. But he’d been a master at gaslighting and emotional manipulation, turning any situation around on her and making her question her perception of reality, until she’d operated at a heightened level of anxiety and was always apologizing for shit she didn’t do. He’d accused her of cheating, of being paranoid, and isolated her from friends and family.

He did it all to gain power and control over every aspect of her life, and for a woman who considered herself intelligent and self-aware prior to meeting Jack, she’d somehow fallen into his trap until she’d discoveredhisaffair. She’d had irrefutable proof and confronted him, and of course he’d tried to make her feel responsible for the fact that he’d fucked another woman.

This time, she hadn’t backed down from their heated argument, or his intimidating stance. That show of defiance had pissed him off even more, and he’d shoved her against the wall and punched her in the face so hard she’d seen stars. It had been the first time he’d hit her. The first time anyone had laid a hand on her in violence, and there had been no apology or remorse. But that slug in the face was more than enough to make herfinallytake a hard look at her life, her turbulent two year marriage, and just how shattered and broken she’d become.

That weekend, she’d packed up her things and left—though he hadn’t made the separation and ensuing divorce easy on her. No, for a while he’d stalked and harassed her, until she had a restraining order issued against him, then moved to New York to put a safe, physical distance between them, as well.

Skye rolled to her back on the soft bed and exhaled a deep breath, expelling those darks thoughts that had no business being in her head after her unforgettable night with Tripp. He was all she wanted to think about, and as she replayed the evenings provocative festivities in her mind, that awful twist in her stomach dissipated and a genuine smile gradually replaced her somber mood.

More soft clanking sounds from the front of the apartment piqued her interest, as did the alluring scent of coffee and bacon. Breakfast beckoned her grumbling stomach, and she moved off the bed, still completely naked. Seeing the white dress shirt Tripp had worn yesterday draped over a chair in the corner of the room, she put it on, taking a moment to bury her face in the fabric and inhale the heady, masculine scent that clung to the material.

Despite numerous orgasms and the many different ways Tripp had fucked her, arousal pooled low in her belly, as if her body was programmed to respond just to his smell alone. She padded into the bathroom, took care of business, and as she washed her hands she noticed a toothbrush sitting on the vanity, still in its store packaging.

The thoughtful gesture warmed her, and she brushed her teeth then ran her fingers through her hair, doing her best to bring some order to the disheveled mess. She caught sight of a faint discoloration on her neck, a hickey Tripp had obviously given her at some point, and grinned at her reflection. She hadn’t had a hickey, well, since the last time he’d marked her with one.

As much as she liked the feeling of him claiming her, she had every intention of keeping her head on straight about last night’s hookup. Most importantly, she didn’t want to lead Tripp on in any way, because she wasn’t looking for anything serious or a committed relationship. Being tied down to a man wasn’t a part of her future plans, especially since making the decision to have a baby on her own... a process she expected to start in the next few months.

But for now, Tripp Daniels was a great distraction, and one she intended to enjoy until the insemination process began.

***

Tripp placed thelast strip of crisp bacon on a plate next to the scrambled eggs he’d also made, just as Skye strolled into the kitchen, looking well and truly fucked with her tousled hair, the glow on her face, and the small hickey he spied on her neck.

He had to curb the ridiculous impulse to beat on his chest like a primal caveman.

She greeted him with an almost shy smile, no surprise considering all the wicked ways he’d defiled her during the course of the night. “Good morning.”

Her soft, husky voice was like a shot of lust straight to his dick, as was seeing her in the white dress shirt of his that she’d chosen to wear. Being petite in stature, the hem almost hit her knees and would have been considered modest if it wasn’t for the fact that she’d left more than a few buttons undone down the front. Low enough to give him a glimpse of the curves of her supple breasts. Her nipples poked against the front, and he could see the dusky shadows of her areolas through the fabric.

She looked sexy as fuck and he had to resist the urge to bend her over the table and corrupt her even more. He always loved how she’d wear his shirts the morning after a hookup, how the visual would make him think,I got laid and now it’s official and she’s mine. And mostly, how proprietary it made him feel to know she was wrapped up in his scent—yeah, like a damn dog marking their territory. It galled him to think he’d let her go. He’d been such a goddamn fool.

Unable to stop himself, he closed the distance between them, slid an arm around her waist to bring her body flush to his, and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her good morning. She placed her hands on his bare chest, parted her lips on a tiny, welcoming sigh, and let him deepen the connection. She tasted warm, soft, and minty-sweet.

In time, he lifted his mouth from hers, but didn’t let her go. “I would think you’d remember what seeing you in one of my shirts does for me,” he said, absently sliding his hand up the back of her thigh beneath the hem, only to encounter her bare, smooth ass. He groaned. “And you’re not wearing anything underneath. Jesus, you’re killing me.” She had to feel the stiff erection digging into her lower stomach through his sweatpants.

She laughed, her expression amused. “I can’t believe you can still get hard after how many times we had sex. I’m so sore... in a really good way, though.”

He smirked down at her. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“God, you’re incorrigible.” She lightly smacked his chest, then playfully pushed him away. “How about you feed me. I burned a lot of calories trying to keep up with you and I’m hungry.”

He chuckled, and even though he was thoroughly enjoying their light-hearted banter, he finally released her so he could serve up their breakfast. “Help yourself to a cup of coffee,” he said, nodding toward the Keurig on the counter, along with the mug, creamer, and sugar he’d left out for her.

While she filled her cup, he brought their plates and forks to the table, and retrieved two glasses of orange juice. They sat down, and as she took a few bites of her eggs, then a piece of cantaloupe, her eyes took in his apartment in the morning light.

He’d left the drapes open last night, and now the sun streamed through, brightening up the living room and kitchen area. Out the plate glass windows was a coveted view of the iconic New York City skyline, which for most people, didn’t come cheap.

“This is a fantastic place,” she said, a bit of awe in her voice. “You must be doing very well for yourself.”

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