target.
He ignored me and kept dabbing the washcloth over my cut.
“Or did some girl run her hands through it when you kissed her?” Because you damn sure never kissed me.
A first, that. Having sex with a guy three times without getting one single kiss—on the mouth, or anywhere else.
Not that I was bitter or anything. Nope. It was just a fact that needed mentioning.
“How does your finger feel?” he asked as if I’d never spoken. “Can you bend it?”
“It’s not broken.”
“Flex it a little, see if it starts bleeding again.”
It did, but just a little. He dabbed it with the washcloth again, put on the ointment, then dressed it with a bandage like an old pro. “There. All fixed now. Be careful with the knife next time.” He rose, started to walk out.
“That’s it?” I popped to my feet and only swayed a little. Progress. “You’re just leaving?”
He stopped, but he didn’t glance back. “I’m not leaving. I’m here for dinner.”
“I meant the room. You’re just going to walk out there like we didn’t…” I trailed off as my voice wobbled and his shoulders went stiff.
“Are you okay?”
When I didn’t reply, he shifted toward me, his face cast in the moonlight coming through the slats of the blinds. “When you didn’t return my call, I thought that meant you wished for no contact.”
“No contact?” Hearing how shrill my voice had become—and remembering the closed bedroom door didn’t offer much privacy from the rest of the apartment—I dialed it back. “I didn’t contact you, because you told me to call if I needed help. I don’t need help, Gio. But maybe I needed you .”
Once the hateful, embarrassing words were out, I pushed past him and fumbled with the doorknob. But the bandage made me clumsy, and I didn’t get it open fast enough.
His hand came down above my head, holding the door closed. For a moment, he didn’t speak, and I stared at the peeling cream paint on the wood, trying not to react to his heavy, hard body pressing against my ass.
“Need me for what, tesoro ?” he said against my hair, and goddamn him, I trembled. Like a fucking ring card girl who’d been granted a smile from her favorite fighter.
Like a foolish chick who was cruising for a bruising.
Or maybe a…pounding.
“I don’t know. Maybe a conversation? Would that be too much to ask for?”
“No, it wouldn’t be, if you didn’t fuck me with your eyes every time we spoke.” He trailed a finger along my curls. “Now that I’ve been inside you, that’s not fair.”
I nearly trembled again at inside you before I got a hold of myself. “You want to know what’s not fair? Having the kind of sex we did then walking away. That’s not fair.”
“So you want more.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t want more.”
I definitely didn’t say that . I turned to face him in the small space he’d allotted for me between him and the door and slapped a hand on his chest. Luckily I picked the one without the Daffy Duck bandage on the pinkie.
I frowned at it. He’d picked out Daffy Duck?
“I can see how you’d be confused, with that other clean-cut young man in your life. I bet he doesn’t have any tattoos or a prison record. I bet he doesn’t fuck you so hard you need help getting into the shower either.” His mouth skimmed my hair, so quickly I didn’t register the gesture until his mouth again hovered near my ear. “Must be a real hard choice.”
He didn’t rock his hard dick into my pelvis when he said the words hard choice . Nah, not smooth enough for him. Instead he pulled his hips away, so that I throbbed to have that heat and pressure right back where I needed it.
The bastard.
“A prison record?” I bit my lip as I stared up at him. “For what?”
His mouth curved grimly. “Attempted murder.”
I gasped—I couldn’t help it. He simply reached up, closed my lips with his fingers and spoke against my ear.
“I bet that tight pussy got even hotter
He ignored me and kept dabbing the washcloth over my cut.
“Or did some girl run her hands through it when you kissed her?” Because you damn sure never kissed me.
A first, that. Having sex with a guy three times without getting one single kiss—on the mouth, or anywhere else.
Not that I was bitter or anything. Nope. It was just a fact that needed mentioning.
“How does your finger feel?” he asked as if I’d never spoken. “Can you bend it?”
“It’s not broken.”
“Flex it a little, see if it starts bleeding again.”
It did, but just a little. He dabbed it with the washcloth again, put on the ointment, then dressed it with a bandage like an old pro. “There. All fixed now. Be careful with the knife next time.” He rose, started to walk out.
“That’s it?” I popped to my feet and only swayed a little. Progress. “You’re just leaving?”
He stopped, but he didn’t glance back. “I’m not leaving. I’m here for dinner.”
“I meant the room. You’re just going to walk out there like we didn’t…” I trailed off as my voice wobbled and his shoulders went stiff.
“Are you okay?”
When I didn’t reply, he shifted toward me, his face cast in the moonlight coming through the slats of the blinds. “When you didn’t return my call, I thought that meant you wished for no contact.”
“No contact?” Hearing how shrill my voice had become—and remembering the closed bedroom door didn’t offer much privacy from the rest of the apartment—I dialed it back. “I didn’t contact you, because you told me to call if I needed help. I don’t need help, Gio. But maybe I needed you .”
Once the hateful, embarrassing words were out, I pushed past him and fumbled with the doorknob. But the bandage made me clumsy, and I didn’t get it open fast enough.
His hand came down above my head, holding the door closed. For a moment, he didn’t speak, and I stared at the peeling cream paint on the wood, trying not to react to his heavy, hard body pressing against my ass.
“Need me for what, tesoro ?” he said against my hair, and goddamn him, I trembled. Like a fucking ring card girl who’d been granted a smile from her favorite fighter.
Like a foolish chick who was cruising for a bruising.
Or maybe a…pounding.
“I don’t know. Maybe a conversation? Would that be too much to ask for?”
“No, it wouldn’t be, if you didn’t fuck me with your eyes every time we spoke.” He trailed a finger along my curls. “Now that I’ve been inside you, that’s not fair.”
I nearly trembled again at inside you before I got a hold of myself. “You want to know what’s not fair? Having the kind of sex we did then walking away. That’s not fair.”
“So you want more.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t want more.”
I definitely didn’t say that . I turned to face him in the small space he’d allotted for me between him and the door and slapped a hand on his chest. Luckily I picked the one without the Daffy Duck bandage on the pinkie.
I frowned at it. He’d picked out Daffy Duck?
“I can see how you’d be confused, with that other clean-cut young man in your life. I bet he doesn’t have any tattoos or a prison record. I bet he doesn’t fuck you so hard you need help getting into the shower either.” His mouth skimmed my hair, so quickly I didn’t register the gesture until his mouth again hovered near my ear. “Must be a real hard choice.”
He didn’t rock his hard dick into my pelvis when he said the words hard choice . Nah, not smooth enough for him. Instead he pulled his hips away, so that I throbbed to have that heat and pressure right back where I needed it.
The bastard.
“A prison record?” I bit my lip as I stared up at him. “For what?”
His mouth curved grimly. “Attempted murder.”
I gasped—I couldn’t help it. He simply reached up, closed my lips with his fingers and spoke against my ear.
“I bet that tight pussy got even hotter
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