Vendetta - Lane Sienna - Страница 15
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She pulls away, breathing hard, and gives me a nervous giggle. “Let me find the key,” she says in a whisper, squaring her shoulders, and goes back to rummaging through her bag. Finding the key, she turns away from me to unlock the door. I run my fingers over the sides of her arms and bury my head at the nape of her neck, my touch making her shiver.
I ignore her perfume as much as I can. It's wrong.
Finally, finally she opens the door and we get inside, her hands already fisted in my hair and her lips on mine, her tongue coaxing my lips open. I vaguely register the lights are off, and it suits me. I prefer it that way.
Her mouth leaves mine so she can take my shirt off and I let her. As a matter of fact, I'd rather we're both naked, so I unzip her dress and let it fall at her feet. I look her over. She’s illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows as she unclasps her bra with one hand and lets it fall down, too, leaving her in only black panties.
Something about the way she does it really bothers me, but before I can think that over she leans in for another kiss and her hands go to my belt. I completely shut off as I hear the clang of metal, the sound of the zipper and then my pants are down around my ankles.
Soraya hesitantly reaches into my boxers with her hand, while slowly pulling them down with the other. She takes my already hard cock, and starts stroking me. She pulls away a little, so I lean in and kiss her, walking her backwards toward the bed.
“Say my name,” I mumble in between kisses.
“Wh . . . what?” she says through a moan when I move her panties to the side and feel how wet she is for me.
“Say. My. Name.”
“Oh, God.” Another moan, as I find her clit and start circling with my thumb and slide a finger inside of her, making her arch her back, asking for more. Her hand works faster on my cock, and I'm so ready to take her right here, right now, but I need to hear her say it.
“Just fucking say it.”
She looks at me through her thick lashes, confusion etching her forehead. “Devon?”
I freeze. My hand freezes. It's wrong. It's all wrong.
“Stop.”
She stops. “What's wrong?” I can hear the confusion in her voice.
“I'm sorry,” I tell her, trying to convey with my voice I really mean it. Because I am so goddamn sorry I almost used this girl for some twisted fantasy of mine.
“No, it's okay. Are you all right? Do you need a minute?”
“Give me a fucking century and it won't be enough,” I say, laughing, though it comes out strangled, my breathing still ragged because, honestly, I'm still hard as a fucking rock. She disappears and I pull my boxers up, adjusting myself so I'm at least comfortable.
The lights come on as I'm pulling my pants up. Amber's cheeks flame red, probably because she's still naked apart from her panties, and they're not covering up much. I turn around to give her privacy and hear the shuffling of clothes and her dress zipper.
I sit on the bed and hang my head in shame, wiping my hand on the sheet. The bed dips next to me and we sit in silence for a while. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” I say, groaning as my back hits the bed. “I'd rather just forget right now.”
She gives me a sheepish smile and gets up, walking across the room, and opens one of the drawers. She pulls out a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's and giggles, walking back to the bed and handing me the bottle. “We're not allowed this in the rooms.” She puts her index finger over her lips in that universal “shush” sign.
“How old are you?” I ask her, before taking a swig straight from the bottle. I've already made my guess she's barely past her teens.
“Twenty-one?” she tries, taking the bottle from me.
“Okay, Soraya, and how old is Amber?”
“Nineteen,” she says, looking down.
“I'm sorry.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “What for?”
“For almost taking advantage of you.”
“Don't worry. It's what I do,” she says, an odd look passing over her features before she hands me back the bottle.
LEIGHTON
The sound of the door opening instantly wakes me up. I can see Devon’s shadow as he walks in the room, toward the bed. He curses when he walks into the coffee table, then chuckles. Wait; is he drunk?
“Devon?” I whisper.
“Leighton.” He sighs softly. I sit up in bed and turn the bedside lamp on. The light illuminates his flushed face, and I know instantly that I was right. He is drunk. Completely wasted. He looks handsome as ever, in a crisp white shirt, a few buttons opened at the top, showing me a hint of his toned chest. He walks toward me, his stride sloppy and uneven. I watch him intently as he sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning close. When his face is inches from mine my nose wrinkles. I lean closer to him, and smell his neck. Perfume. When I look down at the collar of his shirt, there is harlot red lipstick smudged everywhere.
“Where were you?” I demand, pushing at his shoulders. Only then do I notice that his top buttons are done up wrong, one buttoning through the wrong hole.
“I went to see Amber,” he slurs, trying to come closer to me.
“Who the fuck is Amber?” I snap, sounding like a jealous girlfriend, but what the fuck? He turned me down while I was wet and willing, to go and fuck someone else? I was naked, and practically begging him. Why didn’t he want me? I know our attraction isn’t ideal, but I never thought he would do something like this. What the hell is going on in that mind of his?
He was with another woman tonight.
It hurts like a shot to my chest.
After he left, I had to get myself off, leaving me still unsatisfied, but it was better than lying there frustrated all night while he was out, fucking someone named Amber.
I’m contemplating just how stupid I am when Devon leans in and tries to kiss me. He reeks of alcohol and cheap perfume, and I almost want to throw up. As his lips almost make contact with mine I pull back, bringing up my hand to slap him right across the face. I pull back my hand as it starts to burn, but that pain is nothing compared to what I feel on the inside.
He has the nerve to fuck someone else, after turning me down so harshly, and then come to my bed to rub it in my face?
I hate him. Right now, in this moment, I fucking hate him.
My throat stings as he touches his face where I hit him, confusion flashing in his eyes.
“Leighton, you don’t understand. She’s no one,” he says, reaching for me again.
“No one? You left me to go to her. You think you can fuck someone else then come to bed with me?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes. Does he think I’m that easy? The thought makes me furious.
“Let me hold you,” he murmurs, ignoring my question. He reaches out again, sighing in what sounds like relief as his hand makes contact with my arm.
I grit my teeth. “You are such an asshole.”
“She’s not you,” he says, pulling me closer. “Please, come here.”
This time I let him. I cuddle with him, rubbing his back with my palm in soothing circles. A few minutes later and he's out like a light. Perfect.
I sit up and slowly move out of his embrace, freezing when he stirs before settling again. I lean over and turn off the bedside lamp, and then tiptoe to the door. I don’t bother with looking for my shoes or changing out of my t-shirt and pajama bottom, it would only slow me down and I’ll probably run faster barefoot. When I twist the knob, I want to scream with happiness. The drunken bastard didn’t lock the door.
Sloppy, Devon. Sloppy.
I walk outside and close the door behind me, almost wanting to lock him in, but then feeling a twinge of guilt. Who knows when someone would find him? Also, if I run into anyone I might need to come back into the room, as a worst-case scenario.
I decide on heading left and then walk down the hall. The place is deathly silent, and I try to make as little noise as possible as I descend the stairs. I don’t know who's here, or what to expect. All I know is that I need to be stealthy and on guard. I only have one chance at this, because if they catch me they will make sure I won’t be able to get out a second time.
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