Play - Scott Kylie - Страница 33
- Предыдущая
- 33/57
- Следующая
Raging, great open seas full of nothing.
Right up until the front door crashed open. I bolted upright, adrenaline pumping through me.
“What the fuck?”
“Anne?” Mal yelled.
Then the bathroom door crashed open too. I grabbed the white towel hanging off the rail overhead, holding it against my chest. Straightaway, the material started soaking up water.
“Anne.” Mal stomped in, electric with rage. It spiked out his hair and darkened his eyes. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.
“Mal?”
“What is this?” he growled, shoving his cell in my face.
“Um, your phone? What the hell are you doing in here?”
“The fucking texts you’ve been sending me, I mean.”
“What?” I stared at him, flabbergasted. “Get out.”
“No.”
“You want to discuss my texts, you can wait till I’m out of the tub and have some clothes on.”
“We’ll discuss them now.”
For this conversation, I needed armor. The damn towel wasn’t working at all. I crossed my arms over my chest, huddling in on myself. “Those messages are me trying to be friendly after yesterday. You barging in here like this, though? I’m not feeling so friendly anymore. Get the fuck out, Mal.”
“You’re breaking up with me by text.” Not a question, a statement. One that made me just a small part livid, though the crashing of doors and yelling might have played a part in it too.
Was he insane? No, seriously, was he?
“That little asswipe Reece push you into this?”
“No,” I snapped. “Reece has nothing to do with this. And I can’t really be breaking up with you because remember the part where we were never really together? Where it was all fake?”
“It was, huh?” He squatted beside the tub, hands gripping the edge so hard his knuckles whitened.
“Get out.”
“I’m not going anywhere till we talk this out.”
The vestiges of self-pity disappeared, replaced by flat-out rage. How dare he?
“If you want to talk this out, then you might want to stop acting like a dick. Busting in here and yelling at me, accusing me of crap … not smart.”
“That right? Why don’t you tell me what I’m supposed to do since I’m not so smart and all.” He loomed over the side of the tub, eyes bordering on manic. “Tell me how I’m supposed to handle this, Anne. And use small words, okay?”
I tried to sit up, the water sloshing. Could he have picked a more awkward time and place for this? And how had he turned into the victim here?
“I didn’t mean …” I started, but gah, fuck him. If he wanted to get all insulted, he could, with my compliments. I cleared my throat, tried again. “Big picture. You didn’t come home … back here, to the apartment last night. I assume you were with Ainslie. Your friends are probably going to know that, right? So our cover is blown.”
“I wasn’t with Ainslie,” he ground out.
Everything stopped. “You weren’t?”
“No; I played drums till I calmed down, then I did some drinking with the guys. Davie said to give you some time to cool off. I crashed in Ben’s hotel suite.”
“Word to the wise, next time when it comes to us, try talking to me instead of Davie.”
He let out a slow breath. “Okay.”
“You just crashed in Ben’s suite?” This version of reality differed so wildly from the hateful version I’d been playing in my head. It wouldn’t sink in at first.
“Yeah, I did.” His dark green gaze roamed my face. “I didn’t think when Ainslie came up to me after practice. How it would look and everything. Didn’t think at all and then I didn’t handle it right.”
He paused, but I had nothing. It was all I could do not to burst into tears of relief. Not that I was a crier. I’d blame it on PMS but it was nowhere near my time of the month.
“I fucked up and I hurt you,” he said, deflating. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t hurt me.” I held my eyes wide open, trying to keep my shit together. “I mean, it might have been nice if you’d answered one of my texts but … yeah, no, I wasn’t hurt exactly.”
His brows rose and for a moment, he said nothing. “You looked hurt.”
“Well, I wasn’t. I was fine.”
He just watched me.
“Really.”
The smudges were back beneath his eyes. It seemed Mal hadn’t gotten any more sleep last night than I had.
“Everything’s good,” I said, not believing it but hoping he did. Meanwhile, I was still bare-ass naked in the bath, horribly exposed. “Now can you please leave?”
Mal’s brows rose. “You’re alright?”
“Yep. There’s the door.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“Noooo.”
“Okay,” he said eventually, thumb rapping out a beat on the edge of the tub. “So the deal is still on and everything’s cool?”
“Sure, I guess so. Why not?” I gave him my very best big, brave smile, clutching the wet towel to my breasts, my knees drawn up to help cover downstairs.
He breathed out hard through his nose, sat back on his heels. This was good. He was accepting it and we were moving on, thank god.
“We’re fine. No worries.”
Then he slowly shook his head. “Christ, Anne. You’re so full of shit I don’t even know what the fuck to say to you right now.”
“What?” My screech bounced off the tiled walls, echoing around us.
“You heard me.”
“But–”
His hand held firm to the back of my neck and he slammed his mouth down on mine. My words were forgotten. His tongue slid into my mouth, teasing me. His hand cradled my head, holding me out of the water. I gave myself up to it, the demanding press of his lips and the scratch of his stubble. I angled my head, getting closer, going deeper and pulling him into me. If I drowned, it’d be worth it.
There was no finesse. Raw hunger took over.
I didn’t realize he’d started climbing into the tub with me until half the water sloshed over the sides. No more of this splashing nonsense, we made a god damn waterfall. He got in, jeans, T-shirt, Chucks and all, his legs tangling with mine. One strong arm wrapped around my waist, holding me to him, the other he braced on the top of the tub. Someone had to keep us afloat because I was too busy getting my hands beneath his T-shirt. I could’ve kissed him for days, but getting him naked was important.
“Off,” I demanded, dragging the material up.
“Hang on.” He pulled back onto his knees. With one of his hands and two of mine, we got rid of that sucker.
The feel of his hot skin and hard flesh was so fine. My fingers couldn’t travel far enough fast enough. I wanted to learn every inch of him. My mouth found his again and yes. I groaned and he clutched me harder. We were pressed together, skin on skin for the most part. My pebbled nipples rubbed against his chest.
Fuck yeah, friction.
Friction was beautiful, but wet denim sucked. I wiggled a hand under the back of his waistband, grabbing onto his tight ass. His hips flexed, pushing against me, grinding into me. There was every chance the bath wasn’t big enough for this. We’d make do. My elbow clocked the side, vibrating my funny bone. It hurt like a bitch. He must’ve noticed, because the next thing I knew we were rolling. More water cascaded out onto the floor.
“On top,” he grunted.
“’Kay.”
His hands slid over my skin, trying to keep hold. “Fuck, you’re slippery.”
The man knew how to use his body. All I could do was hold on, my hands tangled in his long hair. His mouth traveled over my collarbone, up my neck, finishing with his teeth at my jaw. Every inch of my skin broke out in goose bumps. My tummy tensed. A large hand palmed my ass, squeezing. Wet denim wasn’t so bad after all. Grinding my pussy against the ridge his hard-on made felt rather nice. Not as nice as he’d feel bare, but still.
“You hear that?” he asked.
“What? No.” The only thing I could hear was my heart pounding. And anyway, who cared? Now wasn’t the time for listening. It was the time to feel and I felt fucking fantastic sitting astride him. Luckily I knew how to prioritize. I fit my lips to his, kissing him deep and wet.
- Предыдущая
- 33/57
- Следующая
