Oh God, there had to be something she could say to make this better. Some magic phrase that would let him know he had no reason to be jealous or threatened. None whatsoever. But if this was his reaction whenever she received the least amount of attention from the opposite sex, did she really want any part of it?
If this was how he wanted it, then this was how it was going to be. She slammed the door and didn’t wait around to watch him leave.
Which he did.
Oh, hell no.
Thank God they’d each taken a key card. She let herself into the room and gave her purse a fling in the darkness, hearing the contents scatter wherever it landed. The first thing to draw her gaze as she flipped on the light was his overnight bag on the dresser. She hoped there were no prized possessions of his in there, because she damn sure wasn’t going to take it back to him. He was lucky she didn’t burn it on sight.
“Crazy f**king females my ass,” she muttered into the silence of the room. Men were the insane ones. Did he think just because she’d allowed him into her vag**a a few times that he owned her? Did Jared think the same thing? She had bad news for him especially. She hadn’t exactly been celibate since their breakup, even before Seth. There hadn’t been many, but there’d been a few.
Her phone had landed at the foot of the bed. She scooped it up, sighing and switching it on as she dropped heavily onto the unkempt bed, exhausted. Jared had apparently followed her earlier suggestion. No messages from him. Candace had left her a voice mail. Just wanted to chat. Well, she wasn’t in the chatting mood.
What the hell was happening? Was he just heading back to Oklahoma without a word? Was he going somewhere to cool off until they could talk rationally? She’d never seen him enraged. She didn’t know him like that. Probably a good thing she had gotten a glimpse before this went any further.
Whatever, she thought, dragging herself up from the bed. She’d figured she’d sleep nak*d in his arms tonight, so she hadn’t packed PJs. Bad idea. As she stripped to her underwear, she eyed his bag. Surely he’d have a T-shirt in there; he lived in them. The one she pulled out was black (shocker) and read Cannibal Corpse in dripping red letters. Lovely. But as she pulled it over her head and freed her hair from the collar, his vaguely citrusy scent enveloped her, and the last of her anger dissipated.
She’d get some sleep, go home and try to forget the past few weeks had ever happened.
She jolted awake to a mouth at her neck, wet and hot and sucking.
Lust crashed over her like a tidal wave, sweeping any grogginess right out of her head and kicking her pulse into double time. With a little gasp, she grasped the sides of his face and pulled his mouth to hers, drinking in warm whiskey-drenched breath—he must have just taken a hit of it, because his flavor made her instantly drunk. His tongue tangled with hers, and she sucked on it, rejoicing in the tormented groan the action pulled from his throat.
Searching her heart for any remnants of her earlier anger and finding it still burning, she knew she should stop him. His hot hand slid under her T-shirt—his T-shirt—traveling all the way up to her breast, and the notion flew out of her head. He kneaded it roughly, tugging on her nipple until it stood at aching attention. She wanted his mouth there. She wanted it everywhere. Her own hand slipped between them, and she practically growled in frustration at finding his jeans still on. But there was nothing frustrating about the thick ridge pressing against his fly. A surge of answering wetness saturated her, and she worked at freeing his c*ck from his jeans.
An unpleasant thought teased at the edges of her consciousness, and she didn’t want to let it take hold, but little by little it grew until it permeated even the need pooled hotly between her legs. What if he was so drunk he didn’t know what he was doing? Had he driven like this? Turning her head as his mouth burned down her throat, she saw the squat bottle of amber liquid on the nightstand. Maybe he’d just brought it back and drank here. The TV was on but muted, its light flickering against the ceiling. What if he’d just awakened with a hard-on and—surprise!—there was a warm, willing female body within arm’s length?
“Say my name,” she whispered against his lips as her fingers completed their task and his heavy length filled her eager hands.
“Macy,” he breathed. His arm wound around her, pulling her closer. His other hand abandoned its place on her breast and slid down her stomach into her damp panties. “Macy…”
She spread her legs, moving against his hand. His fingers stroked her, strummed her, wreaked exquisite havoc on her slick, sensitive flesh.
“Fuck me, Seth,” she gasped into his mouth. “Please. I only want you. I’ve always only wanted you.”
Tension swept through the body against her, and she prayed the reminder of their earlier words wouldn’t douse his ardor. His hand grasped her panties and wrenched them down and off. So much for that fear.
He rolled her beneath him as she fought to shove his jeans down farther. He shifted, positioning himself—not easy since she couldn’t stop squirming under him. Then the broad head of his c*ck breached her, and she threw her head back with a guttural cry, sinking her fingernails into the firm flesh of his ass. Urging him on, begging him for more.
He gave it. Hard, fast, showing no mercy, he shoved his entire length into her, sending shockwaves through her body. If she weren’t so wet, so hot, so desperate for him, she might have cried out for him to stop, go slower. She wondered if he even would have listened. “Fuck,” he growled as he went so deep she could hardly breathe. “Fuck.”
Her own mind couldn’t do much better at describing it. One word whirled at the forefront of her thoughts: yes. Yes. This was right, this was where she belonged. He pulled out, leaving her whimpering in distress, her p**sy clenching against the sudden emptiness he left. Her body ignited when he thrust back in. Starbursts exploded in front of her closed eyelids—and in the depths he reached inside her. Oh God, two strokes and she was ready to come.
That was way less than he had to give her. She tumbled into ecstasy even before the headboard began banging the wall with the ferocity of his passion. And again before he shoved her legs back until her feet were on his shoulders. Then his piercing hit her G-spot with devastating precision, and she came twice more, sobbing his name. She’d lost count by the time he flipped her over and took her from behind. By then, she was raw, boneless, shameless, his to mold and shape like putty. Her T-shirt had disappeared at some point. Patches of skin itched and ached from where he’d sucked on them. There wasn’t an orgasm left in her body to wring out…or so she thought.
Chanting his name and loving how it sounded on her tongue, she rippled and constricted around him again. His fingers dented into her flesh hard enough to bruise as he jerked her against him one final time…and left her. Cool air circulated over her overheated flesh in his absence. He growled several curses as he came on her back. Exhausted, whimpering, she collapsed fully to the mattress. He followed, seemingly mindless of the mess between them, and she welcomed his weight on her. His breath gusted against her ear. His heart galloped against her back, and he trembled as hard as she did.
She didn’t think she ever wanted to move again. Mmm, yes, she could stay like this from now on.
“You’re just going to leave me too,” he said, the words practically a hiss in her ear, but laced with so much despair that shock reverberated through her.
“Seth, I’m not—” He rolled off her and left the bed. Somehow she found the strength to lift her head and watch him stalk toward the bathroom, hitching up his jeans as he went. “Listen to me.”
He didn’t. Any further words tangled in her throat and ice settled where the ashes of her heart had been as he slammed the door.
Bastard. Dirty effing unbelievable bastard.
Fucking stupid, stupid. Ghost was even more pissed at his wayward dick than the woman out there in the bed. Goddamn, his head hurt, and the bathroom light was like a knife slicing deeper into his brain with every thought. He didn’t know how he’d had enough blood in his nether regions to sustain wood; every drop seemed to be converged right behind his eyes. It throbbed with every beat of his heart, which had yet to slow. But instead of exertion, it now pounded in fury. At himself. At everything.
A glance at the mirror revealed he looked like hammered shit. Macy hadn’t really been able to see what she was f**king or she might have shoved him off. He looked wasted. He guessed he still was. Staring at his reflection, he wanted to put a fist through it, watch his own face shatter like everything else in his f**king life.
Sighing, he spared the mirror and his knuckles, splashed cold water on his face and contemplated a shower. Her warm, sugary vanilla scent was still all over him, and if he didn’t get it off, he might tear into that room and have a repeat. Shit. He’d gone raw in her too. Fucking drunken sex-fogged brain. At least he’d had the presence of mind to pull out; now he’d just hope to hell it was enough. He wasn’t worried about diseases—she took care of herself and so did he—but after the catastrophe with Raina, he’d vowed never to let that sneak up on him again.
Macy had felt so good the mere thought of her wrapped around him was enough to stir interest despite everything they’d just done. So wet, so soft, so perfect.
He really needed to get out of here before he made a colossal ass of himself, even more so than he had already. He’d been an idiot for coming back and not going somewhere else to get trashed. Now he was trapped in the bathroom with no escape that didn’t involve facing her down.
Smooth move, a**hole. Now what?
That shower might be a good stalling technique. Cold. He’d never have thought he would need a cold shower after such furious sex. After that display, he needed an ice pack. He was sore, raw. Any other time, he’d be damn proud of himself.
Discarding his jeans, he realized his cell phone was in the pocket. The time read 5:07 a.m. Brian had tried to call once and had texted only a couple hours ago. Yeah, he’d unloaded on Brian right after the fight; he’d had so much furious energy he hadn’t known where to channel it. Dude, Candace didn’t know anything about this, either. I think you’re overreacting. Call if you need me, I don’t care what time.
Ghost smirked as he left the phone on the counter and cranked on the water in the shower. Brian always texted with perfect grammar. What would his best friend think if he told him he’d just had the best bang of his life, and he was hiding out in the bathroom like a virgin on prom night?
And maybe he was overreacting, but hell. Jared f**king Stanton sounded like a prize catch for someone like her. She should go ride off into the sunset with her cowboy and forget all about him. Here he’d been trying to urge her back into racing…and he’d only pushed her toward her waiting ex. Yeah, you’re welcome, a**hole. He vaguely remembered getting a look at the guy’s face, seeing and hearing enough to know he was a cocky prick.
She might’ve blown the guy off this time, but there was always next time.
Clear your head. That was all he needed to do. He’d woken up with anger and grief warring inside his fuzzy head and an intense hard-on…and Macy’s soft, sweet body nestled beside him. A catastrophic combination. For the first few minutes, he’d thought he was having the hottest damn wet dream of his life.