“Fuck.” What’s wrong with her? I tug at my hair.
“You’re acting weird. Like you’re pissed. Was that another thing that you forgot?” She looks disappointed.
I don’t address that—the part about me forgetting. I figure I look crazy enough without confirming her suspicions. “Not pissed. Fucking confused. What about that night appealed to you? What made you want to do that again?”
“…I don’t know,” she murmurs. She’s looking down at her perfect manicure. Her eyes collide with mine. “I wanted to get to know you more, I guess. The attraction—the chemistry— It’s clearly there. Don’t try to say it’s not, because I won’t believe it. You didn’t treat me like a whore. We had rough sex, which I liked.” She shrugs. “Anyway, why are you asking all these questions now?”
“What does it matter?” I snap.
“Marchant,” she says gently, “do you have a drug problem?”
“Did I tell you that I did?”
Her eyes widen. “Are you trying to confuse me?”
“No. I’m not. I’m sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut and lean against the island again. God, I need to get myself together. I stand up straight and turn to face her. “Suri…I think this is a bad idea. You being here.”
“But you’re the one who—”
“I know, but look—I changed my mind.”
She’s up from the table in an instant. Her hair falls in layers around her face, and her hazel eyes look red and watery. “Was it that bad?”
“No. Jesus, no. Not at all. I don’t remember very clearly, but I don’t need to. You’re goddamn beautiful and I’m just sorry that I left you there.”
“You have a drug problem,” she says slowly.
“Yes,” I tell her grimly, hoping this will send her on her way. I open my mouth to tell her I’m a wicked bastard—good for no one. Just ask Marissa.
“Were you in rehab recently?”
“I was,” I say.
“So you were on drugs that night? The night of the fire?”
“Yes,” I lie. A drug problem is better than a mental problem, isn’t it?
“And now you’re clean?”
“That’s none of your business,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be nosey. I just…want to help.”
It’s something about that. Something about the way her face goes soft and caring. I just can’t take it.
“If you stay, you stay on my terms.”
“We already said that. Yesterday. I’m fine with that.”
My frustration multiplies. I wave at the door. “Go. Find someone else.” This won’t be the emotionless f**k-fest I’d imagined for us. Not now that I know she saw me sniveling about needles. Not when she saw me getting all teary on the bed at the hotel because the smooth lines of her soft body reminded me of Marissa.
“Go,” I tell her. “I don’t want you here.”
She walks close to me, so close I can smell her syrupy breath. She runs a finger over my lip, and I go so still.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Stupid,” I say.
I lift her in my arms to carry her to the door. Because I’m humiliated. Because I feel something for her—because she saw me in that state and she came back.
Halfway across the den, she wraps her arms around my neck and rests her forehead on my chest. I divert toward my bedroom.
15
SURI
As he spirits me across his den and down a long, dark, hardwood hall, my mind spins. Marchant Radcliffe has a drug problem. He doesn’t remember having sex with me. He just offered to make me feel used—then begged me to go. And now he’s carrying me into his room.
The bed is big—king-sized with engraved mahogany posts and crimson bedding. I notice long, dark curtains and a vast bookshelf before he yanks the duvet back and drops me on the satiny sheets.
He grabs the hem of my dress and tugs it toward my head. “I warned you. I told you to go—but you didn’t, did you?”
I hold up my arms and feel the whoosh of the dress over my head. All I’m wearing underneath it is a yellow thong and matching lacy bra. I stare up at him as he sets his mouth in a scowl, his biceps rippling as he pulls off his own t-shirt and tosses it behind him. He leans over me and fingers a strand of my hair.
“You’re here because you want to be f**ked.”
I nod, because those eyes of his are liquid brown and hot as fire, and I’m mesmerized.
He rolls me over on my side, making quick work of my bra. My br**sts bounce free as he rolls me back onto my back, but he’s already moving lower, licking down my belly as he shoves my thong aside and thrusts a finger into me. He covers my pu**y with his mouth and I moan.
“I’m gonna give you what you want,” he pants against my thigh.
His tongue flicks hard against my clit, and my orgasm is almost violent, making me convulse and cry out, “Marchant!”
He takes a step back and drops his plaid pajama pants. His dick springs out. It’s big and hard and standing tall—for me.
I sit up, leaning closer to him. He thinks he’s in charge here, but he’s going to have to learn to share the power. “I made that happen,” I murmur. I never felt this…sexy with Adam, and I feel elated. “Do you want to use me, Marchant?”
I press my br**sts together.
“Do you like having sex with sluts?” I ask him in my most sultry voice. “Is that why you’re a mack—because you like the girls?” He’s panting now, and I grin wickedly. “I can be your whore.”
His nostrils flare, his eyes are flooded with lust, and I grin again, tweaking my ni**les. “Bring that c**k to me.”
He’s on the bed before I draw my next breath, pushing me down on my back and straddling my belly. “Taste it,” he says. “Swallow it.”
My heart is beating hard as he shoves himself into my mouth. He thrusts gently at first, and then a little harder—but never too hard. I swirl my tongue around him, opening wider so I can take in all of him. I’m surprised to find I really love this. I cup my palm around his balls and twirl my tongue around his head and pump my hand near the base of his cock. His hands come down harder on my shoulders.
“Yes, that’s right. Yes.”
And I’m secretly thrilled when he tightens and I can feel him on the verge—until he pulls away.