Eliza was sweet, and also too good at prying information from me. When checking out the house in my rental hunt, she'd sat me down, poured me a drink—ignoring my protests—and insisted that she get to know me.
She'd claimed it was all routine roommate stuff. Five drinks in, and I'd spilled the beans about Reese. I'm a sloppy drunk. I'm not proud of it.
Maybe she sympathized, maybe she could relate. I still wasn't sure where her giant heart came from. That day, she'd offered me the room and lowered the rent so that my paltry waitress job would let me live here.
LA was expensive, it drained my funds constantly. I'd have left if I could have. Frankly, between what I owed to Nehro and what I could barely make on my own, escape was impossible.
But money wasn't the only reason.
Money had gotten me in trouble. It was my guilt that kept me locked in this place.
Sighing, I shoved the bitter thoughts aside. I'd been in this mindset too long, too many nights. My life sucked, it wasn't new to me.
I was determined to fix it. I'd spent my years wasting away in clubs and at parties and with scummy men.
I was done with all of that.
Well, once I clear my debt... THEN I'll be done with all of that. Until then, I'd always be forced to interact with Nehro—and Reese.
Flopping onto my back, I stared at the ceiling and smoothed the knots from my windswept hair. The tangles that had been caused by the wickedly liberating motorcycle ride.
His motorcycle.
Huxton, why are you so firmly in my head? Tapping my temple, I chuckled. Get out. Go back to wherever you came from. Where did he come from? The man was an enticing mystery.
A mystery you are not about to solve, I reminded myself. He fit the picture of a guy with problems. I was no longer in the business of trying to fix broken men.
Broken, damaged, sexy fucking men.
Dammit.
Running my fingers over my collar bone, down to my stomach, I felt the ghost of his warmth. If I shut my eyes, I could smell the leather and musk of his aroma. Huck couldn't be around me. I was too raw still, not ready to fight my desires.
He'd given me his card... but I would never call him again.
Unlike others, I could keep some promises. I was sure of that.
Still, I mused, tracing my own bare thigh under my dress. He was something else. The way he moved, fuck. The way he felt, pressing between my thighs. Pushing my knees apart, I relived the lap-dance he'd given me.
His methods were intense. He acted the whole time like he knew what he was doing to me. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd read every twitch and single breath I'd made, used it to make me crumble into shivering paste.
His hands, his lips, his god damn thick cock.
I'd hungered to feel it doing more than grazing over my panties.
If that asshole—Kit—hadn't shown up, would we have broken down and gone for it? I kept assuming it was me who'd decide if we went all the way. What if Huxton hadn't been planning that? If I'd yanked my panties aside and begged him to fuck me, could he have said no?
Inching my fingers down to the junction of my legs, I tugged at my underwear. No. He wouldn't have denied me. Maybe he'd have teased me, made me beg, but...
He'd been so rock hard. No way he'd have resisted.
Closing my eyes, I watched the colors behind my eyelids. Reds and yellows pulsed, reminding me of his tattoos. I had such a fucking weakness for tattoos. His were everywhere, even his hands and neck. A guy like that feared nothing. He didn't care if no one would hire him because of such overt visuals.
Did he really make his money stripping?
And protecting people like me?
Shivering, I thought about his strength. Outlining my pussy, I slid my panties lower. I was already wet, though not as soaked as I'd been when Huck had gyrated his erection against me.
Thinking about him... doing this... it was dangerous. A really fucking bad idea. I'll never see him again. It'll be fine. Plus, I hadn't gotten laid in over a month. My body was starving.
Rubbing myself softly, I pictured his smile. That cocky grin. I hated it and loved it. The way it warmed me was unfair. He was a shot of whiskey in front of a recovering alcoholic. I wanted to slurp him down, to fill myself with him and forget the reasons I shouldn't.
A moan escaped me, fingers sliding easily over my swollen clit. So much pressure, so much heat. I was going crazy with my need for release. There was tension in every limb. It spread lower, controlling my stomach, reaching into my cunt and stoking my fires.
My fingers weren't the same as a cock—any cock.
His cock.
It had felt amazing, firm and fat and cruel. If he'd kept rubbing on me, I could have gotten myself off just from that.
Panting heavily, I made small circles, teasing my clit. Dipping two fingers inside, I curled them, imagined they were his. It was a poor imitation, but it worked.
Grinding onto my own palm, feeling his phantom lips on my throat, I moaned. Tingling down to my toes, I squeezed around my fingers, wriggled them quicker. Unable to wait any longer, I slid free and thumbed my sensitive button.
His voice sank into my skull, filled the cracks of my brain. Inhaling, I smelled him—visualized him—and lost it. Wicked vibrations took over. My veins pulsed with not just blood, but electric need. Flexing with orgasm, I covered my mouth to muffle the noise.
The last thing I wanted was to wake up Eliza.
Trembling, laying in my sweat, I enjoyed the spasms of the lingering release. Liquid coated my inner thighs. I felt how wet I was, shoving my panties off my ankles and kicking them aside. They would be useless.
What I really needed was a shower.
A god damn, cold as ice shower.
Closing my eyes, I put a pillow over my face and laughed bitterly.
My life was a mess.
I was a mess.
And yet, as I swaddled myself in the not-innocent glow of climax and greed, I didn't care. I had let myself enjoy something that I shouldn't have. I'd gotten off to the existence of a man that rebelled against my common sense.
Falling asleep with my hand still resting between my thighs...
I just didn't care.
Happy birthday to me.
Rubbing my eyes, I growled at the rays of sunlight poking at my face. My window blinds were down, but that wasn't enough to make a difference. The sunny state of California was the enemy of late morning sleepers.
It took a moment for my body to come alive. I felt the thumping in my skull, a sign I'd slept too late and not late enough. When blood hit my limbs, I shifted, realized my hand was still cupping my pussy.
Blushing at the memory of what I'd done, I forced myself to sit up. Going to sleep with the sinful dream of Huxton in my head wasn't exactly conductive to my current plans. It's fine, no one knows but me. That wasn't much better. I was a judgmental jerk to myself already.
Yawning, cracking my back, I threw my dress into my laundry basket. Changing into a soft, light-blue shirt, I grabbed a fresh pair of underwear, then some shorts, and slid them on. A quick check of my phone, searching for messages, I stuck it in my pocket.
Wrapping a long cardigan around myself, I crept into the hallway. The wood floor was cool under my feet. “Eliza?” I called, traipsing into the kitchen. I didn't see her. The microwave claimed it was already noon. Had I actually slept that late? “Eliza, are you here?”
Frowning at her absence, I grabbed an apple from the fridge. She'd left the windows open, the oddly warm December air floating inside the apartment. With it, I caught the sound of a voice.
Curious, I bit into the fruit and started walking. Was Eliza in the backyard? I didn't blame her, if she was. It looked incredibly nice outside, and I bet the green grass and flowers would look gorgeous.