Page 38 of Wanting Wentworth

“No.” I don’t want her to model for me because she thinks she owes me something. I want Kait to model for me because she wants to. My answer pulls her gaze back to mine. “But it does mean you have to come back,” I tell her while her fingers slide over the hard bone of my forearms on their way to my wrists. “I want you here when I wake up tomorrow.”

Scratch that.

I want you here tonight.

In my bed.

Naked.

And riding my cock.

“I told you.” She frowns up at me, fingers pressed against the inside of my wrist for just a moment before she lets them fall away. “My circumstances have changed. There’s no reason for me to stay. I’m not going to school anymore.”

I want to see you. Spend time with you. Draw you. Fuck you. Kiss you some more.

That’s the reason.

“You quit school? Trying to pretend that her casual refusal doesn’t bother me, I shake my head. “Just like that?” It makes zero sense. A week ago, she was camped out on the front porch, waiting to ambush me and willing to do anything I asked, as long as I let her come here to study for her finals and now, she’s just up and quit school altogether.

“Yes.” She shifts against me like she’s trying to put space between us but my dumb dick doesn’t know the difference. As soon as she rubs herself against it, it starts going apeshit again. “Just like that.”

“No one quits school a week before finals, Sunshine,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “Not just like that.”

Staring up at me, I can see it ripple across her near perfect features—the answer to the puzzle she’s keeping locked away—there and gone in the space of a second.

Pressing a hand against my chest, she looks up at me. “I have to go.” When I don’t move, when all I do is stare at her, she sighs. “Please.”

I want to tell her no. I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs. Lay her out on the bed and get her naked so I can do every dirty thing to her that I’ve been dreaming about since the day I met her.

“You don’t want to leave.” I don’t know dick about her but I know that much.

“I didn’t say I wanted to.” She shakes her head, letting her hand fall away from my chest because she knows it’s useless. She’s not moving me unless I want to be moved. “I said I have to.”

Shit.

“Then I changed my mind—” Forcing myself back, I watch, helplessly while she slides off the edge of the counter to land on her feet. “you owe me a modeling session. I expect you here when I come downstairs tomorrow morning to pay up.”

For a second, she just stands there and stares at me like I shouted at her in a foreign language. Finally, she moves.

“Enjoy the blondies.” She turns away from me to drag her backpack off the counter behind her. “They’re my favorite.” She’s out the door and gone before I can think of a way to stop her.

Damien’s been here for a few hours now. he showed up, same as the first night, with another package of steaks—T-bones this time.

After dinner, we settled on the front porch in a couple of deep-seated gliders and started working on the second half of the Bullet Rye he brought over last night. It takes me three drinks before I finally give in and ask him.

“What’s going on with Kait?” Last time I asked, he basically told me to mind my fucking business but I’m asking again anyway because I can still feel her hands on me and for some reason, I think that gives me the right to know.

When I say her name, Damien cuts me a long sideways look like he’s trying to decide between answering my question or just saying fuck it and punching me in the face. Finally decided, he looks away from me and takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

“There’s a lot going on with Kait,” he tells me, gaze aimed at the lake in front of us. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Curbing my patience, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She’s not staying after in the mornings to study like we agreed on,” I tell him, trying to sound as casual as I can and not at all like it bothers me. Like I didn’t ambush her in the kitchen this morning. Like I didn’t press my stiff cock against her belly and think dirty thoughts about her while she went on her little tattoo tour. Like I didn’t beg her to come back and like she didn’t turn me down. “She said it was because she doesn’t need to study anymore. That her circumstances have changed but—”

“Two-tone stepped on her laptop.” When all I do is stare at him in response, Damien laughs. “Her horse—the black and white paint that follows her around like a giant puppy. She left her backpack in his stall when that Morris fuck showed up the other day and—”

“Who’s Morris?” Something about the way he says the name tells me everything else I need to know—whoever he is, Damien hates him. That means I hate him too.

Again, he hesitates.

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