Page 26 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHLOE

There’s something to be said for a night of debauchery with one’s sexy, bad neighbor. Even if it was only one night. Because that’s all it was meant to be.

Even if I did spend the night in Paynt’s bed, with him wrapped around me like the softest, warmest fleece. As I dozed, right around dawn, he’d curled his arm around my waist, tucked me into his body, and swung a leg over both of mine. It had felt so right, so comfortable, I hadn’t even considered getting up and going home, which is what I should have done.

Nope, I spent the night. All night. And woke up in his arms. Wait, no, I didn’t, because he isn’t in the bed with me. His side of the bed is cool to the touch when I reach for him.

Stretching like a cat, I yawn so widely my jaw pops. Sleeping with Paynter was pure joy. Besides the vigorous nocturnal activities, the actual snoozing part was pretty nice, too. Early this morning, he kissed my shoulder and dropped his head to the pillow and almost immediately begun snoring. Not too loudly, though. It was more of a gentle breeze, with only a slight sound. Not loud enough to keep me from falling asleep.

Marcus snored like he was using a gas-powered chainsaw in an echoing cavern. I disliked spending the night with him because of it. If I didn’t fall asleep first, I wouldn’t at all, unless I got up and headed into the living room to curl up on the couch. And what’s the point of spending the night with your boyfriend if you’re not going to actually sleep with him?

Boyfriend. Paynt. Nope. One night, remember?

Sure, I can sleep through his snoring—in fact, I had no issues whatsoever with anything he did or did not do last night. And he strikes me as the sort of person who doesn’t hide a damn thing—what you see is what you get with him. So if I didn’t have issues sleeping with him last night, I probably won’t at any point in the future.

Still—he’s not my boyfriend. Last night was great sex—okay, phenomenal sex—comfortable conversation, amazing food, and probably the most domestic I’ve ever been in my life. But it was not the start of a relationship.

I can’t. There is too much at stake. I have something to prove, namely that I can reach the top of that corporate ladder without anyone’s help—especially a guy’s help. Extra especially one I’m sleeping with.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I wince at the slight tremor of pain shooting down my inner thighs that tells me last night was every bit as spectacular as I recall.

I know I just convinced myself this was a one-night stand, but what if we keep this purely physical … would he want to get physical again tonight? Or maybe all day today. I have nothing pressing to do this weekend. I planned to rake leaves, clean the house, maybe take a trip to Target to stock up on laundry detergent and other household supplies.

I’d much rather celebrate Naked Saturday with Paynt.

After rummaging around in his bathroom and coming up with a plastic-wrapped toothbrush—who doesn’t have at least one unused toothbrush from their last dental appointment?—I give Naked Saturday serious consideration as I stand in the middle of his bedroom and try to recall where my clothing might be. The basement. That’s where this whole shift in our relationship—no, not relationship—our friendship started. Well, it started the moment he paid that stripper to embarrass me, I suppose, but wanting to have sex with him and actually doing it are two very different situations.

Neighbors with benefits? Maybe he’ll buy that. We could go our separate ways during the day and come together for explosive sex each night. No strings, no expectations, just straight up pleasure under the cover of darkness. No one would need to know.

Grabbing the sweatshirt lying on the floor, I pull it over my head and smile a little. James and his recent lectures about my stress levels. I wonder if he’ll realize I got laid this weekend, when I see him Monday morning. Probably. He’s damned perceptive. Maybe now he’ll stop warning me of an imminent heart attack. Just last week he’d threatened to withhold my promotion to partner if I didn’t figure out a way to enjoy myself outside the office.

“Work gives me satisfaction,” I’d replied. “It makes me happy.”

“No, it doesn’t. You have some fucked up idea in your head that you have to prove yourself to someone, but there’s no one watching but yourself. And why do you need to prove anything to yourself?”

“Because I do,” I’d said and abruptly ended the conversation. He didn’t understand. Hell, recently, I’ve wondered if I even understand my own motives. But I can’t change my plan three quarters of the way through. That’s what happened last time, when Marcus stole my promotion. If I don’t succeed now, I probably never will.

Enough introspection. It’s time to find coffee. God, I hope he’s a coffee drinker or at least keeps a dusty old Coffee Mate for overnight guests.

I should probably seek out my sexy neighbor, too. I rarely partook in morning sex when I was with Marcus because I was too damn worried about what I looked like, but Paynt claims I’m hot with no makeup and my hair a disaster, so maybe it’s time to see if he speaks the truth. Last night, when he’d had me seated on his kitchen counter and his hands were all over me and his tongue was firmly planted in my mouth, I’d wanted him right then, right there on that cool, smooth marble.

I snag a couple condoms from where we’d deposited them on the bedside table last night—I want to finish that scene. Now. Or at least this morning. Maybe after the first cup of coffee, but still, I want to be seated next to the sink, him standing between my thighs … or maybe bent over, his face getting up close and personal with my pussy. That man can do things with his tongue that could shame the devil. Or make him jealous.

I’m practically skipping when I leave the bedroom and head down the hall, giddy with anticipation of the pleasure I’m about to experience—again. I could seriously become addicted to my hot new neighbor.

I am about to walk across the balcony overlooking that hideous chandelier and the foyer when I realize Paynter and I are not alone in the house.

“Since I missed your birthday, I figured I’d stop by, see if you wanted to grab breakfast or something.”

I pause before the wall opens up and shows me the men standing at the bottom of the stairs. That voice sounds familiar.

“Again, you couldn’t call?”

Wow, Paynt sounds annoyed. Because this guy interrupted our little bubble of sexual bliss? Maybe he was hoping for a Naked Saturday too.

“What’s up your ass? Did you party last night, too, and now you’re hung over? Actually, you look like you haven’t slept.”

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