Page 43 of Tempting Kat
“Your pussy seemed to disagree earlier,” he growls, and the crude reminder of how I came apart for him makes my thighs clench. “The way it gushed all over my hand.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. “That was...in the moment.”
“Was it?” His voice drops lower, into that dangerous register that makes my nipples tighten beneath the towel. “Because I think you're still wet for me right now.”
I hate how right he is. Despite three earth-shattering orgasms, my body is already aching for him again.
“Where are you?” I ask, changing the subject.
His eyes narrow at my obvious deflection. “Outside your building.”
My heart skips a beat. “What? Why?”
“Because you fucking wouldn’t answer my goddamn calls,” he says, gesturing at my towel-clad body. “You provoke me.”
“You can't just show up at my apartment in the middle of the night,” I protest, even as a thrill runs through me at the thought of him sitting outside right now.
“I absolutely fucking can,” Conrad says. “Don't test me, or I'll have to tame that bratty little mouth of yours.”
I open my mouth to fire back, but he cuts me off.
“Finish eating and buy the fucking groceries tomorrow and answer me when I call or text you.”
The screen goes black. The asshole hung up on me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout at my phone, like it might transmit my rage telepathically.
Grabbing another taco, I bite into it with unnecessary aggression. The food is still amazing, which only pisses me off more because I can't even properly hate the gesture.
I finish my meal in stubborn silence before turning off my phone. If he calls or texts, then he can get no response and my voicemail.
I’m going to bed and ending this crazy, fuckey day.
Chapter 13
Conrad
Two fucking weeks of nothing but text messages and I'm practically feral with need.
Last Friday I had to bail on coming here because Matteo needed me but I’m back and waiting.
She denied my booking requests, and I’m one fucking smart-mouth remark from throwing her over my fucking shoulder and taking Matteo up on his offer of the cabin.
I've been calling, texting, and trying to see her again. She responds to my texts with that bratty attitude I both love and want to spank out of her, but she barely answers my calls. When she does, it's brief, dismissive, like she's doing me a fucking favor.
“Here comes trouble,” Santiago mutters, his eyes flicking to the door.
My head snaps up, and there she fucking is. My breath catches in my throat.
Katarina saunters in like she owns the place, and Christ, she might as well. Her dark hair is half up in these ridiculous space buns that should look childish but somehow make me wantto grab them like handles. The rest of her hair cascades down around her shoulders, framing that face that haunts my dreams.
She's wearing jean shorts so short they barely qualify as clothing, showing off those thick thighs that I can still feel trembling around my head. Black sneakers on her feet and even they look fucking cute. And a crop top—a scrap of black fabric that shows her midriff and rides up when she stretches to grab something from a high shelf.
The fucking shirt is going to be the death of me as I read the words that are stretched across her chest.
I Might Be A Handful But So Is This Ass
She hasn’t looked my way. I know she can feel me here. Instead, she ignores me, laughing at something Santiago just said as she starts setting up the bar. Right now, I want to kill my bar manager for having that laugh directed at him and not me.
