Page 47 of Mr. Wrong
I’m so fucking mad at her I can barely see straight, but not for the reasons she thinks.
I’m angry at her for trying to quit.
I’m angry at her because her ex has been texting her practically non-stop since the night we met.
Because he knows her mother’s name and I don’t.
Because he called me theloser from the barand it’s a pretty accurate descriptor.
Because Killian was right—I’m falling for her and there’s not a goddamned thing I can do about it.
Because, despite all of the above and the fact that I know that it’s the mother of all bad ideas, I can’t seem to stop fucking her.
Instead of answering her, I slowly pull my fingers from her pussy, and even though the shower is still running behind me, I pop them into my mouth and lick them clean, just so I can have a taste of her. Like I knew it would, watching me suck her juices off my fingers makes her blush, and the bloom of it in her cheeks goes straight to my cock. When it jerks in her grip her eyes widen and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Reaching down, I gently peel her fingers off of me and step back, putting some much needed space between us. “I’ll let you finish your shower,” I say before turning away from her to make my escape.
Thirty-One
Ellenore
I almost chase after him.Demand that he answers my question. Tell me what to do. How I’m supposed to behave. What happens next.
Because I have absolutely no idea.
When I step out of the shower, it’s to find the bathroom door firmly closed and a huge, fluffy towel waiting for me on the counter next to the sink. Using it, I take as much time as I can to dry myself off before I pull on the bathrobe I hung on a hook last night. Using the towel, I squeeze and rub as much water from my hair as possible. Finally, with nothing left to do, I hang my towel on a hook to dry and tell myself it’s perfectly safe to open the door because Lex isn’t even here anymore. He got what he wanted and now he’s gone again. Back to hating me and blaming me for everything that’s gone wrong in his life over the last seventy-two hours.
I’m sure of it.
So, why am I not surprised that when I finally push the bathroom door open, it’s to find him standing near the side ofthe bed, looking like a walking, talking sex fantasy in nothing but a pair of faded gray sweats and a whole lot of tattoo ink.
“You quit.”
It’s what he said to me in the bathroom. Right before he pushed his way into the shower and...
“I don’t understand,” I tell him, reaching up to catch the lapels of my robe and pull them together, over my chest. “Is that a question or—”
“No, it’s not a question,” he bites back. “It’s a statement of fact and you’ll stop doing that if you have any hope of leaving this bedroom today.”
“Doing what? What did I do?” I say, panic fluttering in my belly because that’s what the thought of taking a wrong step does to me. It sends me into a tailspin.
“You’re thinking about fucking me—” He gives me the same kind of smirk he gave me in the shower. “and before you ask, that’s not a question either. Iknowyou’re thinking about fucking me because you’re blushing.”
I drop my hands away from my chest and give him what I hope to god sounds like a haughty scoff because I don’t want to be the kind of woman who blushes when she thinks about sex. I want to be casual and blasé about what we just did. I want to be like Dani. She’s as frank and matter-of-fact about the men she sleeps with as she is about everything else. Truthfully, right now, I’d settle for being just about anyone other than me. “I am not,” I say, reaching up to push cold, wet hair out of my flaming red face. “I amnotblushing.” When that stupid smirk of his holds I drop my hand and frown at him. “Why are you still here?”
That wipes the smirk right off his face. Something dangerous flashes in his eyes, darkening the blue of them in an instant. “Because you still haven’t answered my question, Ellenore,” he informs me while lifting his arms to fold them over his chest.
“Stop calling me that. My name isElle,” I hiss at him. “My grandmother’s name is Ellenore and you haven’t actuallyaskedme a question, remember?” I tilt my head and stack my hands on my hips. “All you’ve done so far is make afew statements offactand some veiled—”
“Careful,Ellenore.” He growls it at me before dropping his arms away from his chest to take a half step in my direction. “You’re edging dangerously close to that spanking we talked about.”
Because the prospect of being turned over his knee excites me almost as much as it terrifies me, my brain gives up entirely and hands the reins to my mouth. “Jesus Christ, can youpleaseput a shirt on?”
Lex blinks at me—once, twice—before he turns away from me and toward the bed to swipe something off the mattress. A T-shirt. I watch with equal parts relief and disappointment while he lifts it and yanks it on. Fully dressed, he turns to look at me again, his dark blue eyes narrowed down to slits. “Better?”
“No.” Looking at him, I shake my head and sigh. “No, not really.”
Like he expended all of his energy listening to me talk us in crazy circles, Lex lowers himself to sit on the side of the bed, shoulders slumped, forearms braced on the tops of his thighs, hands hanging between his knees. “You quit.” He says it to his hands, carefully and quietly, his face tipped toward his bare feet. “Landon woke me up this morning and told me that you—”
