Page 109 of Darcy
“How are you so cold?” he mumbles, but I can only yawn in answer.
Thirty-Six
Darcy
When I wake, there’s a hand sliding lazily up and down my back through the tee I wore to bed. Despite my pounding head, I grin, turning to press a good morning kiss to whoever put me to bed last night, only to freeze as I take in dark skin and a blurry, mismatched gaze.
“Prophet.” His name is less than a whisper on my lips.
That quickly, I remember everything which happened last night, and my cheeks burn as I recall the way I begged him to fuck me, then cried when he refused.
“Advil is on your left,” he murmurs. “With your coffee and your glasses.”
I shimmy up the bed and grab all three, using the heavenly drink to wash down the drugs in one swig as I cram the frames onto my face. He doesn’t interrupt, even when I cradle the mug and stare owlishly at him over the brim.
“Did you mean it?”
He props his head up on one hand and nods. “Yeah. I meant it.” There’s a long, vulnerable pause. “I’m sorry, angel. Pushing you away—and convincing the others to do the same—was one of the worst decisions of my entire life. I hated that it made you miserable, and I promise, if you’ll still have me, I’ll never let anything like that happen again.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he’s on a roll.
“You put your heart right out there, and I trampled all over it in the name of protecting you. Slate may have riled me up, but I could’ve handled it better.”
Another long pause.
“Do you think… Do you think they’ll forgive me?”
Willyouforgive me?The words hang unsaid between us.
I take a deep breath and consider it as I sip more of my coffee.
“I knew what you were doing the whole time,” I begin. “And so did the others. We all knew your heart was in the right place. It wasn’t like you were blowing hot and cold for no reason.”
If I know the others, Slate has already forgotten it. All he’s wanted all along is for the band to stay together. Dodger and Arlo are harder to read, but they were both in on Slate’s plan, so that’s a good sign.
“They’ll bring it up at every opportunity, just to tease you,” I continue, thoughtfully. “But that’s just what they do.” The trash talking between the five of us when we’re online together sometimes is unreal. “Of course, I know how you can guarantee my forgiveness.”
Prophet gives me a look that’s half hopeful, half distrustful. “How?”
I grin. “It involves one little word, some lube, and a whole lot of stretching.”
His eyes heat as what I’m saying clicks.
“As much as I desperately want you bent over, begging me to fuck your ass again,” he says, deliberately misunderstanding who would be begging whom. “I want to wait until I’ve talked to the others. Plus, we only have two hours until you need to be at the arena, and I’m going to want longer when I finally get my hands on your body.”
“We could have a quickie now and talk to them later?”
He chuckles, and I swoon slightly. Prophet doesn’t smile often. When he does, he’s dazzling. “The anticipation will make it better.”
Pouting, I gulp the last of my drink and shove out from the covers. “I don’t believe you.”
He leans over and lightly spanks my rear as I head towards the bathroom. “After the show, this ass is mine.”
“I prefer to think of it as your cock is mine,” I retort, shamelessly hiking my tee to flash him before shutting the door between us.
When I walk out into the hotel, wearing my favourite SG-1 hoodie and my most comfortable leggings, they’re all so engrossed in their discussion they don’t notice me at first.
“So after you’ve had her once, we’re all even,” Dodger says, looking at Prophet. “Who’s game for a group orgy?”
