Page 46 of Darcy
“Stop panicking.” Slate reads my thoughts effortlessly. “And go back and make the most of what’s left of your night. I still can’t believe she picked you first.”
I offer him a lazy grin. “You know I have the luck of the Devil.”
“Whatever. Just means I have better odds when we land in Vancouver tonight.”
“You sorting it so she’s on our flight?”
Slate snorts. “You really think I’m going to have to?”
No. He won’t. Prophet will. He can be as against Slate’s plans as he wants, but the guy treats women like queens.
“Go.” Slate waves a hand at his door. “And next time you decide to dump ice cold water on me, I’m going to return the favour.”
Smirking, because he’d have to wake up early enough to manage it, I leave him to his plotting and head back to my own room via the coffee machine.
Darcy blinks open one eye as I enter, her gaze zooming straight to the mugs in my hand. I hold her coffee out like an offering. My own is black and unsweetened, but I know for a fact she takes hers loaded with cream and sugar.
“Morning,” I chirp.
“Oh god.” She visibly cringes, burying her head beneath the covers. “You’re a morning person. I knew this wouldn’t work out.”
I snort, put her coffee and mine beside her glasses, and tug back the covers, bracing myself over her with my hands pressed into the mattress. “You can’t give up on me over that.” I pause. “Besides, I think I can convince you that mornings aren’t so bad.”
If she’ll let me. For a second, the irrational fear of her rejection grips my heart and squeezes.
Her breath hitches, cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. “Really?”
My voice lowers, and I duck my head until we’re nose to nose. “Want to play, baby girl?”
Can she hear the vulnerability in the words?
This is all I have to offer her. If she won’t accept it, then…
“What about your nose?”
“Not broken.” I shrug off the injury, then pause.
Should I have covered the bruising? It’s not pretty to look at.
Her hands trace up my forearms, trailing a buzz of electricity wherever she touches. I’m used to being touched. I’ve learned to switch off when it happens. I go through the motions of sex like a checklist. Lick there. Kiss here. Bite. Thrust.
Darcy isn’t even doing anything overtly sexual, but I’m already more turned on than I have been in years. My dick is rock hard, tenting my shorts like a damned flag pole, trying to tempt her fingers to move past my wrists.
I know the minute she feels them, because she freezes.
My ink covers my scars pretty well, but it can’t do shit about the messed up texture of my skin.
Distract. Divert. Deny.
I drop my lips to hers, claiming her mouth before she can say anything. The tension in my chest eases somewhat as she wastes no time in kissing me back. Her lips are so damn soft, and her tongue dances out to play with mine before she pulls back, eyes wide with alarm.
“Wait!” she cries against my mouth. “Morning breath! I haven’t even showered!”
With a growl that I hope tells her exactly what I think of those excuses, I crawl on top of her and steal her mouth again, using my hips to press her into the bed.
“If you think,” I begin, drawing back and grinding the evidence of my arousal against her. “That either of those things is a deterrent, then you severely underestimate how fucking desperately I want you.”
She gasps, arching against me as her eyes fall closed. I take the opportunity to press a kiss to the tip of her nose.
