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What about trust-fund princesses with pussies that tasted like fucking honey?
Blood surged into my cock at the reminder, and my legs felt a little stiff as I went to the fire and tossed in a couple more logs onto the half-burnt ones I’d put out before leaving the cabin yesterday.
I lit the fire purely from muscle memory, what with my brain stuck back in that tent, reliving every second of how it’d felt to make her come, wring those insane sounds from her throat, to feel her
fingers in my hair as she’d directed me on how to maximise her pleasure.
And that’s what’s right and so fucking wrong with this picture, isn’t it? You got a taste of her andnow you can’t get her out of your head?
I ignored the voice, stayed right there on my knees until the fire was in full rage. The sound of a zip lowering made me turn. She was freeing her arms from the outer suit and tugging her hair loose.
I’d been so blinded by her body last night I hadn’t quite clocked the long strands of her raven hair cascading halfway down her back. The urge to sink my fingers into the silky mass made me clench my
fists. Realising I was staring at her like some hormonal fool, I busied myself by shrugging off my own suit.
Since I didn’t want to risk her seeing her maddening effect on me, I unzipped to the waist and left the arms hanging down. Hell, she’d see the bulge below my waist soon enough if I spent any more
time standing around staring at her breasts, thinking about how good she tasted.
Thinking about what else to do brought up a different dilemma, though. I eyed the sofa and hid a
grimace.
She followed my gaze, but before she could speak, I grabbed her case. ‘There’s not much to the
cabin but I’ll show you around,’ I offered. ‘Let’s start upstairs.’
I headed up the stairs and down the short hallway leading to the bedroom tucked in the eaves of the cabin. I heard her following and opened the bedroom door as she reached me.
The huge king-size bed took up most of the room because, what the hell, I liked my comfort when I
slept. Besides that, though, I had very little else in the way of creature comforts. A dresser, bedside table, and closet that held a handful of clothes were all I needed when I used the cabin. I set her bag down beside the bed. ‘You can have the bed. I’ll sleep downstairs.’
‘Why? Because I’m a spoilt ice princess?’ she bit out, her face cold once again.
I gritted my teeth, regret and irritation warring inside me. ‘You want me to apologise for what I
said last night?’
‘I wouldn’t want you to waste your breath, since we both know it would be false.’ She was back to
using that snippy, upper-class voice.
As much as it came naturally to Graciela, it reminded me a little too much of the posh voice
Stephanie had adopted to impress clients—and me—when we’d first met. It’d turned out to be as
false as everything else about her.
With Graciela, I was beginning to recognise the snippiness as a facade. I’d caught enough glimpses
of her vulnerability to guess the truth. Last night, for instance, even as she’d ordered me not to disturb her beauty sleep, I’d caught the hurt in her voice. Seen the way she’d held herself stiff and closed, as if she didn’t want to show her vulnerability.
And, dammit, something about that made me want her more.
Perhaps even more than I yearned for the sultry creature who’d raised her arms above her head last
night and invited me to use my hands on her.