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I bring her down slow, telling myself it’s because my mother raised a gentleman, but really, it’s because I can’t stop. I can’t take my mouth off her.
Finally, her thighs loosen their grip, and her breathing returns to normal. The hands in my hair relax, stroking the back of my head, her fingers soft. Gentle. Almost soothing.
It’s fucking killing me, the way she’s touching me. Like she actually gives a shit. Like what just happened actually meant something to her.
Which it didn’t.
She’s made it perfectly clear she’s just here for the sex. That’s all she wants from me. All I’m good for.
I can do this.
I finally raise my head to find hers turned, her gaze aimed down at me. “I better get a 5-star Yelp review for that one, Daisy,” I say, shooting her a cocky grin before I lever myself up off the floor.
I can do this.
I grab my shirt and pull it on, stepping over her and through the doorway and into the kitchen/living room combo. My place makes Cap’n’s old digs look like one of those luxury homes he and my dickface brother build. Taking a quick look around, I see what she’ll see. A rumpled futon, with a curb-find nightstand next to it. A beat-up leather club chair I liberated from my dad’s den, shoved in the corner. Pile of dirty clothes in the corner. A sink full of empties. A refrigerator full of beer and take-out containers.
And books.
Henley always liked my books.
At least I have that going for me.
I can do this.