Page 20 of Badd Baby

I ended the call with a stab of my thumb, rolled out of bed, cleaned myself up with a wet, soapy washcloth, dressed in a pair of workout shorts and a baggy hoodie, and was in the car flying to her hostel in record time.

Chapter Four

Rune

To say I was waiting with impatience would be an understatement. I was also more nervous than I'd ever been in my life, for reasons I couldn't pinpoint and wasn't about to try to figure out.

I lay in my bed in the hostel room, covered in a flat sheet and nothing else, naked as the day I was born, still shaky from the orgasm yet hornier than I'd ever been in my life.

A soft tap on my door brought me to my feet, and I tiptoed across the small room, pulling open the door while hiding behind it.

Duncan's tall frame entered the room, immediately filling it with his presence. His hair was messier than ever, as if he'd been raking his hand through it all the way here—even as the thought crossed my mind, he turned to look for me, saw me standing with my hand on the knob, hiding behind the door, and his hand scraped over his scalp, further mussing the reddish-brown locks.

"Close the door," he growled, his voice low and dark with arousal.

I pushed it closed and turned the lock, and then crossed my arms over my body, hiding my breasts and privates. "Now that you're here, I…”

He flicked the light switch on, bathing me in sudden and blinding light. "Need to see you." His eyes raked my body greedily. "Rune." He met my gaze. "No hiding."

"I just met you," I whispered. "It was hot on the phone, but now you're here and I'm…"

He prowled toward me, reaching for me. His hands grasped my wrists and he applied gentle but insistent pressure. "Let me see you, Smokeshow. Please."

It was the please that got me. The way he said it—quietly, genuine, a soft entreaty. More embarrassed than ever about my unkempt lady bits, I slowly moved my arm to let him see my boobs—I'm well-endowed in that department, so I wasn’t as shy about letting him see them. I hid my sex with both hands, though.

He stopped a few inches away from me, gazing down at me—into my eyes. "You're so goddamned beautiful, Rune."

My heart leapt in my chest—I've not always had the most confidence in my looks. I'm strong and fit, and I'm confident in what my body can do. I love my hair, and I'm confident in that. But my body? My curves? The men I've dated in the past haven't always been the most supportive. Most recently, Hayes. He wasn't exactly the type to shower praise on me. I knew he was attracted to me, if only because he wanted sex constantly, and he'd get an erection if a stiff breeze blew past him, let alone if I was naked. He just didn't say it. And he was the best boyfriend I’ve ever had—the others have been uniformly terrible. Thus, my two-month self-imposed dry spell; I have awful taste in men.

Duncan seems different. I don't know why. He has the air of a playboy, a player, a fuckboy. But in other ways, he seems genuine and kind and funny. The things he says to me, though? Oof. Fucking hot.

I don't do casual sex, as I told Lindsey. But this was temporary. It has to be. I'm going back to LA after the wedding, finding a job, and getting back to life. Maybe end up with a boyfriend at some point—preferably one who won't cheat on me. But right now? Duncan is here, and he's staring at me like I'm something delicious to eat and he's starving.

I can have fun with him. Mess around now and during the wedding weekend. And then I go back to my life, he goes back to his, and that's the end of it.

But when he says I'm so damned beautiful, especially in that soft, reverent tone of voice, I just don't know what to do, how to respond. It makes me feel beautiful. Desired. Appreciated.

It's a frighteningly addictive feeling.

"Duncan," I breathed.

He tugged my hands away from my sex. "Don't hide, Rune."

I let him pull my hands away, but my thighs pressed together, one lifting and angling to cover my core. "I'm embarrassed. I wasn't planning on…this."

He stepped into me, his big, hard body pressing against my smaller, softer frame, walking me backward until my bare ass met the cold hardness of the door. His hands settled on my waist above my hips, where he'd hold me if we were slow dancing. His lips ghosted against my cheek, his breath hot on my ear.

"Want me to leave?" His words seared into me, leaving panic in their wake.

"No," I whispered. "I do not."

"Tell me not to touch you."

"No."

It was all different, now that he was here. The frenzy of arousal that prompted me, in a moment of horny stupidity, to call Duncan Badd, had fled. I had an orgasm while he watched…and I watched him do the same. But now he was here, live and in person, and my nerves were screaming with insecurity. I was naked; he was fully clothed. He was jacked, ripped, shredded, every muscle rippling and toned, a warrior's lean, hard physique. I saw his body on the phone, and even now I want him. I want to rip that baggy hoodie off, yank his shorts down, and lick and suck and touch and taste every inch of him.

The intensity with which I want these things is, in fact, what's holding me back. I've never wanted anyone this bad. What if I get attached? This is why I don’t do this. I have boyfriends; we develop a relationship, a level of trust and intimacy, and then we have sex. Of course, all of them, so far, have betrayed me, but that's a different topic.