Page 7 of Hostile Cravings (Wicked Cravings #3)
After using the bathroom and finding it surprisingly clean, I walked into Tyson’s closet, thinking I’d grab a sweatshirt or something to keep the chill away that had seeped into my bones.
My hand drifted over suit jackets and button downs.
A variety of ties hung neatly in the back, where a small dresser sat.
One drawer was open, and I pulled out the handful of dark silk scarves that seemed so oddly feminine among the rest of the masculine room.
I would have questioned who they belonged to, but they were on top of more family photos and a small jewelry box with the name Lilly Raines engraved on it.
I dropped the scarves but a blue one slipped free, landing on the closet floor.
I picked it up, rubbing the smooth material through my fingers as I contemplated why I’d thought wearing something of Tyson’s made any sense. No matter how cold I was, I didn’t want something of his on me.
I crawled into his bed, trying to forget his comments about stains and finding the smell of him that lingered on the sheets surprisingly comforting. I drifted off with thoughts of how irritated that made me, the scarf still in my hand and providing a strange sense of comfort.
The sound of water running woke me and I blinked.
My eyes opened just as it turned off. Shit, I’d fallen asleep in Tyson’s bed.
But he hadn’t woken me or thrown me out, which seemed strange.
Lifting my eyes, I perused the room, not seeing him and wondering why he had left me sleeping.
The shower. That was him in the bathroom.
Sitting up quickly, my eyes met his. He was toweling his hair dry, the muscles of his chest flexing with every move of his arm.
His black pants sat low on his waist and my eyes traveled the path to where they sat on his hips.
Damn, he was sexy, and I hated how easily that thought had come to me.
I needed to get a grip and remember that Tyson was an asshole who treated me like I was a gnat he couldn’t get away from.
But words wouldn’t form, and he beat me to the punch.
“I thought I said you needed to be out of my bed and my room, or did I not make that clear last night?”
“Is that what you tell all your women? Use them and kick them out that same night?”
“Damn right it is, unless I keep them longer so they can repay me with a blow job.”
I studied him, wondering how much of his macho talk was the truth.
I knew he slept around because he did it when he visited my father, too, but he talked it up with harsh words and a bravado that made me think he was talking a bigger game.
Or maybe he wasn’t, and he said things like that to cover the true reason he was such a playboy.
The same reason I searched men out…to make me feel something other than the loneliness, the pain of the truth that I wanted more but didn’t know how to have more.
That I didn’t trust any of the men I met to give me the mo re I craved.
That the sex would dull the pain, that it would satisfy the hunger that sat below the surface.
“Repay you for what? For letting you fuck them?” I asked.
He walked into his closet, and I took in his muscular back, the power of it, of him.
There was nothing about Tyson Raines that was like any man I’d ever been with, and I shook off the curiosity of what those muscles would feel like against my body.
He came back out, buttoning up the dress shirt he now wore.
“For giving them the best orgasm of their life and then letting me fuck them.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “I doubt that,” I said, running my fingers through my hair to untangle the knots.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I doubt you’ve ever come as hard as I could make you come, little viper.”
My inhale was louder than it should have been, and the way my panties grew soaked left me completely out of sorts. Shit, I was out of control and I didn’t like it. I hated Tyson, and I needed to remember that.
Standing, I tossed my hair over my shoulder, suddenly conscious of the fact that I had morning breath, messy hair, and my makeup was likely smudged.
“And I doubt you’ve ever had a woman make you come as hard as I could make you come, Raines,” I said, giving him a sly smile before walking past him and into the bathroom, making sure my ass was swaying in a perfect rhythm.
He snorted, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. His eyes were dark and for a moment, they held a flicker of desire that he covered quickly. “Get out of my bathroom.”
“I need to shower. Be a good husband and get my bags.”
I slammed the bathroom door, hearing his grumbled swearing and complaining. That was better. The aggression between us was a comfort I embraced. The other emotions were ones I didn’t understand and ones that completely unsettled me.
I made do with the bathroom products he had, wishing I’d taken the time to take my face cleanser and expensive shampoo out of my bag.
I used his razer to touch up my legs. If we were going to an island, I wanted to be smooth.
I had my other parts waxed regularly, but there was something soothing about shaving my legs, so I’d never included them in my waxing routine.
Finding a spare towel in the small closet in the bathroom, I wrapped it around myself and stepped from the bathroom, intent on grabbing my lotion, face cream, and makeup from my bags. My contacts were so dry my eyes were uncomfortable, and I really needed to switch my pair out.
To my surprise, he’d brought my bags in. I’d expected to have to wander the house to find them and the move seemed like a sweet one…until I saw him leaning against the door, his arms crossed as his eyes perused my bare skin.
“It’s nothing more than you usually see, Tyson,” I said, searching through a case for some clothes.
He walked over to me and grabbed my shoulders, turning me to him. His eyes were soft, and he brushed a thumb across my nose and over my cheek. My heart thumped, remembering my makeup wasn’t on.
“You have freckles,” he murmured.
I tried to turn away, but he held my chin, forcing my eyes to his.
“I hate them,” I admitted, dropping my eyes. No one knew I had them or the birthmark on the edge of my cheek he hadn’t noticed. I covered them up with makeup, ensuring no one saw them. They were like a blemish I couldn’t get rid of.
“They’re cute,” he said in a sweet tone that made my heart leap in a way I didn’t like. “You should leave the makeup off.”
He let me go, running his hand through his hair before saying, “Get dressed. Our plane leaves in an hour and then we’re stuck with each other for a week.”
“Should be fun,” I said, covering up the vulnerable sensation that sat in my chest. The one that was reflected in his features. “A week of insults and jabs. Maybe you can come up with some new ones since you use bitch and cunt so frequently.”
That smirk returned and the way it slithered into my body and warmed it left me confused.
“I’m sure I can think of a few more.”
He walked away, leaving me alone, and I stared at the door, struggling with the emotions battling within me. I wanted to scream and throw something at the door. He drove me mad, and how I was suddenly reacting to him was driving me even crazier.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. The mantra repeated through my head as I dressed.
Taking my makeup bag into the bathroom, I glanced in the mirror, taking in the freckles I hid, ones the boys had teased me relentlessly about when I was little.
The same ones I’d traced the pattern of on my mother’s face when I was small, before she’d grown ill, before death had ripped her from us.
I had loved her freckles, how her brown eyes had smiled when my tiny hands had traced patterns in them.
But I’d never loved my own, especially after her death.
I looked away, pulling out my makeup and covering the signs of my vulnerability, of who I really was, preferring to be the spoiled brat Tyson thought I was.
That everyone thought I was. I peeled my contacts out, replacing them, thankful he hadn’t noticed those.
That was the last thing I needed, and I could only imagine the teasing names he’d relentlessly call me if he ever found the glasses I hid at the bottom of my bag for emergency.
Checking myself over and ensuring I looked suitably sexy and expensive, I sealed up my suitcase and wandered through the house, eventually finding my way back to the large living room that led to the kitchen.
Tyson was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, an unhappy frown on his face.
Casey was yapping about something while Mason eyed her, his eyes hungry.
“Didn’t you just have sex with her?” I asked him. Tyson’s glare fell on me, but I ignored it, checking my manicure instead .
“Eh, that was two hours ago,” Mason replied with a shrug. “I’m ready for more.”
“Must not have satisfied him,” I quipped, earning a nasty look from Casey.
“Just because you don’t know how to please a man with that skinny body of yours, don’t assume I don’t. He craves me because I’m like a drug he can’t get enough of,” she snapped right back.
Mason rose and pulled her into his arms, kissing her so hard she dropped the plate she was holding.
“Would you two stop that?” Tyson grouched.
“What do you think, princess? Should we stop?”
She giggled and returned to kissing him.
“Fuck, you two are killing me.” Tyson turned back to me. “Let’s go.”
“But breakfast?—”
He snatched my arm and dragged me from the room. “No breakfast. You took your time sleeping in and getting ready, and now we’re late.”
“Have fun, you guys!” Casey shouted from the doorway as he continued to drag me.
“I’ll have fun when I’m strangling her,” Tyson mumbled.
“She might like that, Ty,” Mason joked.
“Get your hands off me, you big brute.” I smacked at him until he let me go faster than I thought he would and I lost my balance. Falling hard, my ankle turned slightly in my heels before my ass hit the floor. I winced but bit back the cry as pain flared through it.
Tyson loomed over me, a look of concern crossing his face until I said, “You’re such an asshole. I’d take Joey’s slimy hands over yours any day.”
Face contorting, his jaw went rigid. The hazel in his eyes was so dark they were almost brown.
“Get up and stop playing the dumb spoiled girl card. It’s not sexy and the only reason anyone pays attention to you is because you whore yourself out and throw your daddy’s money around.
I’m not falling for it and I’m not picking your stupid ass up. ”
He stormed off, his words stinging as much as the throbbing in my ankle.
I’d never felt so small, so seen as I did then.
Knowing Casey and Mason were watching, I huffed a breath to blow my hair from my face, yelling, “Just because the only way you can get a woman on her back is to drop her doesn’t mean that will work on me, prick. ”
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, the chilly air blowing in and reminding me that I had no clothes for this province. The air cut right through my thin dress.
I shoved the skirt lower as he snarled, “I prefer my women on their knees and knowing how snobby you and your preppy trust-fund pups are, I can guarantee they’ve never put that mouth to use like it should be which is why it does nothing but spew childish insults.
Get up and get in the car before I take you to Joey and let him bruise those delicate knees. ”
He threw the door open the rest of the way, the wind picking my skirt up and tossing it up to reveal my underwear.
I heard him order one of his men to get my bags as I pulled it down.
Glancing over, I noticed Casey and Mason had left us alone, and I wondered how much they’d heard and seen.
With a sigh, I pushed up from the ground, gritting my teeth at the pain in my ankle but walking on it anyway.
I made it to the car, flopping into the seat with an oof , relieved to be off it and hoping I could keep from crying because it was aching more.
I wasn’t certain if the pressure behind my eyes was from my ankle, Tyson’s words, or how miserable this situation was.
Whatever the reason, I bit my lip and stared out the window, glad he’d taken the front seat so I didn’t have to put up with him so close to me.