Page 36 of Ly to Me

Or more like stupid.

A long sigh escaped me in the shower—the second I'd taken since my hair had been dyed. The glass filled with steam as I caught the reflection of my brown hair and brown eyes. My mama had been beautiful—all blue eyes and blonde hair and high cheekbones with the most subtle hints of blush permanently fixed on her skin. Men, like whoever my father was, loved her. She’d told me so. Then she’d look at me and seethisand just sigh.

So, I sighed again, just for her. Then I immediately scowled as I heard the front door shut. I left the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, and as I stepped into the bedroom, my feet froze in place.

“Found the black,” Carver drawled from his chair as my eyes glued to the black lingerie set complete with leg garters and black pantyhose. It had been the most expensive purchase of the day, yet I’d never planned on actually wearing it.

Lady Luck truly hated my guts.

“You gonna leave again?” My gaze flitted between him and the door. “Give me privacy, at least?”

“Nope.” His broad, jean-covered legs stretched out as he leaned back further, looking as relaxed as ever.

“And if I say no?”

Two long fingers stroked the arm of the chair, a faint glimmer in his eyes that was a toss-up between the iridescence of atala wings and an extremely hot inferno. “You won’t.”

I took a step closer to the set. “What makes you so sure?”

“Arrogance.”

Was that…had he just admitted a fault? My brow arched as I took another step. “Is that so?”

The same two fingers inched up to his lips and swiped across the bottom. “Self-indulgent curiosity.”

One more step. “And?”

“Depravity.”

Blue eyes flared as I unwrapped the towel and let it fall to the floor. “Anything else?”

His voice lowered, turning to gravel as I reached for the set. “Recklessness.”

“Hmmm…”

His hand shifted to his jeans, stroking the outline of his cock. I swallowed.

“History,” he added.

I finished sliding the straps into place, then sat on the edge of the bed as I began rolling the stockings up to my knees. When I was done, I leaned back on my elbows and crossed one leg over the other, thankful for the black coloring that covered any evidence of how I really felt while looking at him—the muscles and intricate lines of ink, the dirt marring his sun-kissed skin, and the closely cropped dark beard and equally dark brows.

God, I should have never come back to town.

“Lie down.” Carver thumbed the button of his jeans and popped it open with one hand, yet made no move to get up. I laid back slowly, watching his chest move with his steady breaths while my heart thudded out of control. “Spread your legs.”

Again, I followed his orders while my chest and head went to war over thewhy.

“Use your fingers. Tell me how wet you are.”

My lips parted, my brain fizzling out in that war against my chest. “W-what?”

The zipper of his jeans hissed as it slid down. “I want you to touch yourself and tell me how wet you are, Ly.”

My hand stopped mid-stomach. “You told me I couldn’t do that.”

He smirked. “I’m giving you the go-ahead to break that ruleifI’m the one watching you do it.”

He held my gaze as my hand inched beneath my damp panties while he did the same, grazing over a strip of hair as his hand slid beneath his jeans.