Page 9 of Worship

“I said, get the fuck out.”

His footsteps grow closer, but I can’t push off my arms enough to get off the ground.

“Settle down. Let me help you.” He urges.

Putting his hands under my arms, he pulls to lift me, and I draw my legs under me to stand.

I turn to meet his face, looking down, since I’m the taller of the two of us.

“I’m alone in this. You can’t help. So don’t ask questions. Please.”

I’m sincere. I don’t want to hurt the people I love. I don’t want to be so unhinged, but I can’t stop the fallout, and nobody is safe around me.

“Okay. I won’t push, but Luca, you don’t get to self-destruct. Not anymore.”

My gaze falters. I understand what he means. I have more than just myself to think about. I have Ella.

“I’m trying, George. I am.” I pat his shoulder as I pass him. “For what it’s worth, thank you.”

George is one of the few people who can guess my thoughts and knows just how malleable my view is on morality. So, if he sees me heading toward destruction, chances are I’m already there.

I drag my ass out of the gym and back to my room, not even bothering to shower. Instead, I collapse onto my bed, wincing as my busted knuckles graze the fabric.

After all is said and done, I’m back where I started, in my empty bed thinking about forgiveness and justice. Or maybe I’m just thinking of the girl who keeps telling me what Ineedto hear.

I’ve only spoken to Gretchen three times: once at the restaurant where she brazenly flirted with me; second at my brother’s family gathering to celebrate his elopement; and tonight. But every time I find myself being just that—myself.

No mask of charm or flash of congeniality. I just say the ugly, mangled thoughts floating around in my head, and she never backs away or even thinks I’m strange. I toe off my shoes and roll to grab my phone off the nightstand.

“Boss,” my tech guy answers.

“Get me a personal cell number. Gretchen Andrews, works at the Cohen Management Team. Text me.”

There’s no need for chatting. He’s more task oriented than people friendly.

“Will do. Should only take a few minutes.”

I disconnect, lying back to stare at the ceiling. I know it’s the wrong move—the worst fucking idea—but I don’t care. I owe Shelby nothing.

The minute the text arrives, I open and press the number to add it to my contacts. “What’s the plan, Luca?” I whisper to myself.

There isn’t a plan of action, there’s only impulse and desire—the two worst idea makers. I just want to talk to her…and keep talking to her.

She’s trouble though. It’s those eyes and those gorgeous lips—I can’t get them out of my mind. Especially when I picture her mouth around my cock and those beautiful eyes looking up at me while she sucks me off.

Tugging my sweats down, I grip my dick, pulling roughly toward my stomach, and the first wave of sensation draws my balls up, producing a groan from my lips.

All I picture is her mouth sucking and licking the tip of my dick as her hands roam over my stomach and then around to grip my ass. Her hungry eyes are begging for more of my cock.

“Say it,” I demand from her.

“Please,” she purrs as I feed my cock to her inch by inch until I can feel the back of her throat.

“Suck.” She licks from the base to the tip and wraps one hand around my dick while she sucks me off, head bobbing and her cheeks drawing inward, so greedy for my cum.

The picture plays out in my mind.

Me fucking Gretchen’s luscious mouth while she sits submissively on her knees. I grip the edge of the bed, my other hand moving faster, jacking harder. My hips push into the pressure as I drown in my fantasy. I groan, biting down, straining against the power of my orgasm as I’m held still by my hot seed shooting out onto my stomach.