Page 40 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

ERICA

I wanted to suck that tomato from between his fingers. Wanted to press my lips to it, dig my teeth into it, and suck it inside my mouth, holding it there while I kissed him so I could pass it back to him with my tongue. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted. Internally, I was hemorrhaging with want.

When he returned from his shower, hair wet and scraped back, he was a total gentleman. It was as though the tomato episode never happened, and when it was happening, I was so blown away by the whole thing that it’s hazy in my memory. Did he really ask me to swallow it? Or did I make that bit up?

Since that night, time has flown. We’ve had a series of public dates.

Restaurants and bars mostly, but a couple of walks along the river too.

Anywhere we can be seen publicly. He hasn’t kissed me again, but he’s held my hand over the table, pulled me into him as we’ve walked.

Outside of the apartment, we’ve performed.

But inside, there’s an immovable awkwardness that’s taken up residence like another flatmate.

A great big burly presence that we have to tiptoe around, not daring to look at it in case it does…

something . We’re both ignoring it, hardly communicating, him working long hours and me the same, just so we don’t have to be here together, enduring whatever the fuck this has turned into.

It sucks the joy out of living together, that’s for sure, and yet there’s still that buzz of temptation, like the roar of a river beneath its frozen surface.

I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this.

Luckily, the audition for Taming the Beast has come and gone, and I’m pretty sure I nailed it.

Even the press is backing me, and I checked with the bookies online, and I’m odds on to get the role, and if it were up to the fans on social media, I’d already have it.

I don’t want to get excited too soon, and I haven’t mentioned it to Seb because I know he’d be as excited as me, and if two of us get excited together…

it’s not worth the risk. I can’t let that energy explode in these four walls.

He’d smile, his dimple would pop, he’d throw his arms around me, and then…

I shake the thought away. Then… nothing . Whatever I feel for Seb has to be a secret. Locked down. Our arrangement is so close to over. We’re leaving for Kate and Nico’s wedding tomorrow .

And then we’ll have to break up.

And then we can go back to normal. But what is normal now?

Maybe we’ve fucked our friendship already. Maybe it died that day in the gallery…

I’ll put it out of my mind. Put him out of mind, at least for now.

I’ve got the day off so I can pack up all my belongings, ready to return to my own home when we get back from the wedding in the Caribbean.

I’m trying to ignore the unsettled— sad?

—feelings that are coming up, so I’m focusing on other things.

I’ve had a long bath and now I’m sitting at the kitchen island plucking my eyebrows with a hand-held mirror.

It’s not sanitary, but I’ll wipe the surface down later and Seb will never know.

Beside me is the issue of Tatler that covered our relationship. Seb must have powerful contacts because they whipped the story up fast and shunted other pieces to fit it in.

I flick through the pages, staring at the pictures of us. Of him .

I can hardly catch my breath looking at them. I am abso-fucking-lutely doomed when it comes to this man. He’s so handsome, and that smile … it’s enough to knock you sideways.

So much for putting him out of mind. A pulse sets up between my legs as I stare at him, and I have to acknowledge the slutty version of me, the one I’ve locked up tight—or perhaps my mother locked her up and threw away the key—is getting louder.

Harder to ignore. And the cage I put her in is wearing thin.

By every measure that counts, I’m a virgin.

But I don’t feel like one. I feel like a needy little whore, wrapped in a virgin’s body.

Pretending I don’t have needs. Urges. Pretending I wouldn’t love it if Seb threw me down on the floor, the bed, shoved me against the wall with his hand around my throat, and fucked me as I screamed his name.

Oh, God.

I want him. But not like this. Not fake. Not pretend. And not because his balls are so blue he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s so used to getting women to do whatever he wants that this situation is probably fucking with his head. It’s fucking with mine.

Ugh. All those women. It makes me feel nauseous.

Would it have been so bad to let him kiss me on one of our dates?

To let people see? To let his tongue slide between my lips?

That night in the gallery feels like so long ago, I’m beginning to forget what it first felt like to have his mouth on me.

How my blood turned molten as soon as he touched his lips to mine. And when his mouth went south…

Oh, fuck . I must be ovulating because here I am sitting at his kitchen table, horny as anything. I squirm on the stool, creating pressure between my legs, which only makes it worse.

I’m definitely not going to be able to ignore this. Maybe I can go sort myself out in the shower. Or the bedroom. Or… right here in the kitchen. I glance at the time. Seb won’t be home from work for hours.

My body is hot and tight and the need to touch myself is oppressive.

I can’t think straight. I don’t masturbate often, and when I do, self-loathing clings to me.

No one wants a whore . That’s what Mum always said.

I’ve repressed the urge for so fucking long.

Behaved myself. Stuck to the rules and been such a good girl.

But bit by bit, I’m breaking those rules.

The milk in my tea. The seventh tomato. And Seb. Seb. Seb.

I can’t sit here anymore, staring at his face on the page, the harsh pound of blood between my legs making everything down there feel swollen…

It feels dirty. Naughty. But I can’t ignore it.

I’m a new woman and this is my rebellion .

I stand, pushing the magazine away. But then I pull it back and tear out the page with the biggest picture of Seb on it.

He’s in a suit, buttoning the jacket with one hand, holding mine with the other. And he is beautiful …

I tuck the picture into the pocket of my robe, intending to head to my bedroom where I can touch myself in private. But then I stop, an idea crossing my mind.

Our arrangement is nearly over, and I’ve never been into his bedroom.

What if I went there instead?