Page 6
“You’re fine,” I’d answered, already sliding back down onto him. “I wouldn’t have let you die.”
A tidal wave of horror crashes over me.
On the plus side, I’m officially not a starfish.
On the minus side, this man now definitely thinks I’m unhinged.
At least I’ll never have to see him again. Drew has no idea who I am. There’s no reason to stay and ruin the fantasy.
I start inching toward the edge of the bed, moving carefully. Drew groans and I freeze. After a long moment, I try again. I’m almost free when a strong hand hooks around my waist.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is rough with sleep.
He drags me back to the center of the bed and flips me beneath him in one smooth motion. Before I can even catch my breath, he leans down and kisses me, deep and hungry.
I feel his cock against my thigh—already rock-hard, and so thick it makes my stomach tighten. God, the man is huge. If I’d known he was carrying something that size, I never would have chosen him last night. I’m sore in ways I didn’t even know were possible—every inch of me still feeling the stretch of him.
Not that I was complaining at the time.
Even now, after everything we did, my body betrays me. A hot, traitorous pulse throbs between my legs. I’m sore, sensitive and somehow I’m already aching for more.
He smiles against my mouth, then drags his lips to my ear.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he whispers. “Completely feral.”
Feral.
“I have to go,” I say, pushing hard against his chest.
“No, you don’t.” He nuzzles into my neck, lips brushing over my racing pulse, voice low and lazy with satisfaction. “Not yet.”
“I have an important…thing.”
He lifts his head, one dark brow arched. “What kind of important thing happens this early in the morning?”
He takes me in slowly. I get a good look at him too, and the sight is almost unfair. Golden morning light slides over his sharp jawline and perfectly tousled hair, catching on the broad, muscled line of his shoulders. He looks like he could walk straight onto a luxury campaign set.
Meanwhile I’m a sticky, clammy, mascara-smudged disaster.
“None of your business,” I snap.
I try to roll out from under him, but he boxes me in with his arms, caging me easily. He’s so strong. He could keep me here if he wanted to, and some traitorous part of me likes that thought far too much.
“Move,” I demand.
He studies me for a second, confused by the sudden shift. Then he exhales and rolls off, giving me space. I scramble upright, heart hammering, unsure how the hell this part is supposed to go. It’s been years since I’ve slept with a stranger. Do I thank him for the orgasms and just…leave? But then, I can hardly go home like this.
I swallow hard. “Could I use your shower?”
“Absolutely,” Drew says. He kicks the covers back, revealing every inch of that ridiculous ripped body, and flashes me a wicked grin. “But let’s do our part for the planet and conserve water.”
Drew stands behind me in the shower, the hot water cascading over us in thick, steaming sheets. He pumps a generous amount of soap into his palms and slides them slowly down my back, thumbs pressing into the tight knots along my spine.
Reality starts creeping in. I have to go home. I have to face my father—who looked at me like I was something broken and embarrassing he couldn’t quite believe belonged to him.
When I’d walked through the door after the finale, mascara-streaked and hollow, he’d simply shaken his head and locked himself in his office. If Max had proposed like he was supposed to, none of this would matter. Dad wouldn’t have cared about the cameras. I’d been desperate enough to believe the producers’ promises. Desperate enough to think a reality show could fix my life.
Now I can already see what’s coming: Dad parading men like Geoffrey Butler in front of me again. Fifty years old, practically my father’s age, but rich enough to make the math work in Dad’s world.
