spills out over all four corners of the single bed. The sight would be comical if the bed wasn’t mine, and if he wasn’t naked.
I can’t stop staring at him. Haven’t stopped since the white sun pierced through my blinds and woke me up. Its colors have warmed in the hours since, and now wash his tanned skin with a golden glow, giving a vibrant sheen to his tattoos.
He’s lying on his side, one thick arm disappearing beneath my pillow. The slack of his jaw deepens the contour of his cheekbones; the gentle rise and fall of his chest makes the serpent on his collar slither.
He looks so peaceful.
He looks so heartbreakingly handsome.
He looks like such a douche.
I draw back my foot and kick him in the shin.
His body moves before his eyes open, flipping me onto my back and coming down on top of me with a hot hiss.
“Did you just kick me?”
“You got lucky, I was aiming for your dick.”
He finally pops an eye open, pinning me with a bleary yet blistering glare. “Fuck was that for?”
“I’d give you three guesses, but all of them will probably be right.”
His frown softens when his gaze drops to my lips. He shifts his weight to cup my cheek with one hand, and lowers his mouth to mine. “Good morning to you too,” he murmurs, kissing me gently. “Let me get one kiss in before you bite my head off.”
Melting into the mattress is an involuntary reflex. So is the pathetic sigh that rises in my throat. Rafe takes it as permission to kiss me again. “All right, maybe two,” he says, scraping his teeth over my bottom lip.
I can feel him hardening against my inner thigh, and my nipples tighten in anticipation. We fucked last night—all night. A lot. On my now-broken sofa, in my too-small shower. With his lips against mine a novelty, and his silky sweet-nothings in my ear, I was weak-willed and pliable—the girl on the yacht who threw everything that wasn’t nailed down into the raging Pacific was nowhere to be seen. I bailed on work. I sent away pizza, for Christ’s sake.
Rafe’s kiss travels south and so does his hand, gripping the base of his erection and rubbing it along my slit. My eyes roll damn-near to the back of my head.
No.
I clamp my thighs shut. “Stop it,” I hiss, twisting to glare out the window. “I’m pissed at you.”
He holds my jaw in my place and dips to suck on a nipple. Fuck. “I know, baby,” he says, after a sloppy pop as his mouth releases my breast. “Let me make it up to you.”
My toes curl and my back arches. I clench my teeth together to stop myself from moaning. “Another orgasm isn’t going to cut it.”
He moves up to my throat again, smiling against it. “No? Then what do you want? Diamonds? A car? Two cars? An island, Queenie? A Birkin in every color? Fuck,” He licks the sensitive spot behind my ear. “I’ll give you the world in every color if you want it.”
I can’t help but grunt a noise of approval. It’s the hustler in me, I guess. “Yes.”
“Yes to what?”
“All of it.”
His chuckle vibrates against my pulse. “Deal.”
“And one more thing.”
“Anything, it’s yours.”
I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back. “I want you to leave.”
His stare is half-lidded and confused. “Leave what?”
“My bed. My apartment.” I swallow. “You’ve got to go.”
It takes Rafe three heavy seconds to register what I’m saying. When he does, he leans his weight on his palms and glares down at me. “What?”
I take advantage of the distance he put between us and escape, jumping out from underneath him and wrapping the bed sheet around myself. I run to the window, where I’m far enough away from him that those large hands and that expert tongue can’t sway my decision.
“What did you think was going to happen, Rafe? Did you think you could pop my front door off its hinges, lick my pussy, flash me those abs, and all would be forgiven? Over a tiny twist of fate? What type of sponge-brained idiot do you take me for?”
Sitting up on the corner of the bed now, he stares at me blankly. “Why did you fuck me last night then?”
“I was horny,” I snap back. When he frowns in confusion, I bite out a noise of frustration. “I don’t even know where to begin, honestly. Let’s start with the fact you own Sinners Anonymous. I’ve been confiding in that hotline every day since I was thirteen. It was my fucking diary, Rafe! When did you realize I was calling it?”
I tap my foot, waiting for a reply. Eventually, he palms his jaw and grinds out an answer. “After the thunderstorm in the phone booth. I reversed-called the number.”
I feel sick. I haven’t come to terms with the fact he’s behind the soothing robotic voice that has listened to me for all these years. Every time I let my brain go there, I squirm with embarrassment, thinking of all the cringy stuff he must have heard. I also feel stupid as hell; looking back, he’d dropped so many hints. He knew my favorite breakfast, the cocktail I like. That I can’t braid my own damn hair.
“A game is only fun when both people know they’re playing it. Anything else makes you an ass,” I grit out. “You had a million opportunities to tell me you owned it, but you didn’t. And when you did tell me, it was only for selfish reasons.” A fresh wave of anger burns the lining of my stomach. “And the way you told me? Jesus Christ, don’t even get me started.” I storm over to the dresser, snatch up the million-dollar check and wave it around. “What the fuck is this? I’ll tell you what it is; it’s a coward’s way out. You thought I’d take the money and run, and then you wouldn’t have to break it off with me. Newsflash—” I toss the check at his feet. “I’m still here!”
We both stare at the crumpled piece of paper on my carpet. I sweep it up and put it back on my dresser. I’m manic with anger, but I’m not stupid.
Sucking in a deep breath, I tighten the bed sheet around myself and try to steady my voice. “It’s crazy, actually. I’ve been ranting at you for five minutes, and yet I haven’t even touched on the fact you dangled me over the side of your yacht like a fucking fish on a line.”
We stare at each other, my glare hotter than hell, his unreadable. Eventually, he nods, dropping his elbows to his knees and rubbing his hands together.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” I whisper back.
His eyes flash. “Then what will be, Penny? Because one thing’s for sure; I’m not walking this earth without you.” He laughs bitterly, running a paw over his chest. “I tried it. Didn’t like it.”
Silence trickles down the walls like syrup. Suddenly, I realize something: I don’t know what I want from him. He doesn’t know what to give me. We’re just two idiots who don’t know how love works.
My throat feels like sandpaper. “Well, then. Figure it out.”
He groans, rolling his neck. “Rory didn’t tell me about this bit.”
“What?”
He rises to his feet, shaking his head. “Nothing, baby.”
I avert my eyes as he gets dressed, knowing that if I watch those biceps flex as he tightens his belt, I’ll be back face down on the bed, waving my ass in the air, and my monologue will have been pointless.
I follow him to the front door, which is flapping against the frame, thanks to his donkey kick. The only reason I haven’t been robbed is because two burly men stand outside it. My cheeks heat when I realize they definitely heard my entire outburst—and worse, me screaming Rafe’s name in a different way all night. But as we walk to the entryway, they politely turn away and stare at the walls.
Rafe turns, gripping the bed sheet and yanking me toward him before I can dodge his reach. When I try to twist my head, he cages my jaw with his hand and presses his mouth to mine. “I really am sorry, Queenie,” he murmurs in a way that makes my knees go jelly-like. “I’ll figure it out, I promise.”
I don’t dare breathe; I’m too scared something cute will come out. Instead, I fist the fabric at my sides, and watch him cross the threshold.
“Wait,” I blurt out.
He turns at the top of the stairs, hopeful eyes clashing with mine.
“Black.”
They narrow. “What?”
“That’s the color I want my Birkin.” I pause. “The first one.”
Then I slam my broken door shut.
