CHAPTER NINETEEN
I frankly can’t believe she agreed to come to my house. Either she really trusts me, or she really trusts herself. I’m not sure which. I order pizza and pick it up on the way to my place, so she won’t have to wait any longer to eat. I’m starving, too.
Pulling through the gate in front of my home, the gas lanterns light the way. I probably worked on this place as much as I have The Kingston. It was a wreck when I bought it, but slowly it’s come back to life.
Sutton leans forward, her hands on the dash of my car. “The hotel must do well.”
“I do alright.”
“Modesty doesn’t suit you,” she says.
Chuckling, I say, “You should follow my advice about your hotel, then.”
I park the car and get her door, holding the pizza in one hand and my keys in the other. She takes the pizza from me and takes a big whiff. “It smells so good.”
I lead her inside, straight to the kitchen island, where I always eat. The life of a bachelor, I guess. Eating pizza in the dining room—a room I’ve hardly stepped foot in—doesn’t seem to fit the occasion. Besides, Sutton said she likes simple things.
She glances around, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she not like the gray cabinets or marble countertops? Granted, that wasn’t a practical decision for a kitchen, but it’s not like I’ve got kids to stain anything.
“I’ll show you around later, but first, eat,” I say. It comes out bossy, like an order. Two seconds in my house, on my turf, and I’ve already turned into my dominant bedroom personality, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She lifts the lid on the pizza box and picks up a slice, not waiting for a plate, napkin, or anything. Her eyes roll back slightly, and she licks her lips.
Damn, I’m in big trouble with my diet.
Reaching into the cabinet, I grab two plastic cups. Every New Orleanian has them. In fact, we live to catch these during Mardi Gras season. Catching plastic Mardi Gras cups at parades is like catching gold. Second guessing my cup decision, I put them back and grab two actual glasses. I pour her a glass of soda and get plates and napkins for us. By the time I sit down, she’s on her second slice.
“I figured I’ve already bumped into you, had food dropped on me, and made weird body noises, so pigging out on the pizza shouldn’t be embarrassing.”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed with me,” I say, taking two slices and placing them on top of one another, then biting off a huge mouthful.
She busts out laughing and pecks me on the lips, my mouth still full of food. “And the plastic cup would have been just fine,” she says.
This is so different from anything I’d ever done before. I don’t usually just hang out at home with my girlfriends, but I have no urge to go to the bar, to attend the latest art gallery opening, or charity event. This is much better. Of course, I always knew where those evenings would end up—in my bed, but I have no idea where this night is going.
She puts down the crust of her second slice. “I’m stuffed.”
“Light weight.”
“I had all that soda, too,” she says. “All I need now are my PJ’s.”
Note to self: order her pajamas to keep here. I point to a back staircase. “Up the stairs, first door on the right. Dig in my dresser or closet for something to put on.” She’s smiling, but her forehead wrinkles up. Not sure what to make of it—happy, confused, both?
“You do realize I’m not here to stay the night with you,” she says.
“You want to be comfortable, and I don’t have women’s pajamas laying around, so I’m offering you my stuff. Take it at that, and don’t overthink it.”
She bites her bottom lip. “And you’d let me just rummage through your things?”
“They’re just things.”
She gives me a strange look then walks up the stairs. I finish eating and clean up. She was right. The pizza was delicious and hit the spot. But what are we going to do now? She’s made it clear that tonight is not about sex, but I’m not quite sure what to do with her here. I can show her around, but then what? If we aren’t going to have sex for the next couple of hours, I don’t know what the hell to do.
I walk upstairs to my bedroom, the door about halfway open. I’ve had lots of women in this room. My stomach twists slightly. Is Sutton thinking about that?
I catch a glimpse of her, wearing one of my button-down shirts—my favorite one. It’s all broken in, and the cotton is soft—not starchy or stiff. It hangs down to her mid-thigh, and the sleeves are so long I can barely see her fingers. She lifts her arm to her nose and inhales deeply, trying to see if the shirt smells like me. Her lip pouts a little. She looks around, and I tilt my head to watch her walk into my bathroom and grab my shampoo out of the shower. She lifts it to her nose.
Her eyes lift, catching me watching her, and she slams the cap closed quickly, putting the bottle back. “I was just . . .”
“Smelling my stuff,” I say, pushing the door all the way open. “Do I stink or something?”
She meets me at the threshold of my bedroom door. I can’t be in there with her. The bed is too close. She whispers, “No, you smell good. I was wondering what it was from.”
I slide my arms around her waist, pulling her into my hips. “How do I smell?” She leans into my neck, her warm breath making my dick heavy. I really want this woman.
“Fresh, but?” Her mouth grazes my ear. “There’s a hint of something else.”
“You like that smell?” I ask, capturing her wrists and holding them behind her back.
“It does things to me. Things I’m not used to.”
“Tell me.”
“It makes my heart beat faster.”
I push her up against the wall and run my tongue across her neck. “What else?”
“Pierce?”
“Tell me, Sutton.”
“Pressure,” she whispers.
Grinning, I kiss her neck. She is a good girl. That is the nicest way possible to describe what I know she’s feeling. “An ache?”
“Umm, yes,” she moans. “A good one.”
“Where?”
“Between my legs.”
I move to the other side of her neck. “Your pussy aches for me?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she says.
“Say it,” I say. She shakes her head, and I pin her arms above her head and lock my eyes on hers. “Tell me.”
“My . . . I ache for you.”
Okay, so she didn’t really say it, but I’ll let it pass. Close enough. I release her arms and push my body into hers. “I ache for you, too,” I say, running my fingers up the outside of her thighs. A small smile comes over her lips. She likes dirty talk. Good thing that’s my second language.
I’m getting ready to break a lot of Dr. Lorraine’s rules here. “Tell me what you want.”
“I won’t have sex with you.”
I shake my head at her and say, “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to touch me.”
“Where?”
She reaches down and guides my hand between her legs. “Right, oh God, right there.”
I can feel how wet she is through her panties. They’re soaking, and she’s so warm and inviting. I could live between her legs. I just know I could. Pressing down, I make circles with my fingers, her hands gripping my shoulders. I move my finger underneath her panties, and she starts to pant harder.
“Pierce,” she groans.
“Tell me, baby, tell me exactly what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
I try not to laugh, but she’s so damn cute and needy in my hands. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want it all,” she says, losing all control and tugging at my zipper.
Fuck! I push her into my bedroom and down on the bed, our clothes half on, half off. Leaning over her, my tip at her entrance, she’s open and warm, waiting for me. Fuck, I threw out all my condoms, under doctor’s orders. Commando? Just this once!
Her body tenses. My eyes fly to hers, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. I know she isn’t so sure about this anymore. I know I could convince her, make her forget all her doubts, but I also know she’d regret it tomorrow.
I lean back on my heels, my dick yelling at me, and run my fingers through my hair in agitation before zipping up. I don’t want to be a mistake to her. “I’m sorry.”
She sits up and covers herself, tears rolling down her cheeks. “This was all my fault,” she says, leaping out of the bed.
Capturing her by the waist, I say, “No, it was mine.”
“Then why’d you stop?” she sobs.
“Because I knew you weren’t sure.”
“Now I’m a tease,” she says, grabbing her clothes and heading out of the bedroom. “I want to go home.”
“Please stay,” I say.
“I need to go.”
“Why?”
“I’m embarrassed. And your penis is pointing at me, and I’m all . . .” She waves her hands in the air.
“Pent up?”
“Yes,” she screams. “I need to go. If I stay here, then I’ll do something I’ll regret. It’s too soon.”
“Do you masturbate?”
“What kind of question is that?” she cries.
“A normal one. Do you?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Look, you’re right. If you stay, in five minutes we’ll be right back on that bed.”
“That’s why I’m going.”
“Get in bed,” I say firmly.
“What?” she asks.
“Get in bed under the covers.”
“Why?”
I step toward her. “In bed.”
She huffs but climbs into the bed, pulling the covers all the way to her neck. “Okay, I’m in bed.”
Reaching under the covers, I find her hand, guiding it down between her legs. Her eyes roll back. “I’ll be next door.”
“What?”
I guide her hand back. “Do what you need to do, and I’m going to do the same. Then we can spend the rest of the night together with less sexual tension.” A holdover! Dr. Lorraine will be proud, using my abilities for good instead of evil.
“You want me to masturbate in your bed?” she asks, unable to hide the shock in her voice.
“It would make me happy if you did.” I lean over and kiss her lips tenderly. “I won’t change the sheets ever again.”
“You don’t have cameras in here or anything?” she asks, looking around.
I laugh, heading for the door. “No, but I’d love to watch you sometime.”
“Would you let me watch you?” she asks quietly.
This girl is liable to kill me. I don’t turn back. “I’d let you do anything you wanted.”
*
It takes me all of a minute and a half to get off, but Sutton is still upstairs. It’s been fifteen minutes now. I wonder if she’s taking longer because she’s embarrassed, or maybe she’s snuck out and gone home, thinking I’m a pervert. I walk upstairs and see her closing my bedroom door softly behind her. She turns, her cheeks still pink. She’s done it, in my bed. Her blue eyes meet mine.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, and I smirk. “I mean it! No talking about it.”
Laughing, I say, “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it, but I thought about you the whole time.”
She giggles and shakes her head at me. “I thought about you, too.” She steps closer and takes my hand. “Thank you for stopping. For recognizing my uncertainty and not taking advantage. I know a lot of guys would’ve tried to convince me, like it was some sort of challenge, but you didn’t.”
“And had you cry after or regret it?” I shake my head. “That’s not what I want.”
“I can’t quite figure you out.”
“I’m trying to figure my own shit out,” I say.
“What, exactly?” she asks.
I really don’t want to tell her. She’s heard rumors about me, but telling her I’m in court-mandated therapy with a crazy shrink for being caught up in a prostitution scandal is a whole other realm of shit. I take her downstairs into the living room. If she’s going to bolt, I’ll make the escape easier on her.
I tell her the truth about Daphne, my past relationships, the therapy, Dr. Lorraine’s sex diet, how many times I’ve failed. The whole shit pot. These truths are easier to tell than some of the others in my life. Those will stay hidden.
“So that’s it. My therapist thinks it would be helpful not to have sex for a month, but she wants me to date, just keep things PG for now. Today is day two of the month. I’ve got a long way to go, and she might make me start over because of what happened upstairs.”
“You’ll tell her?”
“She’ll just know. She can read me like a book.”
Sutton inches closer to me. “So you’re telling me that no matter what I do, no matter how much I beg, you can’t have sex with me for twenty-eight more days.”
I swallow hard. She seems to enjoy this idea a little too much. “Yes, but as you saw upstairs, I’m a weak man.”
She smiles. “You stopped.”
She has a point. I did stop—for her. I doubt there’s much I wouldn’t do for her. “I guess I did.”
She looks up at me from under her lashes. “I really like this.”
“Why? It seems like torture.”
“No, it means I can trust you. Not to take advantage, not to be with other women. It means we can really get to know each other without sex getting in the way.”
Holy hell—so that’s what Dr. Lorraine is doing. I’ve never been able to figure out the purpose of the sex diet, and Sutton has done it in two seconds. I reach out, slipping my hand over hers as she chews on her bottom lip.
“That was a lot to hear,” she says. “I mean, just a few days ago you were with two . . .”
“You and I were not together,” I say, and her eyes narrow. If looks could kill, I’d be very dead. “I just mean, I don’t cheat.”
“You’ve had open relationships. Isn’t that by nature cheating?”
“No. It’s the opposite.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Yes, it’s sexually open. But more than that, it means I’m open with the woman I’m with. I’d always tell her. That’s the only way it would work.”
“Doesn’t seem to be working very well for you,” she snarks.
“I guess you’re right,” I move a little closer to her. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater. Never a cheater. One thing I never wanted to be was like my father. I watched my mom be the ‘other woman’ for years. I’d never do that to any woman.”
Slowly, she rests her head on my shoulder, that little bit of honesty from me easing her mind. I wrap my arms around her, holding her for a few minutes, knowing already I’m in big trouble with this woman, and for once I can’t solely blame it on my cock. I suspect my heart has something to do with it as well.
“You can trust me, but try not to tempt me too much,” I say.
With a huge smile, she says, “This is going to be too much fun.”
“Tease!”
Walking her fingers up my abs and chest, she says, “Something tells me you like being teased.”
“Something tells me I’d like most anything you do.” I pull her close. “But I might need to call beat-off timeouts.”
She lowers her head into my chest, laughing so hard that her entire body is shaking in my arms. “Sutton,” I whisper. “I’ve hurt every woman I’ve been with.” It’s never intentional, but it always seems to happen. She looks up at me with those big blue eyes. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“I really don’t want to be hurt again,” she whispers.
“Who hurt you?”
She turns away from me, twirling her hair. “I guess it’s only fair I tell you about my past.”
“Don’t tell me to be fair. Tell me because you want to.”
“I was engaged. I called it off two weeks before the wedding.”
I pull her into my lap, cradling her into my chest. “There’s more to it than that.”
She looks down at her hands. “You’re going to run screaming for the hills.”
She just listened to all my sexual escapades and stayed put. What could be so bad that she thinks I won’t want her anymore? “Sutton?”
She gets up off my lap and moves over, pulling her legs up and covering them with my shirt. “On paper, he looked perfect. Handsome, good job, good family. We were college sweethearts. We even agreed to wait until our wedding night.”
“How long were you together?”
“Three years,” she says. “But as the wedding got closer, I started to panic. I was about to marry this man and vow to stay with him forever and had never made love to him. It scared me. It was like buying a car without test-driving it. You know?”
I nod, having no idea where this is going or why she thinks this story will upset me. “I understand. You wanted to have sex with him before you committed your life to him.”
“So two weeks or so before the wedding, we were at his apartment. I told him I didn’t want to wait until the wedding, and we had sex.”
“I guess it wasn’t good since you didn’t marry him.” Is this why she’s upset? She thinks I’ll think she’s a terrible person for not marrying someone over bad sex?
“No, it was sweet. I mean, he was sweet and patient and took his time making sure I was alright. I didn’t finish. I was too nervous, but I knew it wouldn’t be a problem. I knew he’d be a good lover.”
My skin starts to crawl. I hate this, hate it. Hate another man knowing her like that, the way I want to know her. She looks down at my clenched fists, obviously regretting sharing that. Wanting to reassure her, I take both her hands in mine, giving her a squeeze. “So why didn’t you marry him?” I ask.
“I woke up the next morning. I could hear him in the kitchen making me breakfast. I was so relieved and happy and wanted to do it again, but I remembered some girls talking about how your first time can make you sore, so I got up and went into his bathroom to look for some aspirin. I opened his medicine cabinet, and there was a box of condoms inside. I grabbed the box thinking I’d spread them out on the nightstand and when he came back in, I’d tell him I wanted to spend the day in bed using the whole box of twelve. Well, eleven then.”
This girl is perfect for me.
“Only,” she says, starting to cry, “only there weren’t eleven condoms inside. There were only five.”
“Shit.”
“He came back in, and I was standing naked in the middle of his bedroom holding the box in one hand and the condoms in the other. As soon as I saw him, I knew.”
“Oh, Sutton.” I reach out and stroke her arms.
“He tried to lie and tell me he had been practicing putting them on, so he wouldn’t mess up on our honeymoon. Then he tried to tell me that some guys got laid at his bachelor party, and they were left over.”
“Sounds like some bullshit. What’s the truth?”
“He’d been cheating on me almost our whole relationship. Randoms, a stripper at his bachelor party, even one of my friends.” She gets up off the sofa and paces a little circle. “He actually tried to convince me it was a good thing. That he had experience and knew how to be with me.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” I say. “So this is why you don’t date a man more than a month?”
“Yeah. I saw what my mom did to my dad. What she did to me. It’s not how much you love someone. It’s how much they love you that matters. And I’m tired of loving people more than they love me.”
Something about that hits my chest hard. I watched my mom love my dad like that. It destroyed her. Then there are all the women that have loved me, and I’ve walked away so easily.
“I called off the wedding, got an STD test, just to be extra careful. It was horrifying. Thank God he didn’t give me anything or get me pregnant.”
“Thank God for condoms and vasectomies.” No sooner were the words out than I realize how shitty that sounded. “I just meant . . .”
“I know what you meant,” she says then heads for the front door.
“Wait!”
“Why?”
I’m not sure what to say. I know I don’t want her to go, but I don’t quite know why. I know we aren’t having sex, but I still want her with me. “I’m not him. I would never hurt you like that.”
“But you did,” she says. “I know we weren’t together. But it still hurt.”
“And you’re still here,” I say, hoping she’s not regretting her decision to give me a chance.
“You don’t pretend to be perfect. That’s what made me give you a chance.” She looks toward the door. “I just forgot for a while how bad this could hurt. This isn’t going to work. It can’t.”
“Why not?”
She waves her hands in the air. “You’re all . . .”
“What? I’m all what?”
“Sex god-like.”
I start laughing. “Sex god. You think I’m a sex god?”
“Yes, and I’m all . . .”
It hits me what she’s trying to say. That was the only time she’s had sex. I was intimidating her without even knowing it. But the fact that she doesn’t have experience doesn’t bother me, it makes me want her more. I’ve seen those playrooms in her hotel, the way she moves, talks, kisses—she’s got a dirty side. She’s just picky about who she shares it with, and that’s perfectly fine with me.
“A good girl?” I say, and she nods. “A good girl who builds playrooms in her hotel and masturbates in the bed of a man she barely knows?” A smile creeps over her lips. “I know you have a naughty side.”
“I do,” she whispers.
“And I’m not worried about how much or how little experience you have,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not worried about mine. You accepted me, everything I told you.”
“Really?”
“Turn around,” I tell her. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”
She does. For some reason, this girl trusts me. I step up behind her, and her back arches, her ass pushes against me—presenting herself. I run my fingers down her spine. “You see that?”
She looks back at me. “Your body knows just what to do. Just what I want you to do.”
She presses against me and asks, “You’d like to have me like this?”
“I’d like to have you any and every way. The question is, would you like it like this?”
She nods.
“Tell me why?”
“Because you could touch me while you were inside me.”
I step away, and she turns around. Reaching for her cheek, I say, “I’m not worried at all. There is no way you could disappoint me.” She kisses me tenderly on the lips, and I catch her chin and lock eyes with her. “My dick is going to give you your first sex orgasm.”
“Twenty-seven days,” she whispers.