Chapter 9

Randi

“Stupid,” I hiss at my reflection in the mirror after swiping my hand over it to remove the condensation.

Not only am I wearing a pair of his sweats and his t-shirt, but I smell like his body wash and shampoo. Alone in the bathroom, I pull the fabric of his shirt to my nose and inhale him into my lungs.

Addiction. That’s exactly what he smells like. The throb between my legs doesn’t help either.

A knock on the door startles me, and I drop the soft material of his shirt as if I just got caught doing something I shouldn’t.

“Did you climb out the window?” There’s playfulness in his tone.

Opening the door, I look up at him. Fuck, he’s so tall and mesmerizing. “There’s not a window in that bathroom, Creeper.”

I know that for a fact because I checked when I first came in here and realized staying with him was a huge mistake.

I slide past him, noticing the bed linens have been changed.

“Clean sheets?” I smile at him over my shoulder, growing distracted when I find him leaning on the bathroom door frame with his legs crossed. It’s a casual pose, but the tension in his jaw and fire in his eyes betrays his desire. “What a gentleman.”

“Not really,” he replies, head shaking as if trying to break his trance, he shrugs as he walks across the room. “The last girl I had in here was a squirter.”

I chuckle, the nonchalance of his comment hitting me in an odd way. “I think I’ll sit in the chair instead.”

As I imagined he would, Jake grabs me by the hand when I try to slide past him to the armchair in the corner.

“Not a chance.” The warmth of his breath over my neck sets my senses on fire. “Get on the bed.”

“What do you have in mind?” Looking up at him, the sex kitten routine I can’t seem to turn off around him comes out full force.

“I can fuck you into a coma.”

My body is fully on board with that, but my head shakes, telling him no.

“You offered a movie,” I counter, but make no further move to sit in the chair.

“We can make our own movie,” he offers with a seductive smile and a lick of his lips that I feel between my legs.

“We’ve already done that tonight,” I remind him.

“Are you always so argumentative?”

“Only around you,” I confess as I climb into his bed on hands and knees. My body demands I be seductive, but I know my sweat-clad ass and baggy t-shirt leave much to be desired. Or so I think, but looking back at Jake once I’ve settled with my back against the headboard, he’s watching me like he wants to devour me. The heat in his eyes reflects the same need in mine.

Addictive.

The word has echoed in my mind more than a dozen times at the thought of him over the last week. I tried to fight against his suggestion of fucking only him, but I knew the second the offer was out of his mouth that it was exactly what I wanted too.

“So,” he says as he sits beside me, opting for the middle of the bed rather than leaving a foot of space between us. “I take it we’ll never agree on what movie to watch?”

“Probably not.”

Without another word, he holds out the remote. “Ladies choice then.”

I pull up the Netflix app on his TV and scan the suggestions.

“Netflix and chill?” Smiling at the humor in his voice I make a choice and hand him back the remote. “Frontier? Not at all what I expected.”

“Typecasting me already, Jake?”

The opening credits of the pilot begin to roll on the screen, the volume too low for us to really hear, but my eyes are on his face.

“I figured you more for a Notebook type of girl. Or maybe Pretty Woman?”

“Chick flicks?” I ask, ignoring the fact that he suggested a movie with a hooker in it. “I’m more of a blood and guts kind of girl. I want drama and action. Plus, this show has Jason Momoa in it.”

“Of course it does.” He leans to the left and places the remote on his bedside table. “So muscled-up, tattooed guys with long hair do it for you?”

His description is everything he isn’t. His muscles are lean rather than bulky, and his hair, although mussed and messy, is not overly long.

“I like all types.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He doesn’t bother to turn the volume up once the action starts on the screen, and I don’t make a move to suggest it. He surrounds me, the warmth of his body along my left side, the unbelievable spice of his cologne, the chemistry that’s buzzing around us like a tangible thing. There’s no sense in hearing the show because I can’t even concentrate on it.

“What would you have picked?” Small talk is ridiculous, but I want to hear his voice, want to interact with him.

“I’m halfway through season four of Shameless.”

“I loved that show,” I confess with a wide smile.

“Really?”

I nod. “Until Jimmy left in season five. Then I gave up on it.”

“Well, thanks for ruining it for me.” I look over and see the mirth on his face.

I roll my lips between my teeth before speaking. “I just saved you from heartache.”

“That you did Randi Simms.”

“Don’t,” I tell him.

“Don’t call you by your real name?” He wags his eyebrows at me. “I’ll tell you my real name.”

I hold my hand up before he can continue. “I don’t want to know your full name. That’s not who we are. I’m Cici to you; you’re Jake to me.”

“We’re hanging out and getting to know each other.”

“We’re hanging out, but getting to know each other wasn’t part of the deal. I’m here under duress as it is.”

I expect him to get angry. It’s what I’ve dealt with all my life when I disappoint people. I don’t expect violence, but the smile toying at his perfect lips is a contradiction to the irritation I expect to see.

“Duress? Baby, you can leave anytime you like.”

I huff. “I signed your contract.”

“And we both know that fucking contract carries no actual weight. It’s not like I could take you to court if you decided to no longer fuck me.”

“I gave you my word,” I say on a rush of air. The last thing I want is for him to back out.

“So no duress,” he explains. “You’re here because you want to be. Don’t fight it.”

His finger trails up my arm, forcing me to lift my hips to pull his covers back and slide under them.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” He rips off his t-shirt, tossing it carelessly to the floor. He shifts to join me under the blanket but I karate chop the top of the blanket.

“You stay up there, hands in your lap.”

“No fucking way,” he argues. “My bed, my rules.”

“You want to watch this show?” I angle my head toward the TV.

“No,” he responds instantly. “I want to fuck you.”

“You’re not fucking me again tonight.”

He tugs the blankets once more, and it’s obvious he’s turned playful once again because if he wanted under them, he’s perfectly capable of making it happen.

“Fine,” he concedes, a devious smile on his lips. “You can fuck me.”

His jeans are next to hit the floor, and I almost give in at the sight of his thick cock jutting toward the ceiling. The man has an uncanny ability to play my body like a fiddle, and orgasms are always the best gifts.

“Like what you see?” He shifts his hips back and forth, his cock forced to follow.

My mouth waters, and I have to question my sanity at being entertained by his brazenness. I’m a porn star for goodness sake, but that doesn’t keep my tongue in my mouth. Having a mind of its own, it sneaks out and sweeps the lower curve.

“Meh,” I answer when I regain some control. “I’d rather stare at Jason Momoa.”

I mentally give myself a gold star for the restraint.

“Well,” he says tugging on the blankets again. “At least let me under the covers. It’s cold as fuck out here.”

Frowning, I move my arms so he can slide in beside me. I shiver, even though it has nothing to do with the cool air that follows him under. The fabric of the sweats and t-shirt I’m wearing still separate us, but it’s as if I’m naked under here. Fuck focusing on the TV. It’s an impossibility at this point.

“Want a beer?” he offers.

“No thanks.”

The second he relaxes, his body finally settling against mine, I regret not picking a horror movie. Even a thriller would’ve made it plausible that I could wrap my arms around him and pretend to be scared.

***

Cursing my life, just like I do every morning, I clench my eyes closed against the bright sunlight filtering in through the window. It only takes a brief second before I realize I’m not in my condo, and a second more to understand that the heat at my back isn’t Havoc.

I take inventory of my body. Jake is behind me, lined up from shoulder to ankle. Two things strike me as odd. One, I’m no longer on the right side of the bed. In the night, I didn’t scoot away from him until I was nearly hanging off the edge. Two, I’ve actually moved backward, lying in the spot he was sitting in last night.

He holds me tighter when I try to move away, and I tell myself that I wasn’t the one to close the distance between us last night. He was the one to pull me toward him. Somehow, this knowledge makes up for the fact that I crashed in his bed.

Using my better judgment for the first time around him, I inch away. Even though the hard dick against my ass is a tantalizing tease, I climb out of the bed, grateful when he doesn’t wake.

I grab my clothes from last night out of his bathroom, holding my heels in my hands and get the hell out of there. Running away this time is easier because I know I’ll see him again. We signed contracts and all.

“Sexiest walk of shame I’ve ever seen,” a guy says from the living room as I make my way to the door.

Looking back, I see Hunter lounged back on the sofa. The peacock masterpiece that decorated his eyes last night is nothing more than smears down his cheeks this morning.

“Morning,” I say with a quick look back up the stairs. “He’s still asleep.”

“Don’t worry about Jake. You leaving before he wakes up just keeps me from having to go up and shoo you out.”

I chuckle. “Cleanup crew?”

He smiles wide. “Have been for years. Girls get a taste of him, and they’re addicted.”

Eyes narrowing, he waits for me to agree with him, to prove him right. I would never confess such a thing, even if my body is telling me to squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache.

“Those chicks need to get out more often.” His grin grows. “There’s much better dick around here than Jake’s.”

“I bet,” he says with a wave when I open the front door. “See you around, Cici.”

“No more than twelve times,” I mutter to myself as I climb down the front steps.

Eleven, I recount in my head. Fuck him if he doesn’t count last night as one of the times we hung out. I can argue about the sex last night, but I know he has me on that since we fucked before I signed.

I climb in my Range Rover and drive away, praying Havoc didn’t destroy my condo last night while I was gone.