Page 26 of Bourbon Deceit
I didn’t want to disappoint Jett at all, but I also wasn’t feeling like playing around. I needed human comfort, I needed to know that even though I wasn’t the most dignified lady on the block, I was still his first choice, that I was good enough for him.
He turned toward the bathroom and held on to the doorframe with his head hung low. What the fuck did I do? Did I insult him?
I grabbed the robe at the end of my bed, wrapped it around my shoulders, and cinched the belt at my waist. I tiptoed across the plush carpet and stood behind Jett. My hand reached out to him, but then I pulled back because I had no clue what to do or say. With one simple word did I just ruin everything I’d built up between myself and this delicious man?
With courage, I lifted my hand back up and gently touched his back. He stiffened under my touch and turned around. When he looked down at me, the moon shined on his face so I was able to see that for once, he showed an emotion, and it was an emotion I didn’t want to see because the pained look on his face just absolutely devastated me.
He pulled my hand to make me come closer and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his strong body against mine. He lifted one hand to my face and cupped it as he said, “Please, little one, please tell me what I did wrong.”
So he wasn’t angry with me . . . he was sorry, concerned. Would I ever be able to read him properly?
I thought about my needs, but how did I explain to a man who was practically emotionally unavailable that I needed to be held, to be touched in a way that only a lover could, that I wanted him but I didn’t want the Bourbon Room, the one thing that was non-negotiable. It’s not like I didn’t always want the Bourbon Room, I just needed Jett, the man Jett, not the dominant Jett.
Taking a deep breath, I responded. “It’s nothing you did, it’s just something I need.”
“What do you need?” he asked as he searched my eyes.
“I need you, Jett.”
Slight confusion crossed his face. The minute his body language stiffened, I knew he understood what I meant, and my heart started tumbling down.
He stepped away from me and said, “You know I can’t give you that, Lo.”
I hated it when he called me Lo, it seemed so formal. I liked it at first but now I hated it because I knew that when we were intimate, when he was pleased with me, he called me Goldie or little one, but Lo, that was reserved for everyone in the Lafayette Club, it was reserved for when Jett closed me off and it irritated me.
Growing frustrated from my feelings, I took off my robe, tossed it to the side, and got into my bed. I turned onto my side like a very mature person—not—and pulled the covers over my body.
Over my shoulder, I called out, “Make sure to shut the door on your way out.”
“Lo—”
“Don’t,” I said, holding back all the emotions that threatened to bubble over. I wasn’t good at handling my emotions and right now it was showing. “I get it, all right? I know you don’t do attachment but sometimes a girl just needs to be held, not brought up to the Bourbon Room to be twisted, tied up, spread out, and fucked.”
There was no response. I was almost positive he’d left until I heard the clunk of shoes on the floor and a wave of cold air hit my skin as the blanket was lifted.
Jett’s hard body pressed against my back and his arms wrapped around my naked torso. Was this really happening? Was I really being held by him? Was he really nestling his head into my hair?
“I don’t . . . do this,” he whispered into my ear, sending chills all over my damn body. All the tension and frustration evaporated the minute Jett slid in behind me and held on tight. A small smile spread across my face and I could feel my body melt into his.
“Well you’re fucking fantastic at it, because I’m pretty sure my little clitty poo is drowning.”
“Don’t fucking call it that,” he breathed into my ear. I was almost positive I heard him laugh, but I could have been mistaken.
His hand inched up between my breasts, not in a sexual way, but as a comforting gesture. He pulled me in tighter and spoke directly in my ear.
“Remember when you came up to the Bourbon Room for the first time?”
“Yes.” I wished Miss Mary could have heard me answer properly; one day of training was wearing off on me already.
“Remember how I told you I would never do anything you didn’t want?” I just nodded, now feeling out of breath from the way his voice caressed my skin. “Well, it’s true. I never want to do anything to displease you, to make you uncomfortable, or to make you say your safe word. I’m sorry that I can’t be the man you need. I’ve been . . .” He paused and my heart ripped out for him. “God, Goldie, you make me say things I never dreamt I’d say to another person, but the moment you said your safe word, I thought my chest was going to explode. I hate that I did that to you. I’m sorry.”
Well, now I felt like an ass. It wasn’t like he was pinching my nipples to the point of them falling off, I just didn’t want to go upstairs with him. Fuck me.
“I’m sorry, Jett. I just didn’t—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted me and pulled me in even closer. “When you first came here, Kace told me you were different, that you needed more than a physical connection, that you needed an emotional one, and I knew that going into this. I just chose to ignore it because I’m a selfish prick, but I can see he was right, you do need that aspect of being with someone. I don’t do emotions. I’m a fucked-up bastard who has a problem with showing his emotions for many reasons that I won’t get into, so it’s hard for me to give you what you need. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to . . .” his voice trailed.
We both lay on my bed in silence as we thought about what was transpiring between us. I could feel him pulling away from me, not physically—no, he had a death grip on my torso—but mentally, he was checking out, and it scared the shit out of me.
