Page 62 of Wicked Player
Chapter Twenty-One
“Morning, sunshine.”
The first thing I see when I wake is Colton’s face. The events of the previous night flash before me; the party, Sarah’s words, the bus, and the spectacular sex.
“You want breakfast?”
I sit up swiftly, wrapping myself in the duvet. Suddenly I’m shy. “What time is it?”
“It’s about nine o’clock,” he tells me. “You lazy bum.”
I jerk up. “I gotta go,” I snap. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”
“You looked so peaceful and beautiful.”
“You need to leave the room,” I tell him. “I need to get dressed."
He laughs. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen, baby. In fact, it’s nothing I haven’t licked.”
“Leave me, please,” I ask a little more firmly.
“Oh, you’re one of those,” he quips. “The shy type.”
I really don’t have time for this. “Get the fuck out, please.”
He jerks back, surprised.
“I said please,” I say with a smirk.
He leaves quietly. I’m a bit saddened as I slip on my dress and hunt for my granny panties and my Spanx. My garter is nowhere in sight, and I can only find one stocking. The morning after is definitely not heaven. But that orgasm though… I will myself to not think about it as I search for my belongings.
Finally, following an eternity, after I’ve whipped the cover off of the bed, I’ve got everything. I stuff the stockings, Spanx and garter in my purse, and grab my heels. I call an Uber and Nicole to let her know I’ll be there soon. I make a quick pit-stop at the washroom to pee and clean my face.
I decide to be polite and act professionally. He is paying me a lot of money, and deserves my respect. Yes, he’s a player, but that is his prerogative. It’s not a crime, despite the many people it hurts. Perhaps it should be considered a crime. Imagine if a man could get arrested for breaking hearts. He’d probably be serving life in prison.
I find him in the kitchen, cooking eggs. “You want one?”
“No, thank you,” I say sweetly. “I’m sorry but I really need to go. I need to get back to Christian. You understand, don’t you?” He can’t possibly argue with that, and he doesn’t.
“I had a great time,” he says. “I hope you did too.”
I smile up at him. “I did. It was great. Thank you.” I don’t mention the money. I know he’s good for it. And it would be gauche to mention it. “You throw a great party, and you can sure show a woman a good time in bed.”
He smiles. “Best orgasm you’ve ever had… yes, I remember.”
I blush crimson. “Yes… well…”
He reaches for a strand of my messy hair. “Let’s do it again soon. Please.”
Yes, let’s. Let’s do it again and again. Until the day you get sick of me, and break my heart.
I back away slowly, and as I do, I study him. Could he really be everything Sarah said he was? A narcissist? A sadist? A mysoginist? He looks so harmless, standing over his stove, cooking up an omelet, all smiles. I see a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly. But perhaps he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I wave as I head out of his huge kitchen. I’ve almost completely disappeared when he asks me,“You have a ride?”
Sadness traces his features as he offers to drive me.
“I already called an Uber. Thanks,” I tell him, and I’m out of sight the next second.
