Page 51 of Hold You Close
The water drips down, washing away what just happened. I feel dirty, used, and yet I keep hearing myself begging him to go further, deeper, harder. There was no denying how much I wanted him. The feel of his hands on my body was everything I remembered and more.
But I’m a total idiot if I think there won’t be any fallout after what just happened.
God, I could use a phone call with Sabrina right now.
Once I’m all clean, I get dressed and head out to the deck with my coffee. I look at his house, wondering what he’s doing and if he feels half as conflicted as I do.
I curl up on the outdoor couch, pulling the blanket snugly around me, and lean my head back.
Next thing I know, I hear screaming and jolt off the couch.
“Chris! Give it back!” Morgan screams.
Shit. I fell asleep.
“Say you’re sorry!” Christopher yells back at her, holding her backpack over the pool.
“No!”
“I’ll drop it!”
Morgan tries to grab at it.
“Christopher!” I yell his name, but before he can respond, Ian exits the house.
Ruby is on his hip, and he marches right towards his nephew. Ian rips the backpack out of Christopher’s hands, tosses it to Morgan, and then shoves Chris in the pool.
“Ian!” I call out without thinking.
Our eyes meet across the yard and my stomach drops. He looks angry. Really fucking angry. He also doesn’t have a shirt on and looks ridiculously hot.
Great. I need this like a hole in the head.
I lift my hand tentatively, not wanting to be un-neighborly after fucking each other’s brains out.
Does the bastard wave back?
Nope.
He flips me off like the immature jackass he is.
“Real nice, Ian.” I lift my mug instead of the finger I’d like to send his way. “I’m glad to see you have the morning routine down pat! You’re doing great there, huh?”
He shakes his head and walks back inside his fortress.
I stand here for a second, fighting back the urge to march over there and beat some sense into him. How dare he treat me like I’m the bad guy? I didn’t crawl on top of him. I didn’t lie in his bed and give him any indication that I wanted to have sex.
I was just fine on the damn couch.
He picked me up.
He carried me.
He touched me, made me beg for his cock, and then I begged for it . . .
Ugh.
I head inside, slamming the door behind me. Only that man can make me this angry. I swear, I’m the most even-tempered and level-headed person unless I’m around Ian Chase.
