Page 63 of By His Vow
“Do it. All of it. Please.”
I wake with a start, my heart racing and my entire body covered in a layer of sweat.
My core aches, my clit pounding.
“Kingston,” I whisper. “Please.” The words spill from my lips without instruction from my brain. My body has taken on a life of its own.
I need him. I need him to continue, to give me the release my body is so desperate for after his teasing.
It was bad enough dancing together and feeling his excitement pressed against my ass. But seeing him in that towel, feeling the heat of his body looming over me, his hot breath rushing over my skin…
“King?” I call a little louder when I get no response. “KC?”
Ripping my eyes open—a fucking challenge, seeing as my mascara has turned into superglue—I search the room around me for him.
“Shit,” I hiss, closing my eyes again and falling back onto the bed.
Grabbing a pillow from the other side of the bed, I pull it over my head and try to figure out what the fuck is going on.
He was here. I know he was.
There’s no way I made all of that up.
I wasn’t that drunk…
Was I?
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to make sense of what actually happened last night and what was a figment of my horny, overactive imagination.
I remember dancing, but that was with Cory. But I remember turning around and staring up into an angry pair of green eyes. Eyes that sent a shiver down to the tips of my toes.
I remember getting in a car and taillights. Lots and lots of taillights.
I remember him.
Inches and inches of bare skin wet from the shower. I remember the scent of his aftershave filling my nose. Hell, I can still smell it. If I didn’t already know that I was in the room alone, I would be convinced he’s still here.
Pulling the pillow from my head, I look at the other side of the bed, trying to figure out if he slept here with me.
He was here with me. I know he was.
It wouldn’t be my first salacious dream about my brother’s best friend, and something tells me that it won’t be the last.
Throwing the pillow down, I groan, frustrated with myself for getting so drunk that I don’t remember details from the night before.
My need for the bathroom effectively pauses my pity party for one, and I reluctantly swing my legs out of the bed.
My toes sink into the thick, soft carpet and I groan.
I don’t need to look around to discover where I am.
It’s the confirmation I need to know I left with him.
I left the club with Kingston Callahan, and he was so ashamed that he dumped me at one of his hotels and took off. I knew I meant nothing to him. But being beneath his hookups is a whole new low. It stings.
He takes woman after woman back to his bed. They’re allowed in his inner sanctuary, even if it is for a few pleasure-filled hours. And here I am, about to marry the asshole, and I get dumped here like I’m some kind of hooker he’s trying to hide from the world.
I pad through to the bathroom, and it’s not until I’m sitting on the toilet that I look around.