Page 31 of Craving Her
“Those are your only choices, Peaches. If you can wear Heavy’s shirt, then you sure as fuck can wear mine.”
“I don’t think?—”
“And if you ever put another man’s clothes on again, you better be prepared for the hell you unleash, baby girl, because I can promise you it will be coming your way.”
“Shouldn’t I go to a room by myself so Debbie can kiss your wounds? After all, she knows how to give it to you, right? She’s had plenty of experience.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work any longer.”
“And why is that?” she huffs.
“She’s most likely terrified to get around me because my old lady warned her away from me.”
“I did not and I’m not your old lady.” Skylar scrunches up her nose in disgust and I don’t know why I find it so cute, but fuck, I do. I push my pants down and hop on the bed, lying back on the pillow.
“What are you doing?” she cries, scurrying to the edge of the king-sized bed. For a second, I’m scared she might fall off the damn thing.
I spread the dishtowel over my aching groin. My cock, even in pain, with my balls feeling like they would feel better if I cut the fuckers off—is still partially hard. I move it around, so the length is hidden under the towel. “Fuck,” I hiss out as the cold seeps through.
“Get over yourself, Skylar. You made sure I couldn’t give you what we both want tonight. Your virginity is safe—at least for tonight. Now, go get a damn T-shirt on, or I might try to fuck you, even if my balls feel like they will never be the same.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, making my lips twitch as I bite back my laughter. She slides off the bed and practically sprints over to my closet. Half-closing the door, she hides behind it. When she comes out, she’s wearing one of my gray thermal shirts. It falls just an inch or two above her knees. She rolls up the sleeves, studiously ignoring me. Once she gets that done, she goes to the small chest in the corner of the room.
“My room had a bathroom attached,” she complains.
“Sorry, I’m not biker royalty. You’ll have to rough it with me, Peaches.”
She takes out a pair of boxers and some pajama pants that are red and black checked.Who the fuck would wear something like that?
“I don’t wear boxers or pajama pants,” I growl.
“Whose are these, then?”
“No fucking clue. Whoever uses this room when I’m not in town, I guess.”
She brings the clothes to her nose and inhales. I frown, suddenly pissed off because she’s smelling some other man’s clothes. This woman is making me crazy. “Oh well, they’re clean.” She tosses the pajamas at me. They land down at my feet. “Put them on.”
“Not happening. First of all, I’m in too much pain. Second, I ain’t wearing anything that looks like it should be on that TV show with the girls running across a field.”
Her forehead curls up as she thinks about what I just said. She shakes her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Some damn show that looks like it was set in the eighteen hundreds. The father would wear those kinds of pants.”
“Eighteen hundreds?” she blinks.
“Yeah, he called his daughter half-wit or something.”
“Are you talking aboutLittle House on the Prairie?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I answer with a shrug. “Now, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to put these on.”
“You arenotwearing another man’s boxers, Skylar.”
“Joker! I am.”
“You’re supposed to call me, Torin. You’re the only one that’s supposed to call me that,” I argue.