Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(8)

I keep on nodding as my face burns.

“Lucy?”

I manage a shaky breath as full awareness pours over me. I blink around the room. It’s empty now, just him and me.

His hand cups my elbow, drawing my attention to the thickness of his forearm. “Hey… You okay?”

My eyes rise up to his. I nod. How bad was I freaking out when I first burst in here? My cheeks sting as I realize how embarrassed I should be. I walked in on a threesome. Interrupted them with my hysterics.

Tears prickle my eyes. I blink quickly on a deep breath. “Fine.” I give another sharp nod.

He nods slowly back at me. His eyes on mine are grave, as if he knows.

“Okay.” He walks over to the bed and grabs a pair of jeans. I can’t help watching as he pulls them on. Dear Lord, his body is amazing. I try not to look there, but my eyes don’t obey. I see his bulge. The crown jewels. I think I was wrong. About the size of things. He is well-hung. He’s probably a grower, too.

I distract my battered mind with dirty thoughts while he plucks his shirt off the footboard and pulls it over his head. He turns mostly away from me, grabbing a thin, pink slip of fabric off the bed and stuffing it into a pocket. Oh my God, he’s pocketing a thong.

Embarrassment washes over me, heavy and suffocating.

That he saw me freaking out.

That I broke down at all.

He flashes me a kind smile as he angles himself toward the door. “I’ll give you a minute. Looks like the party moved, anyway.”

He lingers just a moment before opening the door. It seems like maybe he’s going to apologize—but why? What does he have to be ashamed of? Finally he tilts his head a little. With his eyes on mine until the last second, he steps into the hall.

The door clicks shut behind him.

When I’m sure he isn’t coming back, I turn the door’s lock.





*





Liam





I relax the hand that’s fisting Carolina’s hair and drag my fingertips over her scalp. Something more gentle. She’s sucking my cock; I figure it’s the least I can do.

I must be going fucking crazy because her lips are like a goddamned glove, but I can’t come. It’s not all the whiskey or the coke, either. That shit never seems to faze me.

I let her suck me back into her hot, tight throat and flex my legs, groaning while Suzie bites my nipple.

Fuck. My balls are tight, my dick is throbbing…

I keep seeing her.

I blow my breath out as Suzie’s tongue traces my navel. God, this feels so fucking good, but…

Carolina’s soft hand cups my balls, and I know right then it won’t happen.

With another groan, I push up on my elbows and reach down toward their heads. Two pairs of made-up eyes rise to mine.

My friends are easily distracted by the suggestion that we stop and do a few more lines of coke. I leave the baggie on the dresser in the guest room, telling them I’ll be back.

Buttoning my jeans in the dim hall, I look down toward the door of Dec’s room—the one I’ve been using. I’m still pretty hard. I run my hand over my bare abs, trying to think about the one thing I know will kill a boner: the reason that I’m doing all this blow and living one long hangover. It only takes a few seconds to work.

She’s not in there, I tell myself. Not anymore. But I won’t rest until I check.

For reasons I can’t explain, I’m quiet and careful as I twist the doorknob, silent as I push the door open. I hear her before I see her: little sniffles interspersed with soft, sad sounds: the aftermath of tears.

I find her curled up in the bed, facing a wall of shelves, her back to me. Something hot pours through my chest. My first thought is I should go, just leave her be, but I’m in motion, stepping toward her, my tight, buzzing body prickling with agitated heat.

“Lucy?”

She moves so fast, I’m startled by it: one moment lying on her side, the next upright, arms out, sheets falling to her hips. Even with the haze over my mind, I notice that her face is very pale—just like before. It makes her lips look red, her eyes look dark.

Her pretty, dark hair hangs around her face. My cock stirs.

Asshole.

Despite my body’s readiness, I feel unsure. It’s an unusual sensation. I just stand there, staring at her. That’s what I’m doing when she puts a hand over her eyes, flops back down, and hides her face in my pillow.

I see her shoulders shake. That’s the only reason I don’t go. That’s what I tell myself.

I’ve never been one to leave a woman. Not if she has some sort of need. And Lucy Rhodes needs…something.

I hesitate a moment more before I step over to the bed. My gaze trails down my bare chest. I must reek of alcohol and sex, but still…

I touch her shoulder. Her body curls up—I see it through the covers—and I exhale slowly.

Should I go?

What can I offer her?

For once, a woman doesn’t want my cock, or worse yet, my blow. This woman doesn’t want me here. But I can’t leave. It’s my bed, after all—my room while I’m at Dec’s. I can’t just leave her crying.

“Luce?” I try. I’m such an asshole. Like we’re friends.

Her shoulders shake again, and I can’t stop myself leaning over the bed. I watch my hand come to her dark hair. Fuck, I’ve always loved a woman’s hair. How fucking soft… I sift through her silky tresses, my body still except my fingers, feeling for some motion from her. If she tenses up, I tell myself, I’ll go.