Unbeautifully (Undeniable, #2)(31)
“Danny.”
Swallowing hard, I glanced over at Ripper.
“You’re thinkin’ again,” he said quietly. “And whatever you’re thinkin’ you really ain’t likin’.”
“I’m not,” I protested. “I’m totally, completely, one hundred percent fine.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re readin’ into shit you shouldn’t and makin’ up all sorts of crazy inside that head of yours.”
Damn him.
“Fine,” I hissed, slapping my hand down on the bar. “You want to know what I’m thinking about, I’ll tell you. I don’t like being a secret, that’s what. I don’t like that those stupid sluts can just walk up to you, thinking they can touch you. If they knew about me, that wouldn’t happen when I was around.”
Realizing what I’d just said, and that I’d said it not so quietly in a room full of people who would undoubtedly be interested to know why I was having such a personal conversation with Ripper, I slapped my hand over my mouth and shut my eyes in dismay.
When I braved looking up again, I found the club exactly as I’d left it. No one was paying me any attention, Tegen was still yelling at ZZ, Ripper was still beside me, still leaning over the bar, still looking right at me. Smiling.
“You tryin’ to tell me you’re my old lady, Danny?”
Yes.
“No,” I whispered and watched his smile turn into a full-fledged grin.
“Liar,” he whispered back.
“I hate you.”
“Liar.”
“Now I really hate you.”
Standing up straight, he slid his empty bottle across the bar toward ZZ, using the action to lean into me. “Five minutes,” he breathed over the top of my head. “Your room.”
Then he left me sitting there, staring after him, feeling like a complete moron for freaking out.
For the next five minutes I stayed where I was, my stomach fluttering with anticipation, watching the clock on the wall. After the longest five minutes of my entire life had gone by, I slid slowly out of my seat and began navigating through the groups of people. Once I’d cleared the hallway, filled with exhilaration and anticipation, I started running to where I knew he’d be waiting. My bedroom. I don’t know how he did it—avoid the cameras, somehow knowing where to step and how to time it so his entrance to my room wouldn’t be recorded—and I didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was there in my room waiting for me and I was—
I burst through my door and nearly crashed into him. Grabbing my arm, he swung me further inside and kicked the door shut with his boot, locking it quickly.
“Why do you do this shit?” he demanded, looking me up and down as he walked me backward.
“Do what?” I asked, playing dumb.
“You know what,” he muttered, shoving me backward, already unzipping his leathers.
I scooted backward over my bed, bunching my skirt up around my waist, then quickly wiggling out of my underwear.
“Shirt off,” he growled, staring at the bared lower half of my body, slowly stroking himself. I watched him touch himself, growing harder as he continued to gaze at what I was freely offering him, turning myself on by doing so.
Once my camisole was gone, Ripper took a long, leisurely look up and down my naked body, further propelling my hormones into overdrive.
“Don’t know why you’re thinkin’ I want club ass when I got all this waitin’ on me.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just…got jealous.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, using his body to push me onto my back again, then he was propping himself over top of me and pushing a finger up inside me. “I know.”
Moaning, I reached up, wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to pull him down to kiss me but he turned away.
“I wanna watch you,” he said softly, adding another finger.
Pure lust shot from the apex of my thighs and straight up my body, exploding in my stomach and lungs, making me shiver and clench tightly around his fingers.
The things this man made me feel just by speaking was unreal. At times I wanted to weep from the sheer sensation of never before experienced feelings that I knew had already wrecked me for any other man.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, increasing the speed of his finger thrusts.
“Are you going on the run to North Dakota?” I panted.
“No.”
“Mick said my father’s going once he gets back from New York.”
“Yeah…Danny?”
“Hmm?”
“Can we not talk about your old man right now?”
“But I was thinking…” I trailed off, breathless.
“Never good,” he muttered and added another finger.
My eyelids fluttered as I tried to stay on task.
“Eyes on me,” he growled.
“Mostly everyone is gonna be gone,” I whispered, trying to focus on his face. “So I was…oh my god…”
My orgasm hit me hard and for a moment I forgot all about what I was talking about. I’d never had an orgasm before Ripper, before that night at the lake, that hadn’t been a result of using my own hand. The difference between a self-induced orgasm and an orgasm given by a man is like comparing a rainy day and a rainstorm. Rain was a sure thing, you knew exactly what you were going to get: a clean and crisp, both sweet and refreshing experience. But rainstorms were unpredictable, they were riddled with surprises, messy and wet; they were something you had no control over.