Diary of a Bad Boy(38)

Damn it.

That was supposed to help.

Once she’s done fixing the sleeves, she folds her hands on her lap and looks me square in the eyes. “I’m asking for an hour. Can you focus for that long?”

Shifting in my seat, I sit up and clasp my hands together. “Yeah.”

She shakes her head and sarcastically says, “Wow, you brave, brave man.”

I’ll give it to her. She has her dad’s wit, which is a problem. Because I really like her dad.





An hour turned into two, making it midnight by the time we finished. Without any alcohol in my system, thanks to the water bottles Sutton kept throwing in my direction and making me drink, I’m completely sober and tired as shit.

I don’t think I’ve felt this level of exhaustion in a really long time, probably because my job at night is to stop myself from feeling anything. Apparently, I’ve been doing a good job.

After packing her bag, Sutton heads toward the elevator until I stop her. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” She glances at the shirt and says, “Oh . . . sorry.” She sets her things on the ground and, once again, takes her shirt off in front of me, affording me the best view of the night, then puts that damn sweater back on. “Here.” She holds out the shirt.

“I don’t care about the damn shirt, you’re not going home.”

She exhales. “I can’t spend the night every time it’s late, Roark. I need to grow up at some point.”

I take her hand and pull her toward the guest room. “It’s not about growing up.” I slip my fingers through hers, reveling in the sensation for a moment and maneuver her into the doorway of the guest bedroom. “It’s about being safe.”

“Plenty of single women walk around the city at night.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not taking my chances.”

What I wouldn’t give to fucking reach out and press my hand to her cheek, feel how soft her skin is, to see if she falls into my touch.

Sheepishly she smiles, our hands still tangled together as she pats her bag. “I brought clothes just in case we went late.”

I bite my bottom lip, my control starting to slip as I watch how cute her coyness is. She’s trouble, big fucking trouble, and I need to stay as far away as possible. I take a step back, but her hand holds on tight to mine.

When I look at our connection, her voice pulls me back to her eyes. “Thank you for tonight, Roark. Even if we started off a little rocky, we got a lot done.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She takes a step forward and I swear to Christ Himself, my heart unexpectedly flips in my chest. Leaning forward on her toes, she presses a sweet but chaste kiss across my cheek then pulls away.

Smiling up at me, a lock of her blonde hair falling over one eye, she says, “Have a good night.” And then she retreats into her room, shutting the door softly.

Raking my hand through my hair, I press my lips firmly together and force myself to walk away even as her lavender scent sticks to me. I’m going to need a neutral zone next time we get together. Having dinner at my place is no longer an option. Not when everything about her tempts me. I lied when I said I’m not into her the other day to Bram and Rath—obvious, I know.

Reluctantly, I make it to my room, get ready for bed, strip down, and slip under my covers, my cock still rock hard from the entire night. Nah, it’s from not having sex for . . . fucking weeks. How the fuck did that happen? It’s all her fault, and there is only one way to fix this problem. I glide my hand down to the base of my pulsing erection and squeeze tightly.

“Fuck,” I groan, my eyes squeezing shut. I’ve waited all goddamn night for this.

My hand moves up my cock only to drop back down as my phone beeps next to me on the nightstand. I pause, my head lulling to the side to see if it’s Sutton. When her name pops up on the screen, I consider ignoring it, but then again, what if she needs something? Damn it.

I reach over and pick up the phone.

Sutton: Are you . . . touching yourself right now?

Christ. Of all people, I did not expect Sutton to ask that. I groan, and one-handedly type out a response as my hand goes back to my erection.

Roark: What do you think?

She responds right away. Is she . . . is she touching herself as well? Was tonight as torturous to her as it was to me? Probably not, because I wasn’t the one bouncing around in a peek-a-boo sweater.

Sutton: I think you are.

Roark: You know me well.

Sutton: Are you thinking about me?

Roark: Bold question.

Sutton: I’m feeling a little bold tonight.

I hope to God not too bold, because if she comes into my room, there will be no stopping myself.

Roark: Yeah, I’m thinking about you.

I pull on my cock, a long exhale escaping me as I watch the dots bounce on the screen, waiting her reply.

Sutton: Am I naked?

She is now . . .

Roark: Yeah.

Sutton: What do you see?

Is she for real right now? What happened to the sweet and innocent girl? I never would have expected something like this to come from Sutton, never in a million years.

Roark: Are you digging for compliments?

Sutton: I want to know what you see when you think about me.

Roark: This is dangerous, Sutton.

Sutton: Just tell me.