Diary of a Bad Boy(84)

An understanding passing between us.

This is real.

This is more than I expected. Than she expected.

This could easily be forever.





In Sutton’s tiny apartment, I rest my head on her fluffy pillow. She’s curled into my side, and I stroke her hair, feeling consumed with a vast array of emotions.

The first being I want to protect her. I never want anything bad to happen to her, and given she lives here in Brooklyn, it scares me knowing I can’t be here all the time. I make a promise to myself to hire a driving service for her. On days I can’t be with her, I want to know she’s safe. Might be ridiculous, but given the way we met, I think it’s worth it.

Second, I want to talk to her. Hell, I want to talk to her about everything, and I’m not a talker, despite my Irish heritage. I’d rather drink a pint of Guinness than sit down and have a chitchat. But I have this need building inside me as we lie here, her soft sleeping sounds filling the night, to wake her up and talk about my childhood, tell her my favorite Irish dish—even if it’s lame—tell her all about the small town I grew up in. I want her to know every little piece about me, and that’s never happened before.

Then there’s the passion coursing through me. If I hadn’t worn her out twice already, I’d be waking her up right now to have her again. Relationships and emotions have never been my thing, ever, but with Sutton, I want it all. I want emotions involved when we’re having sex. I want her to tell me she likes me . . . a lot, when I’m deep inside of her. I want her to shiver when my lips caress her, telling her how she makes me feel. Sex is different with Sutton in the best possible way, and I want more of it . . . all of it.

And that godforsaken scent of lavender. It’s around her all the time, and it’s driving me crazy. Now when I get a whiff of the smell, even when she’s not around, I get hard. It’s getting out of hand, and yet, lying here with her, I take in deep breaths, trying to get as much of her scent inside me as possible.

Who am I right now?

I’m not that guy.

But even though I’m not, there is no way I’m turning back, not when I somehow got lucky and was able to secure Sutton as my girl.

She’s different, she’s challenging, she’s sweet, and she’s also spicy when she wants to be. She makes me want to be better, she proves to me that I can be better, and she believes in me.

She fucking believes in me. And I had no fucking idea how much I’ve needed that.

I press a soft kiss to the top of her head and grip her tighter. Now that I’m committed, giving this relationship thing a go, there is no way I’m fucking it up, and if I do, I’ll be ready to grovel.





“Put some clothes on,” Sutton says, standing by her bathroom, one hand on her hip while the other brushes her wet hair.

“Why?”

“Because we’re going out. It’s past noon, and we haven’t eaten anything.”

I smile wickedly at her. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty full from eating your pussy twice already today.”

Her face falls as her cheeks blush a furious shade of red. “Can you not say it like that? You make it so vulgar.”

“I make it sound so hot.” I pat the side of the bed and rub the comforter. “Now get back over here, I’m hungry again.”

She rolls her eyes and disappears into the bathroom. “We need actual food or I’m going to start getting hangry.”

“I told you we can order in.”

“We need fresh air,” she counters, popping out of the bathroom in that terrycloth robe I’ve been dying to pull apart.

“My form of fresh air isn’t allowed anymore, so I’m good here.”

“Roark,” she breathes out heavily. “Please, let’s go out to lunch—it’s on me—and then we can come back here and you can do whatever you want to me.”

I scoff. “You’re not buying anything, not when I’m around.”

“Don’t be that guy.”

“What guy?” I ask, brow furrowed, still rubbing the bed, trying to entice her.

“The alpha guy who demands he pays for everything. I make a paycheck, and I can afford things too.”

“How much do you make?”

Hand on hip, she asks, “Why does it matter?”

“Because, I probably make your salary in a day, that’s why.” It’s so not true. Some days I probably make her annual salary in an hour, but I’m not telling her that. I pat the bed again. “Now come sit down; I’ll call for food.”

“That was a very pompous thing to say.” The playful look in her eyes fades, and I inwardly groan, knowing my chances of getting her back into bed just plummeted.

I fling the covers back and reach for my jeans. “It’s the truth. If anything, I’m always going to tell you the truth.”

“Just because it’s the truth doesn’t mean it isn’t rude.”

I punch my legs through my jeans then stand, tucking my semi-hard dick past the zipper. Her eyes watch me the entire time, gazing at my cock, her chest rising and falling a little faster. Okay, maybe my chances didn’t entirely evaporate.

“Never said it wasn’t rude, just said it was the truth.” I walk toward the bathroom and when I pass her, I tug on her robe, loosening the straps so the sides fall open, then continue to the bathroom where I stare in the mirror and adjust my hair.