The Trade(68)

The mattress dips as my brain starts to un-fog and the sheer cry of my voice starts to fall from my ears. And just as I’m about to open my eyes, lean up and kiss the man on the lips to return the favor, I feel him pass by the bottom of the bed and head straight to the bathroom where he locks the door and turns on the shower.

Still feeling dazed and quite confused, I sit up and look around. Did he really just leave? To take a shower?

As if to wash my scent away?

That can’t possibly be what he’s doing. On shaky legs, I stand from the bed. Naked and sore from how deliciously aggressive he was, I pad over to the bathroom and press my ear against the door.

Water hits the shower tile.

And then . . . light slapping, a far-off grunt.

No way. Emotion starts to clog my throat. Is he jacking off in there? I test the handle and like I thought, it’s locked. I lean in again and the telltale sign of him moaning echoes off the tiled shower stall, sending my stomach into a dizzying catapult.

I step away, my hand falling to my neck, unsure what to do.

Why would he just leave like that? Go to the bathroom, wash me off, take care of his own relief? Doesn’t he want me?

Insecurity washes over me as I think about everything I said in the heat of the moment, begging him to fuck me with his tongue, calling out his name, telling him exactly where I wanted him to touch me, how to fuck me.

How . . . embarrassing.

Lip trembling, a ball of uncertainty hits me dead in the gut as I make my way back to the couch bed. I sit on the edge and look back at the bathroom, his groaning louder now, piercing my soul. Doesn’t he trust me to pleasure him? To give him exactly what he needs like he gave me? Doesn’t he want me to touch him . . .

My lip trembles more as my eyes sting with tears. I lean back on the bed, curl into my pillow, and cry.

I’ve never experienced such an unreal sensation like Cory gave me just minutes ago, only to drop so suddenly to the pit of my biggest insecurities.

Not good enough.

Not experienced enough.

Not pretty enough.

Not in his league . . .

Was that a pity fuck? Did he feel bad that he’d turned me down the entire vacation that he decided to throw me a bone? I’m Jason’s sister, his new teammate, and he doesn’t want to make things awkward from my advances so he did the deed and then took care of himself?

Tears stream down my face into my pillow.

I’m so na?ve.

So stupid for thinking that there could be something between us.

Every time I thought he wanted me, I was wrong, so very wrong.

The bathroom door opens and I still my breath, my heart ricocheting against my ribs as it stutters to a stop. I don’t want him to hear me cry, to know the pathetic effect his rejection has caused me. But as snot drips from my nose, I can’t stop the involuntary sniffle, nor can I stop the second one that comes a few seconds after.

Eyes closed, I try to detect his every movement, understand what he’s doing, and when I hear him turn down the sheets to the other bed, I nearly lose it. I squeeze my eyes even tighter as a tight ball of humiliation forms in my throat.

I wish I could take back the last half hour, or however long it was. I wish I could go back to the night with Nicholas where instead of staying with Cory, I changed into something more comfortable and went back to a man who wanted to be around me. A man who pursued me. Thought me worth ditching work for. How stupid am I?

What was this? Some game to Cory? He saw another guy interested so he decided to throw me a bone? Why even bother if we leave tomorrow?

I’m so confused, so upset that I don’t feel Cory standing next to me until he’s gently pulling the covers off my naked body and squatting in front of me.

“Natalie,” he says, his voice sounding distressed. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I quickly say, wiping my nose with the back of my hand and then turning my back toward him. I try to pull the covers up and over me again but he stops me.

“You’re not fine.”

“Just leave me alone, Cory.”

He stills above me, not getting up and going to the other bed, but not reaching out to me either. I can practically hear the questions in his head.

I upset my friend’s sister. Should I believe that she’s fine or should I ask her one more time?

Just to make it easier, so he doesn’t think too hard on it, I say, “Everything is fine. What we did was fine. Let’s just go to sleep.”

That’s when I feel him still behind me, his hand falling to my hip, pulling me so I’m forced to my back and looking up at him.

He presses his palm to my stomach, holding me in place and damn my body, because it lights up from his touch.

“Bullshit. That wasn’t just fine,” he growls, his voice so deep and sharp. His fingers curl around my hip. “That was more than fucking fine.”

“Was it?” I ask. “Because it seems like you had more fun in the shower by yourself.” I can’t hide the bite in my voice nor the tears that stream down my face.

“Christ,” he mumbles to himself before standing up.

Yup, walkaway again.

But before I can give him my back, he squats down, fits both his arms under me, and lifts me off the bed.

“W-what are you doing?” I ask, feeling like a weightless feather in his strong arms.

“Moving you to the other bed. We’re not sleeping on the damn couch again.”