Crave (Billionaire Bachelors Club #1)(17)

He climbs out of bed, snatching his clothes off the floor impatiently, giving me an unintended eyeful of those very balls he happens to like so much.

Crap, I’ve made him mad. I didn’t mean to but I can’t have him lingering. It’s bad enough what we just did. I don’t do one-night stands, especially with guys I know and run the risk of seeing again. Worse, I don’t want to get attached. Or put expectations on us that this sort of thing might happen again.

Because no way should it happen again. That would be a big mistake. Huge. No more fooling around for Archer and me.

Even though I want to. I hate that I’m pushing him away. His reaction is confusing. He acts like he’s hurt by my denial.

I’m hurt too. More than I would ever dare admit. Deep down inside, I think . . . I want more. For once, I’m ready to take that risk and go for it. Do something so completely out of character just to see what would happen.

“You still want to see Hush later today?” he asks, his voice quiet, his back to me. He has on his underwear, nothing else, and I let my gaze wander over him, drinking in all that pure masculine beauty.

He is beautiful. I wish we had more time. I’d explore every inch of his skin with my mouth, given the chance.

Your chances with Archer just expired.

“Yes,” I answer after I clear my throat. “I would love to see Hush.” We can handle a mistaken sexual encounter between friends, right? Of course we can . . .

“Great. Well, it’s been real,” he says after he slips on his pants, still sounding sort of huffy, and I watch him go without saying another word. He quietly shuts the door behind him.

I flop against the pillows and rest my arm over my eyes, groaning out loud. What the heck is wrong with me? I had amazing sex with a man I’ve known almost half my life, and then I push him out like he’s some sort of stranger I secretly banged.

I can’t help it. I start laughing.

My life has turned completely surreal.

Archer

DAMN, COULD I feel any cheaper?

I’m skulking down the hall of my very own home, shirtless and shoeless, my clothes and shoes clutched in my hand, my pants unbuttoned, for the love of God, and ready to fall from my hips. My footsteps are light as I’m literally sprinting across my house. If Gage came out at this very moment, he would take one look at me and know exactly what I’d just done.

His baby sister.

Grimacing, I shake my head and head toward my bedroom suite, which is on the other side of the house. I’m breathing a little easier now that I’m out of the guest wing, but I could still get caught. That I’m even thinking like this makes me feel like an absolute jackass.

This is my house. I’m twenty-f*cking-eight years old. I shouldn’t have to sneak around like some sort of teenager out screwing around with my secret girlfriend.

But here I am. Sneaking.

I’m still shocked over how Ivy kicked me out of bed before the come dried on her skin; she was that ruthless about the entire encounter. Crude, I know, but true. I’d been ready to wax poetic and go on and on over how amazing that entire experience had been. Because as quick as I’d come—embarrassingly quick, I’ll admit, but damn I was overwhelmed with the fact that I was actually inside her—sex with Ivy had been mind blowing.

I wanted to tell her how much I wanted to do it again. Clutch her close and cuddle for Christ’s sake. I don’t f**king cuddle. I’m the one who kicks them out of my bed. I’m the one who says, Hey, it’s been real, but you need to get your pretty little ass out of here.

Always, I sleep alone. For once, I wanted to sleep with someone else. Really and truly sleep. Hold her close, feel her skin on mine, smell her. I can still smell her. Feel her. Taste her.

She gave me the boot instead.

Yeah. Bizarre. I feel like the tables have been turned on me completely. I don’t like it. Not one freaking bit.

But since I saw her earlier this evening at the wedding reception, she’s flipped me on my head. What’s up is down and all that other bullshit. I haven’t felt right since. It f**king sucks. I have a business to run, employees to take care of, the potential to open another Hush location on the horizon and a volatile father to handle.

The last thing I need is some woman twisting up my insides.

I stride inside my bedroom, slamming the door behind me and head toward the bathroom. I need a shower. Maybe if I wash away the memory, the feel of her skin on mine, her scent, her taste, then I could forget her. Ivy.

Doesn’t help. As I stand under the scalding hot water battering my body and scrub at my skin, I can still smell her. Hear her panting, frantic breaths, the way she said my name just before she came. Smell her flowery, delicious skin, taste her greedy lips and tongue . . .

Fuck. I glance down, the water beating a rapid tattoo on the top of my head, and see my erection. Fucking stupid thing. No wonder women loved to go on and on about how men only think with their dicks.

They’re pretty dead on in that observation.

Restraining myself, I refuse to jerk off. I just came not fifteen minutes ago, you’d think I’d be over this. Over her.

Apparently not. Having her once wasn’t enough. I want Ivy again.

I furiously wrench the faucet off and grab a towel, rubbing it haphazardly across my skin, not really drying it. The soft terry cloth slides across my erection and I grimace. Pissed that I’m teasing myself. What the hell is wrong with me?