Taming Lily (The Fowler Sisters #3)(30)

And I’ve discovered that Max is extremely creative.

“I still need to take that shower. Get some fresh clothes on. Find a giant box of condoms.” He grins ruefully, and the sight of it sends a zing of pleasure straight between my legs. “Trust me, princess. It’s hard for me to leave with you looking like that. You’re too damn tempting.”

“Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?” I’m confused, which is dumb. And I’m also feeling a little unsure. This isn’t my usual thing, making small talk and plans to see a guy again after a sex marathon.

Stretching out my legs, I sigh, my muscles aching deliciously. I feel gently abused since he just finished bringing me to orgasm for the third time since I woke up. I swear my body is still trembling from the force of that last climax.

I honestly don’t think I’ve come so many times before in my life.

“It’s definitely a compliment.” He reaches out and runs his fingers down the side of my thigh, making me shiver. His hand drops and he gets up, reaching for his clothes where he left them on the floor and offering me a very fine view of his very fine ass. “I gotta get out of here. I won’t be able to resist you like this,” he says.

I raise a brow. “Like what?”

“Naked and sexy as f*ck.” He turns and faces me with a grin, and dodges when I toss a pillow at him.

I settle back against the remaining pillows, pulling the sheet up over me as he gets dressed. The late morning sun is blazing through my bedroom window and I glance at the clock on the bedside table, shuddering when I realize just how late it is. We’ve f*cked the morning away completely.

Not that I regret it.

“You covered up,” he says, sounding disappointed.

“I’m a distraction, remember?” Sitting up, I plump the pillows and lie back down, a yawn taking over me so fast I don’t quite cover it up with my hand.

“And you’re a sleepy distraction.” He’s fully dressed as he comes back toward the bed and dips over me, dropping a kiss on top of my head. “See you around, princess.”

“Wait a minute.” I grab hold of his hand before he can escape. “Are we still meeting later?”

He raises a brow. “You still want to? Or are you having second thoughts?”

Is he projecting? Maybe he’s the one having second thoughts. “I want to,” I admit softly, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. Honest admissions aren’t easy for me. They make me uncomfortable, like I’m putting myself on the line. Making myself vulnerable.

He smiles, and the sight of it steals my breath. It’s not cocky or full of amusement. It’s tender. Real. “Good. I still want to, too.” He gives me another kiss, this time on the lips, soft and sweet and unlike any kiss he’s delivered. All the others have been full of passion. Raw. A little rough.

Not this one. My lips are tingling and I reach up and touch them, watching as he goes to the door, flashes me one last grin over his shoulder, and then opens the screen door, sliding through it and shutting it with barely a sound.

The room is depressingly quiet without him there and the air conditioner clicks on. A blast of icy air hits me, making me shiver, and I tuck the sheet tight around my neck, letting out a trembling sigh as I close my eyes, waiting for sleep to take over.

But it doesn’t. I can’t sleep. I’ve been up most of the night, occupied by Max’s insistent hands and mouth and body, and I should be exhausted. My body is sated and tired. My brain, though, is wide awake and full of disturbing thoughts.

Like how lonely I am. Despite spending hours with a man who knew just how to touch my body to make me respond in the most outrageous way, I feel alone. Hollow.

Empty.

I didn’t want Max to leave, which is dumb. I couldn’t express that to him. He’d think I’m a psycho with a dependency problem. I barely know him. I shouldn’t have these sorts of expectations because they’re unrealistic. How I view the world is totally unrealistic. Skewed. I am the quintessential poor little rich girl and I’ve worn the role for so long, I almost prefer it to anything else. I’m in my comfort zone, wallowing in my lonely existence.

Stupid.

Gazing up at the wall, I will myself to fall asleep, regretting I didn’t bring my sleeping pills with me. I didn’t want to depend on them and look where it got me. Wide awake when I should feel sated and sleepy and content. I got what I wanted.

Supposedly. But they always leave. Men. Not that I really want them to stay, because I have no idea what it’s like to have a real relationship with a man. A one-night stand? Oh yes. I’ve got those down pat. A few nights of constant f*cking with one guy? I can do that, too. But nothing lasting, ever.

Nothing real.

Everyone leaves me eventually. It’s been a pattern throughout my entire life. My mother killed herself because we weren’t enough for her. We didn’t make her happy. Daddy would rather work than deal with his daughters, leaving us to be raised by nannies. Grandma preferred Violet because she was a good girl or Rose because she was the pretty little sweet baby.

And then there was me. There is me. No one likes me. Not really. My family tolerates me because they have to. And I took advantage of that. Expected them to always stand by me, to look the other way when I made yet another mistake. They were all good, so I was allowed to be bad, right? One black sheep in the family is allowed.