Breaking Him (Love is War #1)(53)

These were all my thoughts exactly, but I hadn’t expected him to be so baffled by it.

In spite of my better judgement, I felt myself warming to him. I took my glass and tapped it to his. “It looks like she’s planning something. Don’t be surprised if a naked girl that’s shaped like a fourteen-year-old boy slips into your bed tonight.”

He smirked and toasted me back. “I’m not too worried. I had no intention of sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

A familiar burn started up just under the surface of my skin. I couldn’t mistake what he meant any more than I could stop my body’s reaction to him.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. Because again, f*cking him meant f*cking with him. Having Tiffany sleeping in the house had only upped the stakes in our little battle of head games.

But I just smiled blandly at him. “Luckily my room has a very good lock.”

His grin widened. “Good. No one will bother us, then.”

I straightened, setting yet another empty glass down. “On that note, I’m going to mingle.”

“Wait,” he said, snagging my arm and pulling me back. His finger went to trace over a spot on my collarbone where I’d missed one of the fuzzies from earlier. Carefully he brushed it away.

I shivered.

He glanced down at my nipples as I did that, watched them harden, protruding clearly through the thin material of my dress. He didn’t take his hand away, instead tracing down to circle one of the sensitive buds, rubbing it under his thumb.

His eyes were heavy-lidded on my breasts, his breath coming hard. I was very aware of the effect my body had on him, and he was in a state right then.

He was easily led in matters of the flesh, and I thought I could have gotten him to do anything when he had that look in his eyes.

I decided to use it against him.

“I can’t believe you let me inside of you bare and I only got to have one taste,” he uttered, voice low, guttural. “I wasn’t at my best. I want a do-over.”

I leaned into his touch. “Yes, bare inside of me. You didn’t even pull out. How was it that you described it? Oh yes, the eloquent—filled me with your cum. You obviously weren’t too drunk to remember a few things.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, coming unhinged, backing me into the high wooden counter, leaning into me, rubbing his big body against mine, his erection a clear impression against my hip. “I’d have to be dead to forget that. And I’m going to fill you up again. And again. Stuff you full of cock and cum until you beg me to let you rest.” He started kissing my neck, outright fondling me now.

Dammit, he played a good game. He almost had me sucked in before I caught myself.

I gripped him through his slacks, stroking him hard, not an idle touch but one meant to make him lose it. “I don’t think I can wait,” I told him, pumping at him in earnest. “You should go up to my room, strip down, and wait for me.”

He pulled my hand away, peeled himself off my body, and looked at me, really looked at me.

I smiled at him.

“Christ, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

With an evil laugh I walked away. “And while you’re at it, hold your breath,” I called over my shoulder.

*****





Mingling was not nearly as fun as tormenting Dante, but I applied myself to the task nonetheless.

That lasted about five minutes. I hated talking to strangers, and that was really the best case scenario. It was the non-strangers, the familiar faces from my childhood, that I really couldn’t stand.

I ran into one of the police officers, Mandy’s father, the sheriff, in fact, almost right off the bat.

I detested him. He’d helped to plant my distrust in cops, which I felt had been to my detriment. Who could you turn to if not the police?

I smiled at him, not letting an iota of my animosity show. I really couldn’t afford to have him notice me overmuch.

As I’ve said, I have a very healthy fear of cops.

“Hello, Harold,” I said.

His beady eyes narrowed on me, the fleshy folds of his face nearly swallowing them up. He’d been overweight since I could remember, but he’d really let himself go since the last time I’d seen him.

He studied me for a few moments, trying to place me. He scratched his bushy mustache as he said, “Do I know you?”

Typical. His daughter had tormented me for years, he had covered for her, and he didn’t even remember.

“Scarlett Theroux. I went to school with your daughter Mandy.”

Ah, that got him.

He fingered his jowly beard, eyes running over me. “Well, you look like you landed on your feet. How ‘bout that?”

I didn’t know about that, but I was hardly going to argue with him. “How ‘bout it,” I drawled wryly.

“Have you, erm, caught up with my daughter? I remember you guys were friends.”

I almost laughed. “Yes, we caught up in the kitchen. She hasn’t changed a bit. It’s like she’s caught in a time machine.”

His uncomfortable smile faltered. He cleared his throat. “So, um, how’s your dad doing? He hasn’t given us any trouble for a while. That has to be a good sign.”

My own smile faltered. “There’s absolutely no proof that Jethro Davis is my father.”