Sweetest Venom (Virtue #2)(13)
His green gaze meets mine in the mirror. I lean in and trace the outline of his ear with my lips. “Do you want me to f*ck you again, Mr. Rothschild?” I ask, snaking my hand down until I reach the front of his pants and caress the outline of his cock, its heat burning my palm. What is it about Lawrence that makes me want him constantly? Whenever I’m with him, a visceral need takes over me, and nothing but his tongue on my skin and his cock moving inside of me will do.
I observe the mouth that tortured my body with anguishing pleasure and skill just a couple of hours ago curve in a way that I find both menacing and sinfully sexy. “Trying to lure me to my death with your siren song so early in the morning?”
“You know, some writers thought that Sirens were cannibals.”
Lawrence turns to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “How fitting, my beautiful man-eater. But as tempting as your song may be, I can’t. I have an important meeting this morning.”
I pout sadly, making him chuckle. “Brat,” he says.
“And of the worst kind, too.”
His eyes shine with amusement as they travel the length of my naked body. “I won’t need you tonight, but stay if you want. I’ll give you a call in the next few days.” He flicks the tip of my nose, smiling ruefully. “Until then, my wicked siren.”
After Lawrence walks out of the bedroom, I begin getting ready to meet the real estate agent to the stars and start the search of an apartment. I wasn’t sure that I was going to get him, and I said so to Lawrence. He laughed and told me to leave it up to him. Apparently, Lawrence’s assistant placed one call, and this man cleared up his schedule for the entire day and fit me in. I’m not surprised, though. Who could say no to Lawrence?
Putting my earrings on, I watch my reflection in the mirror. I notice the black bags under my eyes from a sleepless night and the tiny frown on my forehead. Great. Black bags and premature wrinkles. This is just what I need today. Frustrated, I lean forward until my breath fogs the mirror and try smoothing the lines marring my forehead. It doesn’t work. They are still there, taunting me with my imperfections, reminding me of the reason why they are there in the first place.
Why did I call him last night?
I know why. As I lay there after having sex with Lawrence, I was suddenly consumed by a drowning need to hear Ronan’s voice, to talk to him. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. All I knew was that I needed to hear his voice one last time. I’d grabbed my phone and walked to the bathroom. I looked behind me, focusing on the man sleeping on the bed, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. So I gave Ronan a call, half dreading he would answer, half dreading he wouldn’t.
He didn’t.
Enough. Get your act together, Blaire. Regrets are for the weak, and they have no room in my life—he has no room in my life. I give my head a tiny shake and finish getting ready. I leave Lawrence’s room once satisfied with my outfit that comprises of ripped jeans, a Marvel Superhero fitted tee, a black blazer, and Oxfords.
As I climb down the stairs, I try to muster some kind of excitement about the fact that I’m going apartment shopping with Lawrence’s money, but my chest remains as calm as the sea on a summer night. I glare at an unlucky painting and wonder what’s wrong with me. I should be giddy with excitement at the prospect of finally owning an apartment without having to rely on a man to pay my rent. And, yes, I’m aware that Lawrence is still buying it for me, but it doesn’t take away the fact that it will be mine after he’s gone. Yet I feel nothing.
I must be more tired than I originally thought.
I walk out of Lawrence’s townhouse and see Ronan reclining against the car. He’s wearing a different black suit. This one fits better than the one from yesterday, molding perfectly to his lean body in a sinful way. With his Ray Bans on, a light scruff covering his jaw, he looks confident and cool and beyond untouchable. I sigh as I glance at the clear blue sky. It’s time to get this over with. We better get used to the fact that we’ll be stuck together for a while.
I’ve got this.
I won’t be tempted by Ronan, the forbidden fruit in my own twisted version of the Garden of Eden.
But it hurts. So f*cking much.
The moment he sees me walking toward him, our eyes lock and he peels himself away from the car to open the passenger door. My heart is beating against my chest, but I disregard my body’s response to him, or the way my fingers itch to tame the familiar wild golden brown hair framing his boyishly handsome face like I’ve done before. Mind over matter, Blaire. Mind over matter. He’s part of the past. You can’t have him.
The cool air smells like autumn. Cold, I rub my arms chasing a shiver away, or maybe I’m just nervous of what’s to come. His unwavering gaze remains trained on me, holding me captive as I close the distance between us. I lift my chin and pick up the pace. I won’t cower in front of him, even when I’m quaking on the inside, even when his eyes roam my body slowly, unabashedly, making me feel exposed and dirty.
As I’m about to get in the car without acknowledging him, he drawls, “Nice to see you too, Blaire.”
I stop walking, pointedly looking at him. “I wish I could say the same, but I’m not a liar.” Then, I slide across the beige seat, look out the windshield as I cross my arms, and wait for him to start driving.
“Guess that makes me one then,” he says bitingly before closing the door behind me. Anger gathers in my chest. His answer hurt, but I deserve everything I have coming my way.