Free Beguiling (Tempting #2) by Alex Lucian

brushing my dark copper-colored lion’s mane and scrubbing the sweater of gross from my teeth, I walked past the closed bathroom door, thankful for small mercies when I still wasn’t sure what to say. So far, I’d said a whole four words to him. And those four words weren’t, “Thanks for the orgasms,” which is what I wanted to say, but would never be able to say.
    I put a pot of coffee on to brew and pulled the cardigan around me tighter as I stared out the sliding glass door that led to our backyard. Just twelve hours earlier, Leo had knocked on that glass and I’d invited him in.
    I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing in the bathroom that was taking so long. Maybe he was examining his body for needle holes, imagining that I would have had to drug him to make what happened possible.
    And why did I keep saying, “what happened” instead of just announcing “the sex”—because that’s what it was.
    What happened was Leo put his giant cock inside of you and you liked it a lot, but not before you begged desperately for it.
    I winced, realizing that I’d never be able to erase that memory of me begging for sex.
    I started clearing up our shot glasses and discarded lemon peels. As I replaced the giant bottle of vodka in my mom’s cupboard, I felt the ache all the way down my spine. Was this normal? I tried to remember how I’d felt after having sex with the chicken legs guy, but the sex itself was so unmemorable that I shouldn’t be surprised that the morning after was even more unmemorable. A sound from behind me caused me to turn after closing the cabinet.
    He was standing in the doorway, one hand tucked in his pocket as he looked at me. I couldn’t read his expression, so I busied myself with doctoring up a cup of coffee.
    “Scarlet.”
    “Hmm?” I didn’t look up from where I stirred the spoon in my mug.
    “Hey.” He said it more solidly, clearly desiring a reaction from me. I raised my head, met his uncertain gaze.
    “Yeah?”
    “Are you okay?”
    What a question to ask. Part of me wanted to reply, “Well, besides the aching between my legs and the fact that I do not know how I’ll ever get over begging you to sleep with me, I’m just peachy.” But I brought my coffee to my lips, holding its warmth against my flesh for a few seconds. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
    He blinked and frowned. He turned his head toward the stairs and I took in his wrinkled clothes and messed up hair. He still looked hot. And even though I now knew him in a very Biblical way—sorry, Dad—I didn’t think I could easily switch gears from hating him to gushing over him, panting after him.
    “Did you…” he started, before rubbing a hand in his hair and stepping forward, placing his jacket on the counter. “Do you…” he tried again, still unsuccessful in completing his question.
    I made a decision then to fake amnesia. “What happened last night?”
    His eyes widened and then narrowed as he stared at me, like he was trying to decide if I was genuinely unsure. I kept my face cool, emotionless, steadying my breathing. I was in complete control of my external reactions to him, even though my insides were quivering, wanting me to reach over and touch him, to prove to myself that this was real. This had happened.
    “You don’t remember?”
    I took a sip of my coffee and shrugged. I wasn’t ready to admit that I’d begged for what had happened. I’d give him this easy out, so he didn’t feel some kind of obligation to talk to me about how he wasn’t really a "relationship-kinda-guy" and how he wasn’t looking for a "girlfriend," complete with air quotes. I’d never known Leo to hold on to a girl longer than a handful of days and I didn’t need the humiliation of him reminding me of that fact. “Don’t you have things to do today?”
    I waited two breaths as his face changed, smoothing over. I couldn’t tell if it was relief that I saw reflected in his eyes, or if he’d schooled his features