CHAPTER 6

Kate

I drag my fingertips down his torso, following the line between his pecs and brushing across his nipple. He lets out this guttural sound, something animalistic, buried deep in his throat, and it makes the fine hairs on my skin stand on end. It’s raw, predatory, like he’s the hunter and I’m caught in his sights. Except he’s the one stretched out beneath me, and I’m the one on top, thighs framing his body. His cock is exposed, hot against me, and when I grind down along his length, he groans my name.

“Kate.”

He says it again, rougher this time, and I don’t wait for him to say it again. I guide him inside, my wetness easing the way. The stretch of him fills me, thick and perfect, and I move against him, fucking him, my body remembering the rhythm like it’s second nature. It feels like something I’ve done countless times before, yet sharper, more consuming, better than that first reckless time could ever compare.

His hands trail upward from my waist, sliding until they cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my tight nipples. I lose myself in it, surrendering to the rush, rocking on him while he drives me closer, higher.

I’m nearly gone when his grip tightens at my hips, dragging me down harder onto his cock, his thrusts turning sharper, quicker, demanding.

“Kate,” he rasps. “I want you to fucking come on me.” The words tip me over the edge, my release barreling toward me, unstoppable.

I shoot upright in bed, heart hammering, my pulse pounding between my thighs in the same rhythm. A sex dream. About Dorian. My brain has officially betrayed me. My nipples strain against my bra, shit, I’m still wearing a bra. And yesterday’s jeans and t-shirt. My mouth tastes sour, like I’ve been chewing on sleep.

Pale gold sunlight spills through the window, and I realize with a jolt that I slept straight through the night. The last thing I remember is collapsing back on the pillow, just closing my eyes for a second, expecting at any moment my father would knock and drag me into some conversation about his damn engagement. Instead, nothing. They actually let me sleep.

I peel myself out of bed, grimacing at the dry taste in my mouth, and tread quietly down the hall toward the bathroom. It feels like some sort of walk of shame, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and instantly my brain shoves that night with Dorian back into focus.

Like I need more reminders. The dream about him already has me restless, and I can’t figure out if I’m annoyed or turned on.

I tug my shirt over my head and cringe at the damp patch clinging to my back from sweat. I have to be running a fever. At least that would make sense of the dirty dream. I let the shirt drop, shove my way out of my jeans, and think only of one thing. A toothbrush. I need a toothbrush. I rummage through the cabinet above the sink, then crouch down and yank open the one underneath.

Cold air brushes across my skin before the sound of the bathroom door registers, and I snap upright.

“Cute panties, Angel.”

I spin around and there’s Dorian leaning in the doorway. His hair is shaved close at the sides, the longer top sticking up in every wild direction. He’s bare-chested, wearing only a pair of loose cotton pajama bottoms, the pale grey fabric so thin it outlines everything. Everything. The way they hang is worse than if he were standing here stark naked. His whole look screams sex, and the erection straining against the fabric makes it impossible not to notice.

And I can’t stop staring.

Dorian sees it, his mouth twisting into a grin. “Like what you’re seeing?” he murmurs. “We can go for another round if you want. I’m ready.”

“You’re disgusting,” I snap. “You’re in my bathroom. With the damn door wide open.” My stomach flips when I realize I’m standing there in nothing but my underwear. Too slow to react, I fold my arm across my chest and grab at the clothes piled on the floor to cover my hips. Fantastic. Of all days, I had to wear granny panties.

He steps inside and shuts the door. “That better?”

“That wasn’t an invitation,” I bite out. “What the hell is wrong with you? Get out of here. Ever heard of boundaries?”

“You were just whining that the door was open,” he says casually. “Didn’t want anyone else to see you ogling my cock like you’re starving and it’s the main course.”

“You’re insane,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “As if I’d be staring at your…cock. Turn around so I can get dressed.”

Shockingly, he actually does, and I hurry to shove my legs back into my jeans.

“Sure you want to bother squeezing back into those jeans?” he teases. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all already. And those panties aren’t exactly… revealing.”

Mortified that he just caught me in underwear the size of a bedspread, I yank my shirt over my head. “I thought we promised never to mention that incident again. Why are you still standing here? I already told you to leave.”

“That incident?” he repeats. “So that’s what we’re calling it now? You’re the one who told me to shut the bathroom door behind me.”

Since his back is still to me, I let my eyes wander over the smooth expanse of his bare skin. The muscles stand out along his shoulders and run down the narrow line of his torso, tapering into that sharp V at his waist where the band of his pants cuts across. My gaze dips lower, landing on his perfectly tight ass, and a memory flickers of how it felt under my palms that night.

When Dorian spins around, heat rushes into my cheeks. His smirk tells me everything, that cocky grin that says he knows I was staring. His erection is still straining against the fabric, and I can’t stop wondering if that’s even normal. It can’t be. There must be some medical issue. No guy should be carrying on a casual conversation like this with a hard-on that huge. And I mean enormous. He’s anything but small.

The fact that he’s standing here, still stiff, infuriates me. I don’t need the memory of that night shoved in my face. “Obviously I meant you should get out, not shut the door and make yourself comfortable. Normal human beings don’t pull stunts like this.” I point right at the ridiculous bulge in his pants. “Are you planning on doing something about that?”

“Want to give me a hand with it, Angel?” he taunts, voice sing-song, practically leering.

“Gross,” I mutter. “Don’t be vile. Just… ugh. Why is it still there? And why do you have to be such a creep?”

“Aww, how cute,” he laughs, turning toward the toilet. “You think it’s because I’m into you. You really are naïve, huh? It’s morning wood, Angel. Nothing to do with you.”

“Oh my God, are you seriously about to piss right here in front of me?” I blurt out.

“Well, I came in to take a piss, and since you’re too busy running your mouth instead of leaving so I can handle my business, yeah, I’m about to piss right here.” He hooks his thumb under the band of his pants and shoots me a look. “Want to stay and watch? I bet you’re into kinky crap like water sports, aren’t you?”

I don’t even know what water sports are, and honestly, I don’t think I want to. “You’re the foulest man I’ve ever met.”

“Give it time, Angel,” he says as his pants slide down. From the side I can see his cock and one bare cheek, and I can’t believe he just stripped like I wasn’t even here. “You haven’t seen anything yet. And I’m going to be around all summer.”

I can’t tell if that’s a warning or some sleazy innuendo, and I don’t care to find out. Not bothering to mask my irritation, I storm out of the bathroom and slam the door behind me. Back in my bedroom, I swear to myself that I’ll avoid Dorian at all costs. He’s crude, vile, and only trying to push my buttons. And unfortunately, it’s working.

Did he really just say I’m stuck with him the entire summer?

I already knew I’d be shipped off to our vacation house in New Hampshire while my father finished up his term in DC before the Senate recess. That’s the usual summer routine. But Dorian tagging along? Bad-boy Dorian is the absolute last person I’d ever imagine playing along with some fake “happy family” performance.

What he’s plotting, that’s what I should be worried about.

Instead of what he has in his pants.