Wicked Wish (The Wicked Horse Vegas 2) - Page 10

His hand comes to my jaw, gripping it hard enough to get my attention. My eyelids spring open. It’s not lost on me that he’s still moving slowly within me, yet he looks at me like I’m repulsive.

“Let me down,” I mutter as my hands push against his chest.

He complies immediately, pulling out of me and setting me down so fast my legs buckle and I fall to my knees. Taking two steps back from me, he pulls the condom off and tosses it near a garbage can against the adjacent wall. It falls short and hits the concrete as I push back up.

“Cover yourself up,” he snaps as he tucks himself back into his jeans, zipping them up.

I pull my dress down over my bare ass, feeling wetness between my legs that’s evidence of my own arousal and not his semen. It shames me greatly, and then I’m quickly covering my breasts with the material.

Before I know what’s happening, he’s got his huge hand clamped around my upper arm and pulling me to the door. He pauses just long enough to bend over and swipe my panties off the ground, shoving them in his front pocket.

I struggle to keep up with his long legs, which is difficult given the four-inch heels Elena talked me into wearing. My legs are weak, and I’m so confused over the fact I can feel little tremors of pleasure still pulsing between my legs.

It’s in vain when I try to jerk my arm free, and fear fills me when he drags me out of the glassed room, out of The Silo, down another hall that says Private, and into a locker room I suspect is for employees.

“Goddamn it, Jorie,” the man says as he turns me to face him while still gripping me tightly.

“Ow, you asshole,” I grit out as I successfully jerk my arm away from him and rub it. “What the hell?”

He just stares at me with hard, flat eyes.

“Wait,” I say as a shiver runs up my spine that has nothing to do with a residual orgasm and everything to do with apprehension. “Did you just call me Jorie?”

His shoulders drop almost in defeat and his head sags so he’s looking at the floor. Almost wearily, he loosens a tie at the back and pulls the mask over his head. When he looks back at me, my legs go numb.

I stumble back two feet, my ass coming up hard against a locker that rattles. “No.”

Walsh Brooks stares at me without an ounce of contrition for what he just did to me, but he’s clearly distressed if the darkness in his eyes is any indication.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” he growls, and his voice is different from what I’d heard in that glass room. It hits me all at once that the voice I’d heard in there was Walsh Brooks amped up on kink and lust, which was why his words came out all gravely and loaded with desire, changing it so much I hadn’t heard anything that resembled the man I knew.

I haven’t seen him in almost ten years, and so much has changed about him. Gone is the shaven, clean-cut executive. Before me stands a man who looks like a rock god. But he’s not that either. He’s very much a businessman who owns a casino here in Vegas. He’s a millionaire probably a million times over.

But his hair is just down to his shoulders, dark as sin and slightly wavy as it falls back from a middle part. His fawn-brown eyes are the same, straight nose and cut cheekbones, but he’s wearing a trimmed beard that runs just along his jawline and it’s so damn sexy.

Then again… Walsh was always the sexiest man I’d ever seen regardless of how he wore his hair. I’d crushed on him hard in my teens, and even after I turned eighteen and headed to Los Angeles, I tended to compare men I’d dated and slept with to him.

Except when I married Vince. When I did that, Vince was it for me, and I didn’t think about Walsh in any fashion other than being a family friend.

A dear, devoted friend with whom I have no business doing what I just did.

I just stare into his hard eyes, trying to reconcile that I just had sex with Walsh Brooks, best friend to my brother Micah, and my onetime hero when I needed one the most.

No, not just sex. Fabulous, dirty, kinky, unrestrained, mind-blowing—

“Answer me, damn it.”

I jump in fright over the edge in his voice. “I don’t know,” I say lamely.

This seems to piss Walsh off as in two strides, he’s hulking over me, his bulky frame so intimidating I find myself shrinking away from him.

“Don’t act scared of me, Jorie,” he snaps as he places his palms on the locker beside my head. “I was just balls deep inside of you, and you’ve known me your entire life. But I want to know… why the fuck was I just balls deep inside of you?”

Tags: Sawyer Bennett The Wicked Horse Vegas Billionaire Romance
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