Cheater's Regret (Curious Liaisons 2) - Page 34

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“You sure you can take care of all my needs?”

I gripped her ass and pulled her onto my lap, kissing her neck, inhaling her skin like a drug addict. “Pretty damn positive.”

“Well . . .” Our foreheads touched. Already her breathing was picking up, her eyes having trouble focusing on mine. “I have MoonPies in my nightstand, how can you really compete with that?”

“Easy.” I shrugged. “More MoonPies and a Mountain Dew trail to the fridge, where I’ll stash extra chocolate milk.”

She let out a little moan. “You know how I feel about chocolate milk, Thatch. Don’t joke about something so serious. I may never leave your apartment.”

I paused and then licked my lips. “Would you believe me if I told you that was part of my evil plan?”

Austin sighed and kissed my mouth softly. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I can’t . . .” Shit, I needed to come clean. “I can’t live without you in my life. Not only that.” I gripped her face. “I don’t want to.”

Air whooshed out of her lungs as she kissed me hard, her body plastered against mine, her breasts sliding across my chest. I let out a moan as I returned her kiss and blocked out every single conversation I’d had with Lucas that day.

Why is he with your mom?

Why indeed.

The lie was on the tip of my tongue, but stole completely out of reach the minute my mom and the mayor grabbed each other’s hands and then let go whenever someone looked at them.

One could never be too careful.

And he was starting to become careless.

I returned to the present.

To Austin.

To us.

To tomorrow.

She moaned as I started slowly dipping my right hand into the waist of her leggings.

I’ll tell her tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty-Three


“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I asked a guilty-looking Austin as she drank directly from the chocolate-milk carton. She froze and then slowly put the carton on the kitchen counter and wiped her face with the back of her bandaged hand.

She had no idea how cute she was.

Or how aroused I was by just watching her drink out of the damn milk carton. The light from the fridge cast a sexy glow across her smooth skin and nest of dark hair as strands fell across her face and long neck.

She smiled, busted. “I was thirsty.”

“And all the glasses were dirty?” I approached slowly, crossing my arms over my chest so I wouldn’t reach for her.


Because a man needs sleep.

And ever since the day before—I’d been kissing her, taking her in the shower, and making sure that every single space in my apartment was christened with her presence.

Including the kitchen counter.

It still had remnants of chocolate sauce on parts of the granite. My blood heated at the memory.

“Yes,” Austin finally answered. “Or, well, I didn’t want to get another glass dirty, because I know how you hate dirty things.”

“Do I?” Was she sleepwalking? When had I ever said that to her?

“Yeah.” She nodded encouragingly and smiled. “You hate it when things get dirty, so much, in fact, that you have to get them clean right away.”

Why the hell was I getting turned on again?

She reached inside the fridge, grabbed the chocolate sauce, and smiled.


With a smirk, she held the bottle over her head and opened her mouth. I stared, slack-jawed, as she poured the chocolate syrup and gulped, only to have part of it spread down her chin and onto her white tank top, and farther into her cleavage.

Shit, it shouldn’t have been hot.

It was messy as hell.

But she was right. I wanted to clean it up right away.

And yet, I couldn’t look away.

My dick jumped when she licked her lips and sucked chocolate off her thumb, only to eye me up and down and say, “Want some?”

“Sure.” I uncrossed my arms and made my way over to her, but when she handed me the bottle, I pushed it away and licked the sauce off her chin, moving down to her chest. Then I jerked her shirt over her head, sucking each nipple until she started panting.

“I didn’t get chocolate there.”

“My eyes were closed—I just wanted to be sure,” I whispered hoarsely against her skin. “Look, more chocolate.” I moved down her stomach and tugged her shorts to the floor.

She shivered. “Okay, now I know you’re full of it, I didn’t get chocolate anywhere near my—”

I licked, then I sucked until I could have sworn she orgasmed against my lips. “You were saying?”

“I was wrong.” And then she was putting chocolate on her fingers and spreading it wherever she wanted me to kiss.

“A map, how thoughtful.” I licked each spot.

“I’m a helper like that. Just think of me like your own personal compass.”

I laughed against her skin, the vibrations making my lips buzz with each kiss and movement of my tongue.

“I love your mouth,” she admitted, knees shaking together. “It’s the perfect mouth, have I told you that before? I may build a shrine—and here we worship Thatch’s lips, king of—”

“And here”—I flicked her with my tongue—“I worship yours.”


I sucked harder. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Her ragged breathing was making it impossible to think straight as I gripped her by the hips and stood, then kicked my boxer briefs down and off while she wiggled against me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” I groaned.

“Are you filing an official complaint?”

“Yes. And I’m charging you with making me lose sleep. Again. Death by chocolate . . .”

“Chocolate should always give orgasms, Thatch. You’re a doctor, you should know these things.”

“Yes, how silly of me to forget about that chapter during med school.”

“That’s why I’m here.” She reached up with sticky hands and tugged my head down to her mouth. She tasted like chocolate and heat. “Take me.”

“With pleasure,” I growled, sinking into her heat and pushing away every shred of guilt I still felt whenever I took more of her—without dealing with the giant lie that separated us.

“Love you,” she breathed against my neck as I moved within her. “So much, Thatch.”

“I love you too.” God, I was such a bastard. “No matter what.”

I added that last part for myself.

Chapter Thirty-Four


Things were going too well.

And suddenly, that morning, I had that weird feeling where I could almost taste the tension in the air. Somet

hing felt wrong as I got ready for my last class to turn in my final assignment and found Thatch gone. I got the sense that the universe was shifting again and not in my favor.

It was the same feeling I’d had the night of our breakup.

He never left before me.

Except for that one time when he was helping his neighbor.

Concerned, I sent him a quick text and checked the time. The last thing I needed was to get docked points for being late to my final class, even though I’d completely killed that assignment.

Five hundred people had started following my journey into plastic surgery—though I think most of it had to do with Thatch just being that good-looking. I’d have been addicted to the blog too—and Thatch being Thatch, he didn’t care that I added pictures of him to a few of the posts, as long as patients weren’t part of them.

No text back.

I eyed the orange juice on the counter and took a swig.

Still cold.

So he couldn’t have left that long ago, right?

Shrugging it off, I grabbed my backpack and keys and made sure to lock up the apartment.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I nearly ran into a man coming up the stairs. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was thinning near his very deep widow’s peak.

“Oh, sorry.” I smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t see you.”

He snorted and then looked at the door I had just come out of. “You another of his one-night stands?”

Bristling, I fought to keep myself from yelling at a stranger and said in a chipper voice, “Actually, I’m his girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend.” He crossed his arms. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. “He broke up with his girlfriend a few weeks ago.”

And what? Got drunk with his neighbor and told him?

“Yeah, that’s me.” I nodded and backed away slowly. “Well anyway, have a great day.”

The man snorted. “Haven’t had a good day since that bitch ruined my life.”

“Alright then.” I waved. “Well, I’m sorry about that.”

His eyes were furious. “You should be.”

Okay, I needed either to get the hell out of there or call the cops.

“I have mace,” I whispered, my hand on my cell phone screen just ready to swipe and dial 911.

He barked out a laugh and then another. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, sweetheart. This”—he pointed at himself—“is your future, especially if you marry Thatch.”

Tags: Rachel Van Dyken Curious Liaisons Romance