Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters 2) - Page 36

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“I’m not used to a man sticking around after sex,” she admits softly.

I lift my head so I can look at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, they all bail right after, even the ones I’m in a committed relationship with.” Her cheeks go red yet again and I kiss her there, my lips pressing into the heated skin of her left cheek, then her right.

“You’ve been in lots of committed relationships?” I ask, almost afraid of her answer. Because if she has I should probably go. Now.

“No.” The word comes out strangled, though that could be because I slipped my hand down to cup her breast. “I’ve had one serious boyfriend. And he was the worst of them all. I found out later I wasn’t the only woman he was seeing, though I thought I was.”

Asshole. I may not commit, but at least I don’t string women along and pretend I want a relationship with them.

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this stuff. Like you care.” She turns her head to the side, staring at nothing, her body tense.

I kiss her jaw, her lips, my hand still on her breast, gently stroking. Her nipple pebbles against my palm, her body growing warm and pliant beneath me, and I place my mouth at her ear. “Let’s take a shower together.”

“I don’t know …” Her voice trails off when I kiss and nibble her earlobe.

“I’ll wash your hair.”

She smiles and lifts her shoulder, trying to shrug me away like she can get rid of me, but I don’t budge. “That sounds nice,” she admits.

“I’ll wash your entire body.” I lick her ear, making her shiver.

“Okay,” she whispers.

“But no more shyness, all right? I like what I see. I don’t want you to be bashful.”

Her gaze meets mine, then drops to linger on my mouth before returning to my eyes. “Bashful? You make me sound like one of the Seven Dwarfs.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to close my eyes so you could run to the bathroom. That sounds like bashful to me.” I’m still cupping her breast, and my cock is hard as steel where it rests against her belly. “We’d better go take that shower before I give up and fuck you again.”

Her eyes widen the slightest bit. “We don’t have any more condoms.”

“I’d pull out.” Just the thought of coming all over her stomach and chest has my balls aching.

“I don’t have sex without a condom.”

“Neither do I.”

“The pull-out method is one of the least reliable.”

“I’ve heard that.” What the fuck is wrong with me, suggesting such a thing and not being the least bit concerned about it, either? I’m a fucking nut job of the highest proportions right about now.

I blame the woman squirming beneath me.

“Yet you suggested it.” She’s calling me out yet again.

“You think too much.” I kiss her nose and climb off of her, standing by the side of the bed with my hand held out. “Come on. Let’s go take that shower.”

She studies my hand warily, looking as unsure as I feel. There’s a heaviness in the room. A sense that the two of us are about to embark on a crazy adventure neither of us will ever fully recover from.

Will she take my hand? Or tell me to get the hell out? She should do the latter. It’s the safest bet. The easiest out. And I’m always about the easiest out.

But she takes it. Curling her fingers in mine, she allows me to help her out of bed so she’s standing in front of me, naked and beautiful. Without a word I lead her into the bathroom and let go of her hand, admiring her ass as she walks over to the shower and starts the water, flicking her fingers in the spray as she waits for it to warm.

“Ready?” she asks when steam starts to billow out of the shower stall.

As I’ll ever be.

We end up at a hotel in Trafalgar Square, taking a taxi to get there, one of those little black cabs you see on TV when you’re a kid. I’ve been to England once before, but I was too young to care and not really paying attention to my surroundings.

London is exactly what you’d expect it to be. Bustling and full of people, quick paced and crowded, its streets packed with those red double-decker buses. History is everywhere, staring down at you in the form of one statue or another. They give everyone a statue in this damn city. I bet if I paid enough money I could have my own motherfucking statue erected in some small park.

I tried to feel Rose up in the back of the cab since the driver wasn’t paying us any mind but she wouldn’t have it, slapping my hands away every time I tried to grab her. You’d think I wouldn’t feel the need to grab her, since she gave me a soapy hand job in the shower that had me coming so hard I had to brace myself against the shower wall for fear I’d slip down the drain.

Not that I hadn’t returned the favor, fingering her into another orgasm while my mouth remained tight around her nipple. She’s so damn responsive, I had her coming in minutes.

“Why are you taking me to another hotel?” I ask her as we enter the building. There’s a noisy bar to the right, filled with people around our age dressed to trendy perfection, standing around drinking and talking, loud music blaring over the speakers. I start to head toward the bar but she stops me, dragging me toward a short bank of elevators to the left, just beyond the registration desk.

“We’re going to the restaurant up on the roof. It’s supposed to be one of those hidden-gem secrets of the city. Violet told me about it. She came here with Ryder a few weeks ago and said the view and the food were excellent.” Rose hits the up button and we wait for the elevator to make its way to the ground floor.


Tags: Monica Murphy The Fowler Sisters Romance
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