Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
He lets that sink in, looking deeper into me. “You want to agree to it?” he asks, like he needs these three commandments written in stone:
Phoebe and Rocky Shall Never, Ever Have Sex.
Phoebe and Rocky Shall Never, Ever Date Outside of Cons.
Phoebe and Rocky Shall Never, Ever Honestly Be Together.
I don’t want to pine after him. I don’t want to think about him when I’m with other men. I just want to know that the door is closed for good.
“Yeah,” I say firmly. “I do.” I extend my hand, and Rocky steps over to the bed, covering himself with his balled-up underwear, and he shakes on it. He holds on to my palm for too long, and the worst part, this isn’t over.
We have to pull the rope.
Everything is worse, when I thought it’d be better with the declaration, the agreement, and our admission. The tension doesn’t dissolve—it wrings painfully tight.
I’m bare underneath the sheets, lying as stiff as a prickly cactus, and Rocky has left for the bathroom.
“You’re cutting it close!” I shout at him. We have three minutes. How the hell am I supposed to make fake sweet love with him now?
A knife slices through my lungs with each inhale.
Rocky returns to the room as naked as he left. He chucks his crumpled boxer briefs near the bed, and then he throws a filled condom on the ground. Oh fuck. I widen my eyes at him, but he’s not looking at me. A towel is in his hand, a green silk robe . . . and a knife.
What’s he doing? I try to be polite and avoid glimpses of his cock. It feels wrong to even peek now.
Rocky tosses me the robe, and I slip my arms mechanically through the silky fabric. He wrenches the comforter and sheets off me. Cold bites my exposed flesh, and he piles the bedding in a twisted heap on the floor.
We’re barely looking at each other at this point. And when we do, his jaw tightens and my body flexes strangely. And it hits me.
I think we just broke up in the middle of a con. Not that we were ever together in any traditional sense, but we were something. The possibility of what we could be always quietly simmered between us, and now it’s festering painfully.
He’s back to kneeling on the bed. With the knife, he pricks his finger.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“We’re giving that bastard what he’s afraid of.” Blood bubbles on his fingertip, and he stains the hand towel with crimson droplets. “A deflowered virgin.”
“Smart.” I actually like this plan, but I’m unsure if it’ll work.
He sucks his finger and shuts the knife into the end table drawer. “What position are you thinking?”
Another pit forms in my stomach. We never talked about missionary or doggy style or any single position beforehand because we planned on the sex being natural.
Now we’re switching from an exhilarating manual transmission to dull automatic, and I just want this over with.
“Probably a position where he can see my face,” I say.
“Lie on your back with your head at the foot of the bed.”
This is a good option. I can still wear the robe and just have the fabric be a tantalizing tease, slipping slightly off my breasts. But I won’t be flashing the mark, and I wonder if Rocky thought about this, too.
Instead of Patrick catching us in the act, we talk it through quickly and agree for him to catch us right as we finish.
With my head careening over the edge of the bed, Rocky grips my hips, but he wads the bloodied hand towel near my center. His cock isn’t touching me, and I’m not inspecting how hard he is. If we just finished coming together, then it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Once our phone pings, we know Oliver is in the hallway. He had his “friend” from concierge (aka Everett) give him the keycard to our hotel suite.
I act like I’m coming loudly, and Rocky fakes a heavy grunt.
“Yes, baby!” I cry out. “Oh my God, baby, that was so good. Fuck, yes.”
“Yeah, you like that, Dalilah?” Rocky pants but stares at the entryway. “I knew you would, honey.”
The door flies open. My head upside down, I see Patrick roll to a horrified stop. “Dalilah?” He’s sheet white.
“Oh my God.” I tighten the robe around my naked frame, the strand of diamonds like a cold drip of water between my breasts.
“Get the fuck out of our room!” Rocky shouts at Patrick. “How the hell did you even get in here?!”
The mark is slack-jawed, suffocating on his own shock. His wide eyes ping to the cum-filled condom, the rumpled bedding on the ground, the romantic rose petals, my discarded lacy thong, and then back to me, where my legs are still spread around Rocky.