Unfinished Heroes: Sebring Part 21

Days ago when he forced me to say "hi" to him in that way that was unbelievably t.i.tillating at the same time sweet.

Yes, Nick was good at playful.

"You're a f.u.c.k," I declared.

He seemed unoffended and no less amused.

"I think I got that the times you climbed on, got off, got dressed and took off."

"Since you're a f.u.c.k and I'm a f.u.c.k, there's no need for us to sleep together. Eat together. Or share unnecessary discourse."

Now more amused.

"Unnecessary discourse?"

"Talk," I snapped.

"I know what it means," he shared. "Though, just to point out, I want you coming back to me so we can eat, get our second wind, and because we don't have a lot of time before we gotta check out, you can suck me off. Then we can go. Later, when we hook up again, I'll return the favor. That's us being just f.u.c.ks to each other. Now, room service shows and you wanna drink champagne, eat fruit and do it silently until you get on your knees between my legs, have at it."

That was both t.i.tillating and funny.

I didn't get a chance to experience either to its fullest (not that I'd allow myself to do that).

Nick kept talking.

"You wanna be quiet, that'll be a nice change. Most b.i.t.c.hes talk your ear off, either determined to drill it into you how interesting they think they are or cover how little they got between their ears by talking relentlessly. Honestly, this is part of why I like you being just my f.u.c.k. Not that you get that we're just f.u.c.ks, which is definitely a bonus. But you're quiet and I could use the break."

This was not amusing.

"I feel the need to be offended for the sisterhood," I informed him snootily.

His amus.e.m.e.nt increased significantly.

"Have at it," he allowed. "Though, you intend to do that with a lecture, maybe I'm good you leave before room service gets here."

"And yet now, I have a burning desire to stay."

He let loose another smile.

And I again knew I should go.

There was a knock on the door.

Nick twisted his head to look that way and then turned back to me.

He gave me a quick kiss, then, "It's fruit plate, champagne and b.l.o.w.j.o.b time."

Without another word, he slid out and knifed off me and out of the bed.

He nabbed his jeans on the way to the door.

He disappeared down the hall.

When he did, I shot out of bed, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the closest piece of clothing (which unfortunately happened to be his Henley) and darted into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I cleaned up.

I used the amenities provided to brush my teeth.

And I did all this knowing when I walked out of that room I should get dressed and walk out of the Hotel Teatro never to walk in again unless I was dining at the Nickel.

This meaning never seeing Nick again.

He could be playful. A smarta.s.s. Honest. Hot. Funny. He could look out for me.

And he'd seen my scar and he didn't find it hideous.

I needed to disappear from his life.

I didn't do that.

Like my mind was not my own, my body controlled by that mind, I walked out of the bathroom, sipped coffee, drank champagne, nibbled from a fruit plate and lectured Nick Sebring on the fact that women who talked incessantly were probably very attracted to him and therefore nervous and he should be kinder.

I also shared some other things about the sisterhood I felt he should know, particularly my views on men smacking women's a.s.ses.

He'd grinned at me through some of it. Said sarcastic things through other parts. Was a definite smarta.s.s on more than one occasion. And throughout this, he was playful.

And highly appealing.

So after room service, I got down on my knees and sucked him off.

But truthfully, I liked his d.i.c.k. It was pretty and he tasted divine.

So I would have done that anyway.

Chapter Nine.

Aesthetic Olivia Late that afternoon, after leaving Hotel Teatro (checking out ten minutes after Nick and I battled it out in a final kiss before he walked out our hotel room door), I was at my computer in my home office paying my bills.

My phone rang.

I looked to it, my stomach flipping, my heart leaping and I closed my eyes tight.

What was the matter with me?

Don't answer, Livvie. Don't answer. Do NOT answer, Livvie.

My hand darted out and I answered.

"Hey."

"Hey," Nick replied. "No salons open tonight. I'm not feelin' the Teatro. Come to my place. Seven. I'll feed you before I f.u.c.k you. I'll text the address."

His place?

He'd feed me?

Not a chance.

"Sebring-"

He interrupted to ask, "You like spaghetti?"

Yes, I liked spaghetti.

But more, I desperately, even feverishly wanted to know if he was a good cook.

Naturally, I didn't share either of these.

I stated, "It really shouldn't matter to you if I do or don't considering I'm your f.u.c.k for the evening."

"An evening when I intend to eat spaghetti," he returned.

"If that's the case, I'll come over at eight," I replied.

There was a brief hesitation before he suggested, "I think we should define this f.u.c.k business you think you got goin' on."

For some reason I found that funny.

I could not allow him to make me laugh.

"A f.u.c.k hardly needs defining, Sebring."

He ignored me. "You seem to be good with climbing on my d.i.c.k, climbing off it and going home."

"Yes, that would be how I define a f.u.c.k," I confirmed.

"Right," he said shortly but was far from done. "Not askin' you to share your darkest secrets, Olivia, sure as f.u.c.k not gonna share mine with you. But you are not hard to look at. You're sharp and smart and funny. And straight up, I'd rather sit around eatin' spaghetti talkin' to you while lookin' at you before I f.u.c.k you than sit in my place by myself waitin' for you to show and climb on my d.i.c.k."

All that was nice.

I could not allow that to feel nice.

"Seb-"

"We don't gotta be friends," he said. "That doesn't mean we can't be friendly. This is no strings. I'm not lookin' for attachments. I think we both get with who we are in our world it wouldn't be smart we formed one. That s.h.i.+t never works. Not for anyone."

He certainly had that right.

He didn't need me to confirm that, he kept going.

"You got your gig with your family business and that in no way interests me. I do not want your gig or your family in my business. But we're adults. We both got our heads screwed on straight, or at least I do and with your need to establish boundaries, I'm gettin' yours is too. There's more than one way to enjoy someone. You just wanna offer me your body, I'll take it and be down with that. But I'd rather get the opportunity to look at you for longer periods of time than what I get f.u.c.kin' you. If that comes with us having a few chats that don't go beyond surface, I'm down with that too."

He was handing me an option, marking the path so I wouldn't get hopelessly lost.

An option I knew I shouldn't take.

"I like spaghetti," I announced.

d.a.m.n.

There was a smile in his voice I would have preferred to see aimed at me when he said, "Seven."

"Right."

"Later, Olivia."

"'Bye, Sebring."

We hung up.

Ten minutes later, he texted his address.

I finished paying bills.

Then I spent way too long finding the exact perfect outfit with shoes and accessories and primping with the intent of looking utterly, amazingly fabulous at the same time hoping my outfit came off like I was doing nothing important, just heading over to some guy's house for spaghetti and a f.u.c.k.

I did all this convincing myself the path was marked.

But knowing in the deepest recesses of my mind that I was already lost.

Before I left, as Harry had taught me (in case of emergency, which I decided to think of this as that), I carefully took off the tracker my father had placed on my car.

I also checked to see if any of the boys were in their usual places when they randomly sat and watched my house.

When I saw all was clear, I headed out.

But even with my sat nav, I got lost on the way to Nick's.