His Secret Obsession by Nichole Rose

 

Chapter Two

Gwen

 

"Do not freak out," I chant to myself as I make my way toward the entrance of the upscale hotel where I work. Only I'm not here for a shift at the front desk this time. I'm here to see Cami Reynolds. She's performing with her husband at a charity benefit tonight, and Jax Archer, the billionaire my best friend is madly in love with, got me tickets. If Jessa Jordan doesn't marry that man, I may disown her.

Cami has been my idol since she fell in love with Bentley Reynolds and took the music world by storm. For the first time in my life, I saw a big girl like me welcomed with open arms in the country music business. Before her, there weren't a whole lot of opportunities for curvy girls like us. She changed that with the help of her manager, Riley Jamison.

And big girls were just the start. Over the last six years, they've worked hard to blow the doors wide open for everyone who is drawn to country music. Everyone from African Americans who sing the blues like me to Tejano cowboys to men like Bentley Reynolds and Clayton Devine have found a place in an industry where they were never truly welcomed before Riley flipped the script.

People resisted at first. There were rumors that even Riley's board of directors threw a fit, but that ended as soon as Bentley and Cami went multi-platinum. When I move to Nashville in a few months, I have an actual shot of making it because of them.

I wish Riley was still taking on clients because I would be beating down her door. But her plate is full of the artists she already manages. I want to meet her and Cami so bad it's ridiculous, but I'll settle for watching Cami perform for now. Maybe one day soon, I'll actually get to thank her for giving me hope.

I've been singing my whole life. And I've been shot down my whole life too. I'm too big. Too bluesy. Too unconventional. Too outspoken. Too untrained. Basically, I'm too much of everything no one wants. At least not in country music. But I love it so much. I've been a southern girl my whole life. Country music is in my blood.

My grandma traveled the world with some of country's most recognizable names in the fifties and sixties. She was always singing old blues and country songs when I was little. I'm not sure if she passed her dream down to me or if I found it all my own. All I know is that I don't want to sing backup like my grandma did. I want to be the one front and center, calling the shots. It wasn't an option for her. There weren't many opportunities for African American women in country music back then. But I have a real shot.

The hotel is busy tonight. Our valets, Jett, Caleb, and Jacob, are working overtime, trying to park the flashy cars lining up at the doors. Tickets to the benefit tonight cost a small fortune. They also sold out in minutes. The who's who of polite southern society jumped at the chance to support the American Cancer Society and see Cami, Bentley, Kasen Alexander, and Clayton Devine on the same stage.

I may kiss Jax myself to thank him for the ticket if Jessa doesn't do it for me. Okay, there's no way I'd really kiss him. But it would give my best friend the kick in the butt she needs to go get her man. It's obvious he's as in love with her as she is with him. They've been circling each other for years, both too afraid to make a move.

At least one of us should be happy in love…and I've given up on getting my happily-ever-after with Jessa's brother, Cyrus Jordan. Two years ago, I thought we had a chance. But I've been fighting for years for him to see me as the woman I am and not the chubby teenager with stars in her eyes he first met six years ago. I'm ready to give up on it ever happening and resign myself to a future as a virgin spinster.

The way I feel about him is slightly terrifying. I've never wanted anything as much as I want music…until the day I set eyes on him for the first time. He looked at me and my entire universe reordered itself. His didn't. I saw part of my soul looking back. He saw a chubby teenager with a pipe dream. And no amount of fighting to get him to see me different has ever changed his mind.

"You have got to be kidding me," I groan when my gaze lands on him. I freeze in mid-step, staring in shock. It's almost as if merely thinking about him conjured him up. He's standing just outside the doors, playing with his phone, and looking too damn fine in his dark suit and tie. Somehow, the black material makes him look even more gorgeous than ever.

Jessa and Cyrus are complete opposites in so many ways. He's dark where she's light, hard where she's soft. They're both crazy intelligent and fiercely loyal, but he's closed off and growly where Jessa is compassionate and gentle. He's imposing and overwhelming and so damn beautiful with his golden skin and piercing blue eyes. They cut right through me every time they land on me.

He's been the bane of my existence since the day I met him.

He broke my heart that first day. I had an audition for Country Roots, a televised singing competition, the next day. After he informed me that most people never make it in music and told me not to be stupid, he let me know I was wasting my time.

I'll never admit to him, but it rattled me. Bad. I already had so many doubts about whether I was good enough to make it, and he didn't help.

When it came time for me to audition the next day, I ran right out the doors and never went back. My grandma found me in tears, hiding in the alley. Not even Jessa knows that. I lied and told her I didn't make it through the first round. It took me months to find the confidence to try again, and by then, it was too late. My grandma died three weeks after the audition. She never got to see me find my voice or smash through the glass ceiling she couldn't. But I'll take that secret to my grave before I let Cyrus Jordan know just how much he shook me.

I wish I could make myself stop caring what he thinks, but I've given up on that ever happening. He's the only man I've ever dreamed about. Two years ago, I thought maybe we were finally getting somewhere. He stopped growling at me all the time. We were…friends. And then he told me he was being deployed to Iraq and I kissed him. I guess I was afraid something would happen to him, and I'd never get another chance.

I hoped that things would progress between us when we got back. That didn't happen.

When he finally landed stateside nine months later, he was…different. Darker. He wouldn't even tell Jessa what happened over there, but I followed the news so obsessively I knew. He was involved in a series of airstrikes that killed a bunch of civilians who weren't supposed to be there. It wasn't his fault. Hell, it wasn't anyone's fault, really. But it messed him up. He was so lost, but he pretended nothing was wrong.

He pretended that kiss never happened, and I let him. It broke my heart to realize it meant more to me than it did to him, but I didn't know what else to do. He was drowning and I didn't want to make him worse.

We've always fought over everything, but it's different this time. I used to push his buttons and piss him off just because I could. But fighting with him hurts a hell of a lot more now than it did before he deployed. So, a few months ago, I started avoiding him. Now, we're further apart than ever…and I still love him as fiercely as ever. Maybe that makes me pathetic, but I can't change it now.

I've never been able to see past him.

I've never dated or had sex or even kissed anyone else because all my stupid heart wants is him.

I've never gotten over him.

And I'm going to murder Jessa for sending him here tonight.

I'm moving to Nashville in three months. I have to learn to live without him, and I'd rather start now than fall apart when I get there. Except he seems to hate it when I ignore him even more than he hates when I fight him.

I desperately want to believe that's because he loves me too…but I've been down that rabbit hole so many times I've worn the sides smooth. And it always leads me right back to where I started, with him saying something to remind me that he doesn't feel the same way. He never has. And, at this point, I've given up on believing he ever will. No amount of wishing will ever change that. It would have worked by now if it were going to work at all.

For a split second, I consider leaving, and then quickly change my mind. I don't care what he has to say, I'm not letting him ruin tonight for me. No way. He can sulk at the table if he wants, but I plan to enjoy myself even if it kills me.

"If you're going to be a grouch, you're not going in with me," I say, stalking toward him.

He lifts his gaze from his phone. It rolls over me like a heatwave, turning my nipples into hard little points in my dress. I swear, he runs hot and cold. He looks at me sometimes like he wants to have me for dinner. But then he just gets cranky about it, as if it personally offends him to find me beautiful. I'm not sure why it bothers him so much. I used to think he didn't like my curves. But I don't think his issue is curvy women. It's me, specifically.

It's my body that offends him. My curves.

I'm not vain, but I know I look good tonight. I spent all day getting ready. My dress is a bright red, floor-length A-line gown with an empire waist. The top plunges between my breasts and the front is slit all the way up my thigh. It's a gorgeous dress and I feel like a princess in it. My makeup is on point and my hair is in an elegant updo.

"Princess," Cyrus says, his voice a soft growl that touches me in the same place it always does. Deep in my womb. I love his voice. It's sexy as hell. Which is a waste since he uses it to piss me off more often than not.

"Before you insult me, you should know I'm wearing stilettos," I say, my voice sugary-sweet. Last time he complained about my clothes while I was wearing heels, he limped for a week. He's what Jessa calls a bossy pants man. But I'm not his sister, and he doesn't get to make rules about my clothing choices.

I like fashion, but truth be told, I've always picked half of what I wear just to drive him crazy. It's childish and bratty, but it's true. I can't help it! Every time he's near me, I turn into someone I barely recognize. He makes me want to be a brat and push his buttons and piss him off just to see how he'll react. And God help us both, but part of me loves it just as much as he does. For a while after he came back, I told myself that it could be enough for me.

It was a lie.

I'll always want more of him. I'll always want all of him, and he doesn't feel the same. Somehow, I have to figure out how to love him from afar. And maybe, if I'm lucky, one day it won't hurt so damn badly.

That day isn't today. Because I desperately want to feel his arms around me right now.

"Why would I insult you?" he asks, swallowing hard as his eyes sweep up and down my body. He's looking at me that way again…like he wants to back me up against the wall and devour me. "You look ravishing, princess."

"You always insult me," I mutter, caught off guard by the compliment and the heat with which he utters it. He almost sounds like he genuinely means it.

"You hear what you want to hear."

"I'm not arguing with you tonight," I warn him, throwing up a hand. "If that's why you're here, you can just go right back to base."

He stares at me for a minute and then takes a step closer to me. I feel the heat coming off his body and have to lock my legs in place to keep from swaying toward him. He's so flipping gorgeous to me. I don't understand why God had to craft him exactly the way I like.

"That's not why I'm here," he says, tipping his head forward and getting all up in my personal space. His voice rakes across my senses, setting me on fire with need. It trembles in my belly, making my core clench.

God, I want this man inside me so badly. When I touch myself, it's always, always Cyrus I think about. It's been him for so damn long. But he's had years to learn to love me back. Years to make me his.

"You know that's not why I'm here," he growls, his breath tickling along the side of my face. He smells like mint and brandy. And even though there are hundreds of people around us, I feel like we're in our own little world. "Tell me you know that."

"I know," I whisper. He has no idea how much that admission cost me.

His soft exhale lets me know that maybe I'm wrong about that. Maybe he does know just how much it took for me to give him that much. He seems…different tonight. More intense than usual, almost like he's determined to do something and isn't going to let anything stop him. He seems more at peace tonight too, as if the last few clouds that have been darkening his skies have finally blown away.

He takes another step toward me, invading what's left of my personal space. His nose drifts along the side of my face. My entire body trembles as desire spikes to an all-time high. And then he wrecks me by placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

"You're beautiful, Gwen. Every fucking day since I met you," he whispers.

"Cyrus." My body quivers again, a flock of birds kicking into flight in my belly.

"Can we call a truce for one night, princess? Please?" I think he's actually pleading with me to give him this one thing. There's a thread in his voice I haven't ever heard before, one full of uncertainty and a healthy dose of worry, as if he's afraid I'll say no.

I say yes. Of course I do. With him, it's the only answer I know. Which is precisely why he's so dangerous to me. He doesn't know it, but I would have given up everything for him. When he came back from Iraq after I kissed him, I was prepared to do exactly that. Forget going to Nashville when I graduate, forget my fears about turning into my mom, and just…be with him.

But that was then, and this is now. He's made it clear he has no desire to change the way things are between us, and I can't wait for him forever. So I'm going to Nashville and I'm going to pursue my dreams until I catch them like I promised my grandma I would. And maybe, someday, being in love with someone who can't love me back won't hurt so damn much.

"Thank you." He presses his lips to my cheek again and then holds his arm out to me.

I hesitate for a split second before I slip mine through his. If tonight is all I get with him before I go, it'll be enough. It has to be.

 

 

The hallway leading to the ballroom is packed to the rafters. Women outnumber men three to one, which is hilarious to me. Most of them probably couldn't name a single song from the men performing tonight, but they're here to see them anyway.

I may look a little different than what most people envision when they think of southern girls, but it's in my blood. My mom is a mess. She falls in and out of love at the drop of a hat, and never stays in one place for long, so I spent most of my childhood with my grandma and my dad, who owns a cattle farm.

They raised me the same way so many others in the south were raised.

Most of the women here didn't grow up that way. Money drips from them like jewels, and I know they wouldn't even dream of climbing on the back of an ATV and riding until they're covered in mud or bottle feeding a calf whose mama didn't survive birthing it. They wouldn't be caught dead swimming in a creek or mucking out a stall.

They aren't here because they love the music and the lifestyle it represents. They came with the hopes of catching the eye of Kasen, Bentley, or Clayton, who the world refers to as the Holy Trinity of country music. Two of the three are very happily married men, and the third, Clayton, is hung up on someone. It's in every song he writes, every note he sings. But single women are still crammed into the hallway like sardines anyway, desperate to catch their eye.

Considering that I've been trying to catch the eye of the same man for the last six years, I can't judge them for it. Desperation isn't my color any more than it's theirs. But we keep painting ourselves in it anyway. Good men are hard to find, and even harder to let go.

"Jesus Christ," Cyrus mutters beneath his breath once we pass our tickets to the attendant and are ushered inside the ballroom. He grimaces as if he'd rather be anywhere but here. I'm guessing he probably would. Cyrus doesn't do crowds, or people, or concerts. They make him antsy, especially since his last deployment. And he has no patience. But he wades forward anyway, his arm locked around me as if he expects someone to try to pry him loose.

A few interested sets of eyes land on him before dropping to me. I smile brightly, though secretly, I want to throw myself into his arms and kiss him until it's clear he's off limits. I hate how women stare at him! I mean, I don't blame them because he's gorgeous. But it drives me crazy anyway. He doesn't even notice the way they look at him.

Not long after we met, I briefly considered that he might be gay, but Jessa assured me that he's not. She said he had girlfriends all the time when he was younger, but he stopped dating a year or two before I met her. If he's dated anyone since then, he's never brought them home. Thank God.

I dread the day he falls for someone. It's going to break my heart into tiny pieces.

"Your table is this way," the usher says, pointing us in the right direction. I think he usually works in the kitchen, but I'm not sure. Turnover in some positions is high, so it's hard to keep up with all the fellow employees. "Mr. Archer reserved it specifically for you."

The table is set up at the front of the ballroom, just off to the left of the stage in an area all by itself. It's set for two with a placard that says reserved. The next closest table is a good five feet away. I guess when you own the place like Jax does, you get to make whatever provisions you want.

"I love Jax," I say, making a mental note to demand Jessa marry him immediately.

Cyrus mutters something from beside me that sounds like a threat to kill his best friend. I guess he's not thrilled about being so close to the stage. Whatever though. He can be grumpy all he wants. Nothing is going to ruin tonight for me. I've got front-row seats to the hottest show in town.

"No, princess," he says, placing a hand on my arm and shaking his head when I go to sit in the seat that's facing the stage.

I glance up at him to ask what the problem is and then realize how tight his expression is. My stomach churns. He's anxious about being in such a big crowd.

"You sit here," he says, pointing at the chair against the wall.

"Cyrus, I can sit in the other chair."

"Gwen, sit," he growls.

I huff out a breath and plop down into the chair against the wall. "Happy now?"

He gives me a tight nod before taking the other chair. I swear, he makes no sense to me. He hates having his back exposed to other people. I could have sat there and saved him a lot of stress for the night because I don't care where I sit. But no.

He's so bossy!

"Thank you," he murmurs a couple minutes later, exhaling a breath.

I scrutinize his expression, noting the darkness in his eyes and the lines around his mouth. "You're anxious," I whisper, my heart hurting for him. As much as I like to push his buttons and test his patience, I don't want him suffering. I've never wanted that. Watching him struggle so much to find himself again this last year killed me. He's worked so hard to overcome it. "We can go."

His gaze flies to mine. "You'd leave for me?"

Would I leave for him?

I'd go anywhere he wanted me to go, and I wouldn't regret a second of it.

"Yeah, I would," I say, glancing down at the table. They're all covered with white tablecloths. The silverware is rolled into black cloth napkins with a silver ring around them. There are gorgeous arrangements of red roses and white lilies set up at the center of each table. They're elegant, beautiful. "I know how hard it's been for you since you got home."

"I wish you didn't," he mutters.

I try not to let him see how much that stings, but I think he notices anyway because he reaches out to place his hand over mine.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It's just been a while since I wore a fucking suit and had to deal with other assholes in suits. It's stressing me out."

His comment makes me smile.

"What?"

"At least you admit you're an asshole," I say, and then laugh.

"You still think I'm an asshole?"

I shrug, looking up at him with a grin. "If the shoe fits."

His somber expression doesn't change. He stares at me for a long, silent moment. "You've never forgiven me for what I said," he says then, shaking his head. "I should have handled it a different way."

"Handled what a different way?"

"The day we met." He rubs his thumb across my knuckles, his blue eyes full of remorse. "You were so beautiful. I knew if I didn't make you think the worst of me, I'd end up doing something we both would have regretted. I thought you'd get over it, but you never did. You've hated me ever since."

"Wh…" I pause to lick my suddenly dry lips. "What are you talking about, Cyrus?"

"The day we met."

"You were mean to me."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were. You told me I was wasting my time," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'm pretty sure you also called me stupid and said I'd never make it."

"No, I said you should be smarter than the people who say stupid shit to you, and that most people don't make it. It's still true." He swallows hard. "You're too beautiful to listen to the opinions of assholes who want to change you. And you misunderstood what I meant when I said you were wasting your time."

"What did you mean then?"

"I…" he trails off with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Then why did you even bring it up?" I slide my hand out from under his, scowling at him. "You said you wanted a truce for the night."

"I did. I do. Fuck," he growls, tipping his head forward. He sits there for a minute before lifting his head again. His eyes are a dark and stormy blue. "You've hated me for years because of that day. Why?"

"I never hated you," I say.

"You did."

"I didn't."

He growls beneath his breath. Before he can argue further, the lights dim, and woman steps out onto the stage. The dull roar of the crowd intensifies for a moment as everyone rushes to find their seats, and then the noise dies.

The thin blonde with a big smile introduces herself as a representative from the American Cancer Society. She launches into a talk about the disease and why it's so important to support organizations leading the fight. I try to listen, but I feel Cyrus watching me and it makes it hard to concentrate.

He's gorgeous and intelligent and capable. He's so good to his mom and sister. It doesn't matter what's going on, if they need him, he'll drop everything. He can be charming and funny. He's a good man, one of the best I've ever met. But with him, I've always felt a little out of my depth. He looks at me and I want him to see me, not his little sister's annoying friend.

Jessa always says he annoys me because he can't stand when I'm not paying attention to him. For the first time, I consider the possibility that maybe she's right. Maybe he acts like a jerk for the same reason I've always acted like a brat. Because he feels the same pull I do, the one that's overwhelming and a little bit terrifying. Fighting one another is the only thing that has kept us from crashing into each other like two neutron stars colliding.

When that happens, either a bigger neutron star emerges…or a black hole does.

I've never considered that maybe he feels the same way, that fighting me is a defense mechanism for him too. It's…a startling realization. I thought it was obvious that I'm crazy in love with him. I thought that's why he's been so growly toward me. Sure, he gets bossy and growly with Jessa too, but it's not the same. Not even close. With her, he's the bossy older brother who wants what is best for her. With me, everything I do seems to frustrate him.

I thought it was because I'm not his type, because he doesn't feel the same way I do. Maybe the problem is that I am his type, and he's as terrified of that fact as I am. Maybe he doesn't want us to become a black hole either.

I'm a coward when it comes to him. I don't want to risk a cataclysm. Every day he was in Iraq, I felt a little like I was dying. Every day since he's been home, it's been worse. How much more devastating would it be to get to truly love him, only to lose him?

I watch him watching me out of the corner of his eye. He's frowning as if something is wrong, but I don't know what. Not until he hooks his foot around the bottom of my chair and drags me closer to him. Once I'm right up against him, our thighs pressed together, he grunts.

A few minutes later, he wraps his hand around my wrist and gently but firmly uncurls my fingers. The pads of his fingers are rough as they slide over mine, linking our fingers together. I'm so much darker than him, but I love the way our hands look linked.

I love the way they feel even more.

He holds my hand until the woman on stage stops talking and Bentley Reynolds takes the stage.

"Evening," Bentley says in his deep growl, nodding at the crowd. He's dressed in dark jeans and a button down instead of a suit. I don't think they could pay him enough to wear one of those. He and Clayton and Kasen play by their own rules. It's part of what everyone loves about them. "How's everyone doing tonight?"

Cyrus nuzzles his face into the side of my throat.

"Cyrus," I whisper. My heart races, beating so fast I'm sure he can probably hear it over the sound of the crowd responding to Bentley. If this is some new game of his, some new plan he's concocted to piss me off, I'd much rather him steal my lunch like he did last week. Because I can live with that, as annoying as it is. I wanted that salmon, dang it! But I don't think I can live with him touching me and then changing his mind. I'm barely surviving as it is.

"Every fucking time you sit beside me, I think about being able to touch you like this," he whispers in my ear. "My dick has been hard for you for six years, Gwen."

"I…I…"

"Why do you hate me, angel?"

"I don't."

He nips my ear and I whimper, squeezing his hand for dear life.

"Tell me, princess. I can't fix it until you do. What have you been so mad about all these years?"

"My audition," I blurt as Bentley starts to play. What, I have no idea. All I hear is Cyrus and the frenetic beating of my own heart.

"What about it?"

"I couldn't do it. After you said I was wasting my time, I…I froze. I never auditioned."

He falls still beside me, barely even seeming to breath. And then he stands up abruptly, pulling me up with him. Before I can even ask what's going on, I catch sight of his face. His eyes blaze with an intensity I've never seen from him before. My stomach flutters and spins.

He practically drags me out of the room, taking the first door we come across. It opens out into the hall, which is as busy as the ballroom. He plunges through the crowd, his hand locked around my wrist. Within seconds, he's pushing through the throng into a conference room across the hall. It's dark inside, all the lights out.

My back lands against the door and then the lights flicker on.

"You didn't audition," he says, staring at me in what can only be described as shocked fury.

"I…" I shake my head.

"Because of me."

It's not really a question but I nod anyway. When regret and shame flare in his eyes, my heart throbs in protest.

"When it was my turn, I just froze," I mumble, stumbling over the words in my haste to get them out. I want to absolve him of the guilt, which is why I never told anyone the truth. "I ran out. My grandma found me crying in an alley. It took six months before I worked up the courage to audition again."

"She died a few weeks after we met."

I nod.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers. "No wonder you hate me."

"I don't hate you, Cyrus," I say, shaking my head. "I never hated you. I was mad at you for a while, but it wasn't your fault. Not really. You just vocalized what I'd been worrying about myself. Hearing it out loud shook me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrug instead of answering.

"Tell me, Gwen. Why?"

"I didn't want you to feel bad, okay?" I growl, glaring at him. "By the time I saw you again, you were on the verge of being deployed to Syria. I didn't want you to have to go to war thinking my grandma didn't get to see me audition because of you."

"Jesus," he whispers, pressing up against me. He rests one hand over my head on the door. His other goes beneath my chin, tipping my head back until our eyes meet. "You should have told me."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

He growls wordlessly, and I think he's mad at me, but the heat blazing in his eyes says something different. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he mumbles, staring at my lips. "Like I should have that day."

"I wasn't…"

"Old enough?" His eyes flare with wicked heat. "You think that changed anything, princess?" He tilts his hips forward until I feel his erection against my belly. "Since day fucking one, Gwen."

His name is wrenched loose from deep in my chest. It comes out in a sob so loud it almost hurts to hear it. It hurts to say it. A wave of heat rolls over me, setting me on fire all at once. It's instantaneous, like a coronal mass ejection firing from the surface of the sun. It surges through me, sending my system spinning into chaos.

He doesn't leave me burning for long. Within seconds, his lips are on mine. This isn't a quick thing like the time I kissed him. His kiss is deadly, his lips a dichotomy that's far too sensual. He's hard heat and soft lips, those rough fingers delivering a gentle caress as he licks into my mouth and claims it as his own.

One taste is all it takes to wreck me.

I'm plastered to the door, clinging to the knob for dear life as he unleashes years of pent-up sexual frustration on me. And God help me, but it's everything I always imagined and more. When I dreamed about him kissing me, I wanted it to wreck me like it always does in the movies or in the dirty books Jessa reads. I think this might be even better.

"Goddamn, Gwen," he growls, biting my lip and then dragging it through his teeth. "You taste like strawberries." He bites my lip again and then surges forward to stroke my tongue with his, leaving me a quivering mess against the door. His weight is the only thing holding me up. My legs stopped functioning as soon as he touched me.

I forget about Cami and why I came here. I forget about everything but him and how badly I want him. How badly I need him. He wants me as badly as I want him. I don't know what changed or why, but I'm not asking any questions either. If tonight is all I get with him, I want the memories to last me a lifetime.

"Make love to me," I plead. "Please, Cyrus."

"You want me, princess?" He stops kissing me long enough to attack my neck. "You want me inside you, making you scream my name?"

"Yes." God, yes.

"Fuck," he growls before biting my neck. And then he practically flings himself away from me.

I think he's going to deny me…but he doesn't. When I pry my eyes open to face him, he's breathing hard, staring at me like he's going to eat me alive. He's hot, hard, hungry male. And I'm on the menu.

"We're renting a room," he says, holding out a hand to me.

I place mine in his without hesitation.