my mother had mounted to almost every wall were definitely judging me. The amount of Hail Marys and Our Fathers I’d need to get back into their good graces, more than I was able to offer.
And yet, I didn’t regret it.
Watching her come undone, the desperation in her eyes as I took her right over that edge was well worth the price of giving up the salvation of my soul. Hell, I’d even contemplated taking out my dick and making her come a second time, but wised up before I did something stupid.
No, what we’d done in that room hadn’t been stupid. Reckless, sure, and probably a little seedy, but not stupid. Because nothing I ever did with her would ever be stupid, even if there was a risk of me getting excommunicated from my family and a broken nose from her brother.
I loved it.
Loved those whimpers of desperation when she was right there. The way her eyes would widen as she tightened around me, those little tremors against my hand, mouth or cock, the best reward for a job well done.
And I’d assumed that appreciation was a two-way street, my commitment to making her scream my name as many times as possible something we both could agree was a good thing.
But.
She’d been weird when she came back down the stairs, her eyes slightly clouded as she appeared in what had to be my new favorite dress. It was a tough call and changed daily, the outfit I liked best usually the one she happened to be wearing at the time. Didn’t matter if it was a sexy black dress that stopped her from wearing a bra—like she’d been wearing—or a faded college hoodie and an old pair of jeans. She wore everything like it belonged in a magazine, my senses feasting over every inch.
And the change in her mood hadn’t been the outfit. My initial assessment was she’d been self-conscious about her outstanding cleavage on display. But that was sidelined when she told Tibbs and me not to come to Diablo.
It had nothing to do with the dress. And while she attempted to joke, smile and pretend like everything was fine, I had a hunch that maybe what we’d done in my old bedroom was responsible.
“You sure you don’t want to leave your car here?” Tibbs asked, watching as I climbed into my Mustang. Presley was already sitting in his car, the need for me to drive her redundant. “I’ll bring you back in the morning.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll drop it off at the apartment and meet you at Diablo. Then we can leave from there.” I tapped the roof of my car, watching as he nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, good plan. Okay, I’ll wait for you inside. It will give me a chance to tell Bennett what Shapiro saw, keep him in the loop too.”
With Tibbs happy with the plan, he hopped into his car and backed out of the driveway. I said another quick goodbye to my parents—the rest of my family still inside—and did the same in my car.
It ate at me the whole drive back to Manhattan, wondering if what we’d done had made her feel cheap. Sure as shit hadn’t been classy, even if she’d been the only person who’d come in that bedroom other than me.
I hadn’t done the sneaking girls into my room when I was growing up. Two older sisters who had better hearing than an FBI wiretap was the first problem. Followed closely by religious icons at every turn, neither of those really conducive to getting busy with a girl. So the first time I’d ever taken a girl home had been when I’d been paying my own rent. Meant I didn’t have to worry about St. Peter giving me the evil eye or my Ma getting a briefing from Deanna or Sarah.
But she didn’t know that, maybe assuming it was something I’d done in the past. Or worse, that she’d somehow felt disrespected in some way.
Yes, she asked me to touch her.
Hell, she begged me to fuck her too.
But saying shit when you’re about to explode and making rational decisions with a clear head are two very different things.
Jesus, I’d probably hand over the keys to my car right before I blew my load, that’s how clouded my judgment could be. Which was why I had to face the possibility that maybe our actions—while hot as all fuck—might not have made her feel good.
Which was why I needed an excuse