The Play Mate (Roommates, #2)

Evie

So. Embarrassed.

I was embarrassed at Smith’s stinging rejection, but ten thousand times worse than that? My own idiotic behavior. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. I’d failed spectacularly last night, and the sting of white-hot shame was burning a hole in my chest.

I winced as I rolled out of bed. Jeez. I hadn’t even technically had sex, but my vagina didn’t know it. I was sore and tender deep inside. And not to mention filled with regrets.

Seriously, who botches their first (okay, second) time so badly they can’t convince the guy to follow through?

Barefoot, I padded toward the bathroom and shed my pajamas while I waited for the water to heat. Utterly ashamed of myself, I shampooed, conditioned, and scrubbed until I was pink all over.

I’d sobbed quietly last night when I got back to my room until I’d cried myself to sleep. But today was a new day, and thankfully, I didn’t have to face Smith. It was the only silver lining in this shit show.

Last night, I’d entered his room and lain with him in the bed. His breathing was deep and even, and I knew he was asleep. I didn’t see any harm in cuddling close to him. I wasn’t sure if anything else would happen, but then it did. He responded to my touch, and then I grew bolder, and before I knew what was happening, I was reaching under the sheet and stroking the longest, thickest cock I’d ever felt. Things happened quickly after that. He’d removed my robe, sucked on my nipples until I was soaking wet with need. His fingers in my panties moved with such certainty. He was all man, and it showed. Experienced where I was unsure.

I came quickly and wanted more. I was nearly dizzy from his kisses, his touches, and then he was sheathing himself in a condom and asking me if I was sure. I’d never been more certain of anything in my entire life. And then he entered me, pushing past my tight walls, and the stretch had stung but felt wonderful, all at the same time.

Until he’d stopped suddenly and pulled away.

Wrapped in a robe with my hair fashioned in a turban, I sat down on the bed and grabbed my phone. I thought about texting Maggie, but what could I say? That she’d been right all along? Jesus.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

I didn’t have to tell Smith that I was nearly still in virgin territory-he knew. He just somehow knew. Did it feel as amazing for him as it did for me? Probably not, or he wouldn’t have pushed me away like he’d been burned.

As I stared down at my phone, contemplating what to do, a text from my brother popped up.

Cullen: Come down for breakfast. We’re at the restaurant across from the lobby.

He and Smith were down there. No way I was joining them. If needed, I’d fake an illness-traveler’s diarrhea. That was a thing, right?

Except then my brother would come up here and check on me, pull the concerned-older-brother card, and Smith would know the truth-that I was too ashamed to face him.

Well, fuck that. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I would go down there and be confident and calm about the whole thing-the epitome of maturity, when I felt anything but-and then we’d all go home soon and I’d never have to see Smith again.

I responded to Cullen’s text, telling them to wait for me before they ordered. Then I blow-dried my hair and perfected my makeup until I was satisfied that I looked good enough that Smith would regret calling off our little fuck fest last night.

I hated that I knew exactly what those full lips felt like sucking and licking my tender flesh, hated that I knew he could make me come in about two minutes flat, hated that I only got to feel him for the briefest of moments.

But most of all, I hated myself for being so stupid. I couldn’t believe I thought my plan would actually work, that I’d waltz in there and seduce him. Christ, he could have probably pressed assault charges if he really wanted to.

I had no idea what to say or how to act when I saw Smith, but I was going to put on a brave face and give it my best shot.

The extra concealer I applied took care of those big dark circles under my eyes from tossing and turning rather than sleeping last night. Then I dressed in a pair of dark skinny jeans that fit me like a glove, and a low-cut red sweater that showed off what little cleavage I had. Black stiletto boots and a swipe of nude lip gloss, and I was ready.

Eat your heart out, Smith Hamilton. You jackass.