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There.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
His eyes narrow, but his smile doesn’t warm his gaze. And I get confused, witnessing the change of color, the shades of gray and light and darkness, his pupils enlarging, his lashes casting a shadow over the entire show.
His eyes speak to me, unwillingly alluring me with smoky colors, fragments of emotions, and windows open entirely for me to take a peek.
“Yeah… You got me,” I sneer, moving away from him and the door, setting my coffee down, and tossing my things on the bed before picking up a bottle of water from the table.
I spin around to face him.
He’s maybe a couple of feet away from me. Too close.
And I don’t know what it is about him.
It’s probably the hurricane spinning inside him, tensing his frame, clouding his eyes, hardening his features, and sharpening his jawline.
He has his hands tucked in his pockets. He’d probably lock them on me otherwise.
That’s how it feels. That’s the vibe I get from him.
He feels like someone on edge.
Like someone struggling to pull back and keep things under control.
I still don’t know what makes him so upset.
We’re off, and I can’t read him anymore. Not in the way I used to read him.
Some parts I grasp, but most remain a mystery to me, which happens when you hide too much of yourself.
And I’m not talking about myself now. I am talking about him.
Still, his power over me is overwhelming and stronger than he thinks. It’s unexplainable to me.
I cross my arm over my stomach and lift the water bottle to my lips.
“What do you want from me?” I ask with an air of casualness that only rattles him even more.
Somehow I ended up being the calmer person in the group. Here I am, drinking water, the sun trying to rise and smile at the world, while two of my three men are utterly pissed.
Now that Kai is here, I can only imagine Alejandro was furious because of him. I don’t know what went on, but something must’ve happened.
Something that made Alejandro walk out of the hotel.
I don’t even want to know how Francisco fares in all this. So far, so good. I’m doing great.
He tips his eyes down, watches me drink my water, and for the first time since I entered my room, he takes inventory of the clues.
His eyes linger on my mouth before sliding to my body.
Like it’s happened before, I feel naked in front of him, struggling with a feeling that every kiss his friends have left on me is painted in fluorescent ink on my skin.
I hold his eyes when he raises his gaze and studies me, and now I feel filthy on top of feeling guilty. And it’s not because of me and what I’ve done.
Although part of it is that.
But it’s also because of him and how he drags his eyes along the seam of my mouth as if every time they’ve thrust their dicks into my mouth has been recorded on my face.
