57. Lorelei

57

LORELEI

" Y ou're taking me home after the game," I state as I emerge into Kian's living room, tugging the small suitcase I took to Charleston behind me. Thanks to the extra bits I've accumulated in my short stay here, the thing is bursting at the seams, even with the fully loaded tote bag hanging over my shoulder.

"Lorelei—"

"Don't start," I breathe. I don't have the energy for an argument over this.

After my impressively long nap during the Netflix series I said I wanted to watch yesterday, there wasn't much more relaxing.

I had no idea at the time, but our little session over Kian's desk was only the starter.

He ate me out on his couch before fucking me over the back of it. We also christened his kitchen before we finally made our way to his bed and went a few rounds in there as well.

I've no idea what time we finally passed out, but it was late. Or maybe even early.

We woke up late this morning, and Kian surprised me with some new workout clothes before dragging me out of his fancy apartment to run five miles.

I needed it. I needed to clear my head, but my body was not prepared for it. My muscles were already sore and aching from our sexercise.

I struggled more than I usually do, but there was something very inspiring about the man who was challenging me to push harder. I've never liked working out as much as I do when I'm with him.

It's a problem that I'm really going to have to work on. One of many, I fear, after everything that's happened between us in the past few days.

I convinced myself that it was going to be a South Carolina thing. I was adamant that when we got back, things could go back to normal, and I'd just have to put up with him bossing me around in the office.

I was naive. I know that now. I'm pretty sure I knew it back then, too, but it was easy to lie to myself, to pretend that turning my back on this—on him—would be easy.

I let out a heavy sigh.

I should know better.

"I'm just saying that you don't have to. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need. The paint is barely dry and?—"

"I'm not staying here, Kian. We're not leaving for work together and then coming home like a happily married couple a few hours later."

He frowns, confusion passing through his eyes for a beat before he quickly recovers. "Who said I wanted to travel to work together? I'd have left before you."

I tilt my head to the side. "Is that right?"

He smirks. "Come on, we're picking King and Tate up on the way."

Excitement tingles in my stomach at the prospect of spending the afternoon with my bestie.

Without stopping to argue any more about my plans, Kian walks over and collects my things.

"We can't be late, we'll never hear the end of it," he mutters as I trail him to the front door.

I shake my head, thinking of all the demands Tatum has already made to know the truth about what's going on here between us.

I haven't told her anything. At least, not yet. I've been able to—I think—successfully keep her off the scent of what's been going on, on the phone and over messages. But the second she looks me in the eye, I know the pretense is all going to come crashing down.

I can't lie to my best friend. She knows me too well. Knows my tells.

The second we're in the elevator, Kian backs me up into the corner and looms over me.

"I hate the idea of you going home alone," he confesses quietly.

"Kian," I sigh, lifting my hand to rest on his chest. Beneath my palm, his heart beats sure and steady.

He moves closer. "Lorelei."

The tension in the small enclosed space ramps up, and despite the number of times we've been intimate in the past few hours, my clit begins to throb.

It's ridiculous.

I shouldn't want this man. He is everything I've always despised in men—in society. But my body reacts to him like no other. It's like he holds a remote control to my libido and can turn it on at any moment.

He lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine, and stares deep into my eyes.

"You're going to demand that things go back to normal the second we step outside this building, aren't you?"

Anxiety knots my stomach.

Of course I am. It's the right thing to do. I'm not the kind of woman this billionaire needs on his arm. But…

Fuck. I want to be.

My heart thunders harder as I make that admission to myself.

"Yes," I force out.

The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors open behind us.

He wants to argue; I can see the storm of it building in those deep green depths, but he locks it down.

"Okay," he finally concedes.

"Okay?" I echo, confused as to why he's being so cool about this.

"Yeah. Okay. I'm happy to be or do what you want, Lorelei. Will it kill me, not backing you up against the window of our box so the world can see us? Yeah, it fucking will. But I also understand."

Without giving me a second to think about his words, he spins away, collects my belongings, and walks out of the elevator like nothing just happened.

I take a moment, watching his strong, wide gait as he moves. His Chicago Chiefs jersey shows off his wide, square shoulders and slim waist. And his ass in those jeans…fuck me sideways.

He looks back over his shoulder when he realizes that I'm not following and catches me staring right at his behind.

"Like what you see, Temptress? Let me up to your place later, and you can look as much as you like. Bite it, even."

"You're a menace," I hiss, marching out of the small space, pretending not to consider his suggestion.

"Just the way you like me."

After placing my bags in the truck, Kian opens the door for me like a gentleman before taking off to collect our passengers.

"I'll get in the back," I offer when we pull up into the underground parking lot of King and Tate's apartment building. "Let King sit here."

Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the handle, ready to climb out, but just before I push, something hot and unforgiving lands on my thigh.

"No," he growls darkly, forcing me to turn back to look at him.

"But—"

"No buts. You do not have to give up your seat for King."

"I don't mind. You two can talk then."

"We can talk later," he counters.

There's a fierce expression on his face that I've never seen before.

"That is your seat. It is where I want you."

My eyes bounce between his as confusion wars within me.

Is he just saying that because it's the right thing to say to get me to agree, or does he really mean it?

"I mean it, Lorelei," he warns as if he can hear my thoughts. "I don't care who King is. In my car, in my home, hell, even my office, you do not cower to him."

"I don't cower to men, Kian," I hiss.

"Okay, wrong word. What I'm trying to say is that…" He trails off, and I can't help wondering if he's regretting saying anything in the first place. "For once in his life, he's going to have to get used to not being the most important person in the room."

My chin drops, and all the words I wanted to say vanish in a heartbeat.

"There they are," he says, almost sounding relieved that I don't have a chance to respond.

Tate immediately makes a beeline for the back, whereas King approaches the passenger side, obviously expecting it to be empty.

He pulls the door open, and I cringe.

"Oh, Lorelei. Hey, how's it going?"

"Great, thanks," I say, forcing a smile onto my lips.

"You're in the back with your girl, Bro," Kian informs him. "No funny business, yeah?"

King rolls his eyes and slams my door closed.

Tatum is either oblivious to the tension around her or chooses to ignore it, because the second she's inside, she pokes her head through the seats and looks between us.

"You two had sex," she announces.

The need to curl up in a ball and hide from her is all-consuming.

"Do you know what? This was a really bad idea." I reach for the door handle again. "I'll get an Uber home. Enjoy the game."

I push the door open and almost get a foot on the ground when Kian's deep voice vibrates through the air.

"Get the fuck back in, Lorelei. You're not going anywhere."

I freeze, my body reacting to his demands without permission from my brain.

His eyes burn into the name branded across my shoulder blades.

Callahan.

Just like the moment I pulled it on, his possessiveness wraps around me.

I might be in a jersey supporting his little brother, but it's still his surname, and that's enough for him.

No one says another word as they wait to see how I'm going to react. There is a huge part of me that wants to be a stubborn bitch, to get out and walk off with my head held high. But, there is a bigger part that really wants to hang out with Tate and go to the game. And eventually, that part wins.

"Fine," I huff, falling back into my seat with as much sass as I can muster.

"Behave, Brat," King mutters under his breath before Tate must reach out and slap him because he complains a few seconds later.

Thankfully, talk quickly turns to the game and everything is forgotten. Or at least, it is for the guys. I already know that there is no chance of Tate forgetting. And I'm only proven right, the second we get into the stadium and I'm dragged into the ladies' bathroom.

Thankfully, it's empty.

Reaching for my hand, Tate stops me from escaping her and hiding in a stall. Instead, she spins me around and locks her eyes on mine.

"Tell. Me. Everything," she demands.

Excitement lights up her face; all the while, I want the ground to swallow me whole.

Is there anything more cliché than admitting to your best friend that you've been fucking your boss? Your hot boss that every other woman on the planet wants to fuck? Your billionaire, stupidly hot and charismatic boss? The man you so adamantly hated when you accepted the job?

"Fucking hell, Tate," I mutter, covering my burning cheeks with my hands.

"Okay, let's start with the best bits," she suggests. "Is he good?"

I don't look at her, but I know that her eyebrows are wiggling in the way they do when she wants the juicy gossip.

"BestI'veeverhad," I admit so fast it comes out as one word.

She hears it, I know she does; I don't need to look at her and see the smug grin playing on her lips to have it confirmed.

"What was that?" she asks.

"You heard," I snap, giving up on hiding in a stall and instead marching toward the sink to look at my own reflection.

There may be dark circles under my eyes from my lack of sleep the night before, but there is also an unmissable twinkle in them, too. Even without the chemistry between me and Kian crackling away in the car, there was no way Tate was going to miss it.

"Best you've ever had," she says thoughtfully as if she needs to let the confession settle into her mind before believing it. "That's saying something because you've had some hot nights."

"Dude, are you calling me a whore?" I snap, jokingly.

"Moi?" she asks, resting her hand over her heart. "Never. We both know I'm the biggest whore out of the two of us. Or used to be, at least," she says before dropping her hand to her growing belly.

"Good. And don't forget it," I tease.

"So…details, girl," she prompts.

"He's your brother-in-law."

"Exactly. In-law. It's not like you're fucking Miles." She gasps. "You haven't fucked him too, have you?"

"Shut up." I laugh, rolling my eyes at her dramatics. "I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole."

"He has no idea what he's missing out on," she mutters. "But enough about him. Tell me everything that Kian isn't missing out on."

So I do. Right there in the middle of a bathroom in the Chicago Chiefs stadium, I spill all the dirty details to my best friend. And fuck, do I feel better for it once I word vomit all over her.