12. Whitley Whitt

Chapter 12

Whitley Whitt

Sneaky vibes .

I groan once Frank disappears down the hallway, then open the door to my suite.

Wow, Frank Stein wants to go on a date with me. The richest man alive wants to go on a date with me, a Southern girl from NOLA, and I am not remotely attracted to the guy. Ugh. If only I felt even a flutter of arousal, this would be the coolest day of my life.

I need to call Josie, the only friend I’ve managed to hang onto since my divorce from Trevor. She would die since she’s always been one to keep up with celebrities from Frank Stein to the Kardashians. Anyone who’s anyone, she knows about them for some reason. The other day I was texting her about this dish I was making for the guests, and she starts squealing about how Taylor Swift and her mom flew out to see Travis Kelce play, which is apparently big news.

I tug my phone from my back pocket to tell her, and as I toe off my work shoes, my gaze snags on my open closet and my empty duffel bag lying on the floor inside it. Shit. My poor excuse for a suitcase reminds me I have nothing to wear to a date.

I check the time on my watch. Two more hours till lunch, enough time for a shower and to take a well-deserved break. I look down at the oil stains and food splatters on my uniform and grimace. Maybe the village will have something that could be date worthy. I should go shopping tomorrow, not that it really matters, I guess.

The richest man in the world and not even a hint of excitement. How is it that my entire being lights up with both rage and arousal at Connor just breathing?

I must be broken.

I step into the bathroom and before I can turn on the light, a large hand covers my mouth, muffling my scream of surprise.

“Shhh,” a deep voice says, before I’m slammed against the bathroom door, my back flat against the wood, and I immediately start to struggle.

“Stop it,” the man growls, keeping his hand over my mouth, then he crowds in closer using his beefy forearms to block my attempts to slap at him. “Just stay still.”

“Connor?” I ask, my voice all weird and distorted.

I stop struggling and he removes his palm from my mouth, then flicks on the light.

He grips my wrists, shoves my arms up, and with my hands held hostage above my head on the door, Connor’s angry features lean into my face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Something digs into my wrists before dropping and smacking me in the forehead. “Ouch.”

It hits the floor and a brrrrr sound starts up.

My jaw drops, and it takes me a hot second to realize that’s my vibrator bouncing and buzzing across the smooth, green-tiled floors.

“What the hell are you doing agreeing to go on a date with him?” he whisper-yells, taking my attention from the vibrator. “He is a snake.”

“What the hell are you doing in my bathroom? And why do you have my vibrator?” I ask, screwing my eyes shut in horror when it bounces against the glass wall of the shower.

What the hell is my life?

“You’re not going anywhere with him.”

My eyes fly open at that. “What?”

“You are not going bloody anywhere with Frank Stein,” he says, closing me in. “He’s only messing with you.”

“Are you serious right now?” I try to wiggle again, but he leans in, stopping my movements with his hulking body. His nose touches my neck, sending a ripple of goosebumps across my skin. “Stop sniffing me! Why do you always do that?”

I remember him doing it in the ballroom after my corset fiasco, and the night of the opening gala.

“No,” he says, as his nose brushes my ear.

I pant loudly and realize he’s going to make me wet if this continues. I hate how all he seems to do is come near me and my body betrays me. My eyelids begin to flutter closed just as I realize this is exactly what happened last time before he basically called me a pity fuck.

“Stop it!” I shout.

“Be still, woman, and listen to me,” he breathes, before stepping back a pace.

I have never been so glad my uniform hides my hard nipples while he keeps my arms pinned over my head easily with one hand. Fuck me and fuck that omegaverse book—I shouldn’t have stayed up all night reading it, because now I’m all hot and bothered while Connor O’Doyle teases me.

“Let me go, Connor. I don’t have to listen to you, or any other weird pervert I find in my room!” I grit out, trying to get him to let me go.

If this man finds out how he turns me on, I will kill him before I die of mortification.

“Just listen for one moment.”

“What do you want?”

“There is a strict ‘no fraternizing with guests’ policy, Miss Whitt. Since you will not listen to reason, and we can’t have a conversation for more than two seconds before you pop off at the mouth... ” His eyes fall there, his words trailing off.

I become acutely aware of two things: Connor O’Doyle wants to kiss me, and the scarier thing is that I want to let him.

“Get out of my bathroom,” I snap.

Better yet, my whole damn life!

“Tell me you won’t go on a date with him, and I will.”

Staring into his eyes, I lean forward, forcing myself not to react when I feel the hardened length of his dick at my belly. Oh god. He pulls away and I shudder lightly. It’s been so long since I have been touched, and now the idea of using the vibrator he touched to get myself off nips at me.

Wait.

“Why are you hard right now?” I ask, my voice husky with the discovery of the substantial size of that which pokes against me. Holy guacamole, Doyle is packing .

He grins wickedly, and I want to wipe it away with my fist.

“You still haven’t gotten laid, have you, Whitley?”

I think back to the last time I had a man between my thighs, inwardly wincing when I realize my divorce date has come and gone yet again, and I haven’t had sex in months. The last boyfriend only lasted a few months.

“That is none of your business.” Leaning my head back to stare at a fascinating spot over his shoulder, intent on ignoring him until he decides to let me go. “Do you do this to other women or just me?”

“Just you. I don’t think I’ve ever had to go to such lengths to speak to a woman before without arguing.” He seems genuinely intrigued by his own assessment, and I guess I will have to take his word for it.

“Lucky me. Listen, O’Doyle Rules, this is getting really old, this back and forth.” I attempt to wave my hands for effect and manage to twist them in his grip. “I have no idea why you’re here in my suite or what you were doing with my vibrator?—”

“I have done nothing with your vibrator.”

“That’s a relief.” I cringe, knowing deep down inside, I will never use the damn thing because I won’t be able to look at it without thinking of him. It has the insufferable Mr. O’Doyle’s cooties all over it.

“You are wound up tighter than a spin top and have been since you walked into the castle,” he says, like it’s an insult.

I scrunch up my nose, and I have to do everything I can not to fall into his stupid, pretty blue eyes.

“It just hasn’t been high on the to-do list, not when battery operated boyfriends exist and can provide orgasms all the time, every time.” I resist the urge to laugh when his jaw drops. “Seriously, most men can’t find a clitoris if you show it to them. Now let me go.”

His hands fall away, and I grab my vibrator from the floor, switch it off, and cradle it to my chest.

“Okay, well, as fun as that was”—I point to the door—“get the fuck out of my bathroom, Connor.”

“Wait. Truce?” the idiot says, holding his hand out to me.

I shake my head and wave my new vibrator that he has forever ruined for me in his face. “Out.”

His arms bulge beneath his suit as he crosses them over his expansive chest, that stupid smile of his making an appearance. “Not until you tell me what perfume you use and agree to a truce.”

The smile falls as his gaze trails over me from head to toe, his features hardening when he brings his eyes back up to meet mine, and my nipples tighten. Oh, fuck this guy. He knows what he does to me—he has to know.

Is that why he is always sniffing at me?

“Glossier You is the name of it, and fine, truce,” I tell him, snatching the name from memory of the most recent perfume I’ve bought while wishing he would just leave.

“Perfect.” He steps closer, and I hold the unused vibrator in front of me like a weapon and arch a brow.

“Careful, Connor.” I can’t hold back a grin of amusement because every man I have ever been with hated vibrators and usually got offended if I used one.

His eyes lift to mine and they crinkle with humor.

“I’m not scared of your little toy, cupcake. In fact, when I manage to get a woman under me, I have no problem with them joining in the fun.”

I realize something has seriously gotten into Connor because he freaking winks like he’s trying to tease me! His face is also flushed, as if he’s warm, and there’s a dangerous glint to his eyes. They look heated... because of me.

He lunges, pushing me back, and my breath seizes in my chest when his hips push into mine as the cold of the marble vanity at my back bites through the fabric of my uniform.

“I don’t mind your other boyfriends,” he whispers against the skin of my throat.

The light stroke of his warm lips makes my pulse skitter, and an involuntary moan leaves my mouth. I can barely believe he’s doing this, when usually any conversation we have has me wanting to launch something hard at his fat head. Confusion tears at me when his hands shake where they’re gripping my hips hard, like he’s moments from imploding.

Then he stiffens, as if what he’s doing registers with him, and he jerks back.

“Don’t go anywhere with him,” he says, and I don’t even get to see the expression on his face before he walks out the door.

I’m left alone with hard nipples, an aching pussy, and my jaw threatens to unhinge.

The soft click of him locking me inside, a protective thing I’ve seen my grandad do for me and my grandma before he died, has me melting even though my mind’s going haywire.

But that doesn’t take away the total disregard he has for invading my privacy. I didn’t even get an answer as to why he was in here.

I look down at the white-and-pink dildo in my hand and groan. What the hell was he doing in my things? Why the hell didn’t I throw it in his damn face for violating my personal suite? Better yet, I should have tried to shove it down his throat and make him choke on it, instead of my heart stuttering because he kissed my damn neck.

What am I going to do?

The fact this man makes me vibrate with need is killing me.