16. Whitley Whitt

Chapter 16

Whitley Whitt

What in the King Arthur is happening ?

“This is freaking ridiculous.”

I shut my book, the same one I’ve been trying to read for the last week, and prop it on my chest. The main male character is about to give her the goods and I can’t even focus on the words. If Connor has ruined my new favorite book obsession, I am going to kill him.

Blowing out a hard breath, I stare up at the ceiling from my bed and press a hand to my stomach. A day later, and I am still trying to ignore the fluttering in my abdomen that occurs every time I even think the man’s name.

I am such an idiot for ever letting him touch me. I huff in annoyance and slide my feet to the floor.

I have no idea what happens next, but I half expect him to gloat over how he had me writhing and wailing in mere minutes. It would be just like him to be all smug, and I really, really don’t want him to fuck it up for me by teasing me about it.

After my first one-day stand on the ground in the maze like a horny adolescent, I have been hiding around the castle ever since. Turns out hooking up in broad daylight with a guy I hate makes me crazy because I cannot stomach the thought of even laying eyes on Connor O’Doyle.

I ran away from the scene so fast I think I heard tires skidding and smelled burning grass.

Avoiding him has been made easy by changing the menu to sandwich foods, allowing me to pre-pack everything for Maria to hand out. I also made a massive charcuterie board which, so far, the guests seem to love. I did manage to have a brief conversation with George, who filled me in on some of the newer guests that have been arriving.

He mentioned an elderly woman named Charlene, who snores so loudly he can hear her from his room, has moved into his wing. Apparently, the only thing saving him at night is his sound machine. According to George, she loves nothing more than to complain about everything, and is an heiress to some oil tycoon that never married. I’m not surprised he knows so much about her, since he’s the king of gossip.

Connor hasn’t come by my room yet, and for that I am thankful because I still have no idea what I’m going to say.

I groan, realizing I am now an unstable middle-aged woman trying to stay away from her unwanted lover. It was never supposed to happen this way. He wasn’t supposed to take me telling him that battery toys can get a woman off every time as a challenge, but something about that day makes me feel like he did. And then he delivered.

I have never in my life experienced an orgasm like that.

Shivers go up my spine and I frown, pulling my reading glasses off my face.

Just the thought of him and my body betrays me. I’m half worried that when I can’t avoid the guy any longer, as soon as I see him, I will throw myself at him and demand he work his magic again and again.

Ugh, and wouldn’t he just get a laugh out of that too.

After being married for six years, I assumed I’d experienced all sex has to offer, but that man turned me into Jell-O with only his tongue, two fingers, and a smile. I can’t face him. I am liable to melt like Olaf from Frozen , only way more desperate about hugs and other things.

I continue mentally berating myself as I gather up my things from the bed and head to leave the bedroom.

Stepping outside, I tiptoe across the wood floors until I reach a set of stairs I found yesterday that lead down to the kitchen—well, the sliding fireplace door, but close enough. It’s perfect because now I don’t have to walk all over the castle to get to work anymore. I just wish Connor would have told me about it sooner, but I guess if I were a castle owner with a bunch of hidden passages, I wouldn’t tell anyone either.

The black soles of my shoes touch the stone steps as I hold the railing that swirls along the wall, thankfully because going up and down this place makes me dizzy.

I pull at the lever on the stone wall and wait for it to retract, and the fireplace swivels with just enough space for a person to stand, allowing me into the kitchen easily. I only plan to whip myself up something quick since it’s late. Maybe some tea will settle my nerves.

Grabbing some bread from the nearby bread box, I set about making a sandwich while waiting for the kettle to boil. As I’m eating my turkey bacon sandwich and drinking my Earl Grey tea, I realize it’s nice to be in my clean kitchen with no one around. Sometimes the castle at night gives me the creeps, and it can be a little cold, but I’ve come to adore the work here—except for Connor when he’s being a dick. The guests are mostly lovely, the place is beautiful, and it’s nice to get away from the bustle of America.

I also really like being alone, and I soak in the silence with a small smile.

After enjoying my snack, I flick the lights off and make my way back to my room. I head through the fireplace entrance and up the stairs to the north wing.

My thoughts stop on Connor again, and I snort. He hasn’t come to find me since yesterday, so it looks like he’s been avoiding me too. So stupid. The idea that he regrets it eats at me, leaving my food to feel like lead in my gut, but I try to ignore it.

I reach the top of the stairs and collide with a hard male chest.

“Whoa there.”

“Crap.” I wince when my forehead knocks with something hard, and I realize it’s an elbow when he turns to me.

“Whitley, my love,” Connor slurs, staggering about in the hallway with a loud hiccup. “I would bury my dick so far inside your arse whoever could pull it out would be crowned king of all England.”

I rear from what just came from his mouth and a face, pink and almost delirious, grins at me like the sun shines out of my ass.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he shouts.

My jaw drops. “Shhh.” I shove a finger over my lips, and glance up and down the hallway, forgetting in the moment that we are the only people on this floor. So much for avoiding him now.

He clears his throat and waves a hand like he’s holding a freaking weapon. “Whoever doth pull out this sword.”

I cackle, my hand flying to cover my mouth. “Are you drunk?”

The alcohol on his breath smells sweet and minty, making me crinkle my nose and wonder what he’s been drinking. It’s nothing like anything I’ve drunk before, and I can handle some hard liquor.

Connor doesn’t answer me, but his right knee bends like he’s about to collapse before he steadies himself. He staggers to the side where the door to my suite is, leans against the wall for support, and starts patting at his body. His suit is in complete disarray, the front of his jacket open while his white dress shirt is half tucked in. Even his navy tie is loose and skewed around his neck, as if he pulled on it in frustration.

“Shit. I can’t find your keys,” he says when his search comes up empty.

I try not to laugh at that.

“I think you should go to bed,” I tell him, as I grab my keys from my pocket and move toward my door. He’s obviously drunk as a skunk, and as funny as it is, I don’t think he’d be pleased with me if something embarrassing comes out of his mouth.

“Milady.” He smiles like he didn’t hear me telling him to go to bed. “May I come in?”

I take a look at him and decide he looks harmless enough, his cheeks a rosy color and his eyes bloodshot but happy. Hopefully if he does say something stupid, he’s too drunk to remember it.

“Come in, but only for a minute.” I tilt my head toward my room, gesturing for him to follow as I step inside, dropping my keys onto the wooden dresser with a clatter.

He manages to make it into the room on his own, stumbling a bit as he weaves his way over to the bed.

“What have you been doing with yourself?” he asks, and embarrassment stops me from telling him that I’ve spent all my time going above and beyond to avoid him.

I turn to face him after locking the door, unable to stop my lips from curling at the sight of him struggling with his gray jacket. He looks sort of cute the way he’s floundering to get his clothes off, a boyish expression on his face.

“Umm, reading mostly,” I say honestly. “At least trying to. You’ve apparently ruined that for me as well.”

He brings a hand to his heart as soon as he gets free of his suit jacket, tossing it to the bedroom floor.

“Ahh, the woman offers me thorns.” Then he glares and wags a finger at me. “I have had fuck all to do with any book reading, madam. I haven’t even begun to educate you yet.”

He winks and bends to untie his shoes before toeing his way out of them, then flops onto the bed, but he springs back up the next second.

I move to sit on the bed and take my own shoes off, not knowing how to even respond to that. Educate me?

“Now scoot over, hellcat, and let me hold you,” he says, rising to his feet like he can’t sit still and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“You want to hold me?” Even to me, it sounds silly, but the way he says it without hesitation sets off a flutter in my stomach.

“I’ll be honest with you, Whitley,” he says, his tone sounding a bit more sober. He rocks back on his heels, his expression downcast. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Our gazes clash as those words turn that flutter into a swarm of butterflies, and I am ever so grateful I didn’t tell him I spent the last day avoiding him. I would feel like such an ass.

“I haven’t been able to sleep.” He runs a hand through his thick hair while trying to avoid my gaze, and I can make out dark circles under his eyes. “I just want to hold you. If you’ll let me.”

He asked for it so sincerely that I just can’t help letting him win. “Okay.”

“Okay?” His gaze clears, and his shoulders visibly relax.

“But no sex,” I grouch at him, standing and heading to the bathroom to change into some sleep clothes. I at least need some sort of boundary between us—the man can make me fold with just a touch.

His large frame crawls into the bed and I can just make out his white socks on his feet.

“Fine, but I told you, woman. You will beg,” he says, and breaks off with a yawn, “for this dick before I give it to you.”

I sigh, flick the light off, and walk to the bed, noticing he is above the covers. The only thing lighting the room is the dim side table lamp I used earlier to help me read.

“Egotistical ass.” I place my hands on my hips and narrow my gaze at him. “Promise to keep your hands—and more importantly, your dick—to yourself?”

I’m not really into taking advantage of drunk people, no matter how hard they try. After what happened in the maze, I know he’d probably consent to it if he were sober, but it just doesn’t sit well with me.

“Possibly. In the bed with you, c’mon.” Connor grabs the coverlet and moves it back, somehow knowing which side of the bed I usually sleep on and taking the other spot for himself.

He kicks his feet on top of the blanket and shudders as he plants his face into my pillow like he’s trying to soak in the smell of me.

I get in the bed, and I’m folded into strong arms as he pulls me across the sheets. The move is so cuddly that I offer no protest, liking the way he feels around me.

“Good girl,” his voice rumbles, making my pussy throb.

How can two words twist me up inside so easily?

I’m pulled onto his chest before I know what’s happening, my face pressed against a shirt-covered muscular pec. His hands run through my hair, then come up to massage my scalp, while he nuzzles the top of my head and groans as if he likes the way I smell and feel.

We stay like that for so many moments, his fingers touching me gently and leaving me weak. I wish he was like this all the time. I properly wrap my arm across him to shuffle closer as my eyes grow heavy, and the last thing I can remember is thinking I am in way over my head.