Insatiable Craving: 2 (Insatiable Nights) (13 page)

He hesitated.

“If you want to leave, I understand,” Ginny continued, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and suddenly feeling more self-conscious than she had while naked and under his scrutiny.

She felt him watching her, staring at her so hard she couldn’t ignore him any longer and finally met his eyes. A cool shiver raced through her, followed by a small shock that went straight to her clit. Her body hadn’t forgotten or calmed from the impromptu wake-up call, and looking at him only served to weaken her resolve not to grab him by the wrist and drag him back to bed.

What in the world had come over her? If yesterday’s sexcapades hadn’t been enough to satiate her appetite, was there anything out there that would? He had fucked her into oblivion and she’d come back for more, to the point she’d passed out cold in the bathtub, which was something that had never happened before.

“I’d like coffee,” Razor said at last, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. He offered her a small smile.

The heat in Ginny’s cheeks climbed up a notch. “Okay. Well,” she motioned toward the hall, “this way.”

It wasn’t until stepping outside the bedroom she realized how utterly surreal Razor’s presence made her apartment. He seemed too large to fit inside her cramped walls—too built-up either by her runaway fantasies, his on-stage persona or the fact she hadn’t had a man over who wasn’t delivering pizza. Watching him stalk around her living room, check out her family photos and seemingly debate where to park his sexy ass made everything that happened yesterday seem more breathtakingly real than any amount of knowledge could.

Ginny put on the coffee and fidgeted a bit with nonexistent kitchen work to distract herself. She knew they needed to talk—Razor had insisted upon it, for one thing, which meant he wasn’t through with her. Which was definitely good because she definitely wasn’t through with him either. The time when she might have been able to walk away was well behind her. No, whatever had transpired between them had been more than a flight of fancy or a momentary lapse of reason.

“How do you take your coffee?” she asked, then winced. The words sounded so abnormal out of her mouth. As if she were June Cleaver or something. She never had anyone over and at Trixie’s, the patrons fixed their own coffee.

“Black.”

“Good, ’cause I don’t think you have another option.”

“What were you doing there yesterday?”

Ginny’s stomach dropped and her legs momentarily hardened into lead. Seems they weren’t beating around the bush. “At the club?”

“I know you weren’t there for me.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, for one, because you told me.”

She trembled and looked around again to find something to do. Nothing. The kitchen was spotless.

It wasn’t as though she’d forgotten her motive yesterday, but it seemed such a small thing to bring up now. No matter how strange the events.

Ginny frowned. Honestly, after what had occurred with Razor yesterday, the bizarre nature of how she got home from the club had been completely shoved from her mind, which she knew wasn’t smart but she couldn’t change how she internally categorized priorities.

“You know your friend talked to me about you,” she said slowly, peering at him through the kitchen’s buffet window. “Aria?”

Razor stiffened but offered a tight nod. “She mentioned that to me, yes.”

“Well, I don’t remember what happened after that.” Ginny turned and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “I’d told her I didn’t want to get involved with anyone and then she…”

Something returned to her then, a memory too crazy to be an
actual
memory, but something nonetheless. Aria standing before her, looking concerned and hurt, and clutching that ugly amulet as though she wanted to crawl inside it. There was a green flash and then a voice from god-knows-where…a booming, threatening voice that—

Ginny shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Razor frowned at her. “What?”

“I dunno. Some weird dream I must’ve had.” She thought on it a moment longer, then shook her head again. Whatever it was, ruminating over a dream wouldn’t get her anywhere. “Anyway, I don’t know how I got home that night. I came back to the club to talk to Aria and see if she’d seen anything.”

He looked at her numbly, probably thinking exactly what any other normal person would think in listening to the story. The possibility she had briefly entertained but quickly dismissed.

“I don’t drink when I go to these places,” she said. “A-and I don’t go to these places at all. The only place of any kind I’ve ever gone to was Electric Panther.”

“And that—”

“Was because of you.” Ginny looked away, mortified yet somewhat relieved to have that much in the open. If nothing else, pretending to be a disinterested observer seemed a little ridiculous now. She might as well be as forthcoming as possible. “Honestly, Razor, I’m not the most social person.”

He favored her with a half-smile. “I’m not either.”

Ginny couldn’t help herself—she snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah…”

“I get how that’s not easy to understand, but it’s the truth. Until yesterday, I’d been celibate for almost five years.”

She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help herself. “Bullshit.”

Razor shrugged. “Believe me or not, it’s the truth. Aria’s the only person I really trust, and she—”

“You aren’t screwing her?”

If his words wouldn’t convince her, the look she earned solidified statement into fact. His brow furrowed, his nostrils flared and his lips curled in disgust. “Would you screw your brother?” he fired back.

“I don’t have a brother.”

“Well, if you did—”

“Gross! No!”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“Aria’s your sister?”

“She might as well be.” Razor shuddered and ran a hand through his deliciously bed-tussled hair. “Aria helped save my life once and I kinda doubt I’ll ever not owe her for that, but she is as far from my lover as is Ed O’Neill.”

Ginny snickered. “Fair enough.”

“So when I say what happened with you yesterday was a first for me, I really mean it.”

She fell quiet, studying him for a long moment. It didn’t seem possible a man so larger-than-life could be reserved. For as much as she’d kept hidden away over the years, she hadn’t compensated for it by getting on a stage to bare her soul to a crowd of strangers.

Then again, she’d heard of women who had. Perhaps not in the guise of rock bands, but in poetry readings, book clubs, recovery-and-support groups and so on. Women who came together to tell their stories, if only so they didn’t have to listen to the inner replay without someone there holding their hand. In the end, just how different was it singing about the past than talking about it? Razor’s songs had resonated with her for the themes of pain, guilt and loneliness—something she’d always ascribed to him simply being a powerful wordsmith.

But maybe he followed the path of so many others. He introduced himself and told his story. If that was his story. She had no reason not to trust him, and though the reasons
to
trust him might not persuade just anyone, the fact that he’d been with her during some of her most frightening, intimate moments without making her feel trashy or slutty or anything other than safe meant something.

After Travis, she’d never thought she’d feel safe again. Her brief time with Razor had given her back a piece of herself.

Ginny shivered and looked up. “I believe you,” she said. The words felt heavy on her tongue.

Though there was no way Razor could know what those words meant to her, or the gravity of her epiphany, or even appreciate how he’d helped patch her back together again, the look on his face indicated he did somehow.

“What about you?” he asked.

Her heart jumped. “What about me?”

“How long has it been for you?”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed and some of the warmth that had accompanied her epiphany faded. The words didn’t match the question. She knew what he was really asking.

And while she knew talking about her experience with Travis was likely for the best—she hadn’t said the words aloud in over a year, and never to someone who didn’t hold a therapist’s license—she couldn’t bring herself to do it just yet.

Letting someone see her inner scars was far more frightening than letting someone into her body. She didn’t want his pity or his anger. She didn’t want to become damaged goods in his eyes. She didn’t want to be charity either. She just wanted to enjoy the ride while it lasted.

“A long time.” Ginny exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to talk about it just yet, if that’s okay.”

Razor smiled and inclined his head. “Of course.” He looked at her a moment longer and came forward when she held up a cup of coffee. “Thanks.”

“I brew it
really
hot.”

He winked at her. “That’s how I like it.”

The air fell silent, but not the type of silence that screamed. The sort of silence, rather, that eased and soothed, a learned silence between old friends who didn’t have to fill each measure of air with meaningless words. It was as nice as it was surreal.

“I want this to be more than sex,” Razor said.

She snorted. “Well, that did it.”

“Did what?”

“Killed the strain of non-awkward.”

He arched a brow. “You want it to be just sex?”

“I don’t know what I want, Razor. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he replied. “But it happened anyway. I wasn’t looking either, but I don’t want sex to define it.”

Ginny looked away. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. We know we like to have sex. Maybe we should leave it at that.”

“I don’t want that.”

She huffed. “We’ve been intimate exactly twenty-four hours. Most men would take it and run. No strings, so long and thanks for all the orgasms.”

“And we’ve already established I’m not most men.” Razor edged another step forward, closing in on her. The space around her head grew thick and her heart started thundering. He was so close—too close. Her lungs filled to capacity and hot waves crashed over her body. She needed him to step back.

“I don’t get it,” she said.

“Neither do I, but I want to.” He came closer still, his overwhelming presence invading her space without bothering to ask permission. Ginny’s vision blurred. She felt she was choking on air.

She’d let him inside her and not felt like this. Now that he was pushing for more—pushing against her…

Ginny blinked hard, her feet carrying her a couple steps back. Her physical scars had lasted only so long—it was the mental ones that carried the most weight. Trusting someone with her body in comparison seemed easy. Her body was breakable, yes, but also fixable. The last time she’d allowed anyone deeper… Well, those were the marks she still bore.

Why couldn’t Razor be like anyone else and be happy with just fucking? No one had bothered to get to know her in years. Not her customers at Trixie’s, not her coworkers and certainly not her boss. Despite however much the introduction of physical intimacy might have shaken her after such a long bout of abstinence, the prospect of letting someone anywhere near the place where scars couldn’t heal was too damn terrifying for words.

“I haven’t been close to anyone for a long time,” Ginny began, her throat tight.

“I know. You’ve told me. And I’m telling you again, neither have I.”

“How did you get that scar?” The question was random—a diversionary tactic at best—and she could tell from the look on his face that he knew it as well. It didn’t matter. Anything to keep the focus off her.

Still, Razor didn’t call her on her cowardice. Instead, a smile flirted with his lips and he raised a hand to the angry stretch of skin on his face. “Pissed off an old girlfriend.”

Ginny’s shoulders dropped. “Get serious. And she came at you with a machete?”

“A broadsword.”

“You must’ve really pissed her off.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Ginny shrugged. “Try me.”

Ginny didn’t want to talk about her problems. Fine. He got that. Her colorful choreography around any personal questions betrayed as much and did little to stifle the ball of anger that had manifested in his belly the second she shoved away from him this morning.

Razor was raised with the firm understanding that no meant no—period. He entertained no delusions that just because he’d already been as physically close as a man could get to a woman he had a special all-access pass to sate his hunger with her whenever he felt like it. Fuck, they didn’t have a relationship—they barely had an understanding, and what little they did was strewn with ambiguity and mistrust.

Still, nothing could convince him that what he’d heard this morning had been anything but the soft plea of a woman who had already been shown just how worthless her
no
meant to some man. Not only had she forgotten he was there, she’d thought he was someone else.

Her evasiveness had only furthered his conviction.