There were so many words for what I was at the moment. Among them were; tired, sore, exhausted, hungry, more sore, bruised, a mess and then sore some more.
But the word that described best what I was right now – and this was just the word I could think of, I'm sure Webster's had a better suggestion – was traitor.
I stood under the warm soothing spray of my shower, trying to wash away all the emotions and guilt. I had woken up half-sleeping on Lauren, half-sleeping on my bed. I didn't remember crawling up there after our Mr and Mrs Smith adventure, so I had to assume Lauren had lifted me up there after I passed out in post-coital bliss.
I couldn't even remember how it happened. I was fighting her and next moment I was riding her? The hell?
It had been purely physical, nothing more. At least that was how I chose to rationalize it. We got caught in the heat of the moment – it happened. It was just a big mistake, one that wasn't going to repeat itself.
Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, maybe you'll stop thinking about her cock thrusting inside you from every possible angle.
"Jesus," I whispered, closing my eyes and just letting the water hit me as I got a flashback. I'd never been fucked like that in my life. That hard, that good... People used to use lame phrases like 'he was a machine' to describe a man whom they'd slept with and I'd never believed them. I'd always thought it was just something single girls told their friend to seem less lonely, when in truth that 'machine' had been their operated battery-driven device. But now...
Sighing, I carefully took the shower head down from the hook and held it against my sensitive parts. I would've called it 'my pussy' any other day, but today 'sensitive parts' were more fitting. I truly felt sensitive and sore, but in the best kind of way. I was going to be feeling this days from now...
I suddenly heard the bathroom door go, and through the fog of my shower stall, I saw her coming in. I instantly clenched my jaw and put the shower head up where it belonged as the stall opened and she stepped in. "I thought I told you to leave."
"You told me so many things last night," Lauren replied, edging closer to me. The water hit her clawed and naked body and had me gulping heavily. I was still so sore, but damn it, my core started throbbing the minute I watched her hair flatten and saw those water droplets roll down her chiseled torso and perky breast.
"Your eyes are still saying the opposite of what your mouth is," She said, bringing a hand up to cup my face. She was so close. "Just say the words, Camz."
"I... I'm sore."
"I would be surprised if you weren't."
"Lauren..." I said, putting a hand on her chest. I pushed. "Don't. We can't do this."
"I would say that's a little too late."
"Well, you see this thing we did last night—"
"No, why me?" I asked, staring up at her. I had to know, I didn't understand. "I'm sure Italy is stocked with gorgeous, long-legged women who'd love to learn your mother's secret recipe for Bolognese, so why did you pick me? A brunette chick with a gun permit and literally no filter on her mouth."
She took a step closer and now pressed her body against mine, making me feel that fully erect monster of her pressing against my belly. "Because I don't want a pretty little woman to cook me food. I want a woman who can fend for herself and teach my mama how it's done."
I had to swallow hard. "But why me? Why someone who's your sworn enemy, someone who's fighting against your country? And I swear to God, if you say it's because you liked the chase—"