I’m wondering how the hell that apple even came from the same tree at this point, frankly.
“He doesn’t bother me,” I say. “I mean, he’s a pain in the ass, but him being naked is probably the least bothersome thing about him.”
“Ah, yeah, guess it isn’t the first time you’ve seen… it,” he says, laughing awkwardly. “You know, since you’re here at six in the morning. It’s just, well, I usually don’t see them, since they don’t often stick around to chat.”
He’s flustered. There’s no way this guy even came from the same orchard as Lorenzo, much less the same tree. “They?”
“Yeah, the ladies that my brother—”
“Fucks,” Lorenzo says, stepping out from the kitchen, carrying an orange. “The women I fuck. They’re usually out of here before Pretty Boy makes it out of bed, so he’s not used to this whole ‘morning after’ thing.”
Pretty Boy.
He doesn’t even call his brother by his name?
“Oh, well then… my bad,” I say as I give Leo a smile. “Next time I’ll just have to skedaddle before you catch me, then.”
Leo’s eyes widen, those words shocking him for some reason—maybe even shocking him more than his brother waltzing between us naked again does. “Next time?”
Lorenzo stalls on the bottom step as he starts to peel his orange. His cock is like two feet to the left of me, and I’m trying damn hard not to look, to keep my eyes straight ahead, but it’s shining like a beacon over there, trying to draw me in.
“You’ll have to excuse my brother, Scarlet,” Lorenzo says. “He thinks you’re one of my wham-bam’s. I tend to impose a ‘one ride per person’ rule, so next times are pretty unheard of.”
Ignoring how the mention of Lorenzo’s stream of women makes my stomach coil, I nod. “Understandable.”
“I didn’t realize there was something other than that,” Leo says, eyes narrowing as he looks at his brother, clearly completely over the fact that he’s not wearing clothes. “Care to fill me in?”
“No, not really,” Lorenzo says, starting up the stairs. “By the way, Scarlet, you forgot your shoes.”
I look down at my feet before it strikes me—the Louboutins. “Oh, can you bring them to me?”
“Fuck do I look like, a delivery boy?”
Lorenzo doesn’t say anything else, trekking up the stairs.
I scowl, keeping my eyes on Leo. “I should probably, you know…” I point up the stairs. “Go get them.”
Before Leo can respond, a shrill scream pierces the air, loud enough to make my hair stand on end. Leo runs his hands down his face as Lorenzo’s voice echoes from upstairs: “Oh, give me a break, I know you’ve seen a dick before, Firecracker. I hear my brother fucking you all the time.”
I head up the steps, passing a shell-shocked looking blonde along the way, but she barely notices me, zeroing in on Leo.
“I know, I know,” Leo mutters when she approaches. “You saw my brother naked.”
Shaking my head, I set off along the second floor, finding Lorenzo’s bedroom door wide open. He sits on the edge of his bed, peeling his orange, still not wearing any clothes. I hesitate in front of him, eyes scanning him, unable to avoid ogling him any longer. I’ve seen it all, yes, but I haven’t exactly taken a lot of time to look, if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t call him ripped, but he’s definitely fit, some definition to his muscles. And the cock? Yeah, okay, it’s gorgeous… if you can call a cock gorgeous, which I can, because I don’t know how else to describe it. He’s definitely more of a show-er than a grower, eight and a half inches, thick and cut, veins running along the shaft, and Jesus Christ, okay… I’ve got to stop looking.
My eyes flicker to Lorenzo’s face. He’s watching me, taking a bite of an orange wedge.
“Came for my shoes,” I say, nodding toward where they sit on the dresser.
He says nothing, chewing in silence.
“Figure I should take them back before one of those wham-bam’s you parade through here tries to steal them.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your clients tip extra for you to keep them on while they fuck you.”
Ouch. “Touché.”
“Anyway, before you run off again,” he says, tearing off another wedge of orange, “we should talk about payment.”
I cringe. Payment.
Ouch, for real this time.
“You know what? Fuck you, Lorenzo. Seriously, fuck you. I should’ve known you were completely full of shit when you said you’d respect me, that you wouldn’t do this.” I wave around us, like that’ll help me make sense, as he just stares at me, still chewing. “You’re an asshole. Seriously. I didn’t fuck you last night for money. That wasn’t what it was to me, and maybe it’s what it was for you, whatever, but just, ugh… fuck you.”
I snatch my shoes from the top of his dresser when his calm voice says, “You keep everything you make unless it’s a job I ordered. In that case, I pay you a commission based on your contribution.”
I stall at those words. “What?”
“You’re working for me now, right? That was the deal? I’m just laying out the terms, letting you know how working for me is going to go. When I need you, be there, but otherwise you can do whatever you want. The world is yours, Scarlet.”
“I, uh… ugh.” Payment. “I thought you meant…”
“I told you I don’t pay for pussy.”
“I know, I just thought…”
“Thought I was saying it to hurt you? Thought I was just getting a low blow in?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head, still eating the orange as he stands up.
I don’t ogle this time.
I want to.
God, I really want to.
But I don’t.
He approaches me slowly. “I like fucking and fighting, Scarlet. I won’t lie about that. I like fucking you. I like fighting you. I’ll push your buttons all goddamn night long and make you want to rip me apart, but I’m not in the business of hurting people for no reason. I don’t get off on that.”
“Sorry.”
He makes a face of disgust at that word. “Don’t apologize to me.”
“You just touched a nerve, you know.”
“Don’t make excuses, either. Calm your tits and it’ll be okay.”
“Calm my tits.”
“Yes.” His eyes flicker to my chest, and I know he’s imagining them. “As gorgeous as those tits are, calm them.”
“Fine.” I scowl. “You’re still an asshole, you know.”
“I know.” He breaks off a wedge from the orange, holding it out to me. “Want some?”
I hesitate, staring at it in his hand. “Ugh, no.”
“I swear to fuck, Scarlet. I’ll forgive a lot of things, but if you tell me you don’t eat oranges, we’re going to have a problem.”
I roll my eyes. “I learned long ago not to take candy from strangers.”
“We’re not strangers,” he says, motioning to himself. “You’ve seen me naked.”
“I’m getting the feeling a lot of people have seen you naked.”
“Not as many as have seen you.”
Ouch for the third time.
“I should go,” I say.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Back to the apartment.”
“Is it safe there?”
“Probably not.”
He nods, popping the orange in his mouth, before turning away. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“What?”
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I walk out, leaving him there, with no clothes on.
I’ve done a lot of difficult things in my life. A lot. But that’s ranking up there among some horrific things, because walking away from him right now is proving harder than I thought it would be. It’s not even that I won’t see him again, because I will. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to be seeing him quite often. But at the moment, something inside of me is tugging, trying to pull me back to him like we’re magnets, but I need to put some space between us—at least until I figure things out.