The boy that loved

He was tired. Dog-tired.

His heartbeat was just beginning to recover from a sweaty engagement of breath-ragged, hair-pulling, nail-scraping pleasure mere minutes ago, evening out and lulling him onward into the soothing darkness of sleep.

Unfortunately, he was yanked back from the calling darkness by the feel of soft feminine hands accompanied by flutters of kisses sliding along his chest. He reluctantly opened his eyes to the annoying realization that the treat of the night was still in his bed.

Yeah, he really was tired, because he usually saw to it that the source of his fleeting pleasure got lost the moment he found his release. His eyes skidded over the olive-skinned, platinum blonde making a meal of his chest, and his brain struggled to remember her name.

She was a bank investor. That's all he could remember about her, because he hadn't been interested in what she had to say when she'd blabbered on (and on) earlier at the Gala.

He'd merely paid attention to her curvy figure and the long, toned legs accentuated by six-inch heels that compelled him to spend a few hours in exploration.

He tried again to recall her

name...Lany...Lancey...Lisa... Ah hell, he didn't know and he didn't care.

Nameless Blond pressed her plum lips against the middle of his chest and murmured in a sultry voice that caressed him in places he really preferred to remain inert at the moment, "I want more."

A sigh flowed from him as he mentally kicked himself for almost falling asleep with a woman in his bed. "I'm done. Get dressed. Lennon will take you home."

The covers flipped back with a simple flex of his muscular arm, and he swung his feet to the red carpeted floor. With the heels of his hands, he rubbed the weight of sleep from his eyes.

"Oh, you were great, by the way. Thanks."

The protesting muscles of his limbs told him just how exhausted he was. And as he wrestled with sleep, he detected no movement from Nameless Blond.

Turning, he directed his stare at the blond-haired creature whose green eyes shone with tears as she clutched the black silk sheet over her bosom. In a controlled voice, one straining against anger, he asked, "You don't understand English?"

"Thanks?" she asked, voice breaking. "That's it?"

Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Telling a woman to leave more than once had never happened before, because he wasn't normally this tired. And when he wasn't tired, he was everything akin to a whirling dervish.

So, when he gave a command, women usually sensed the peril of questioning him and elected not to argue.

"Pretty much. Thought you understood what this was."

When she just sat there still, staring at him, he full on glared.

"Listen, girl, whatever the hell your name is, you need to get your ass up, and go."

Recognizing his seriousness, Nameless Blond hopped up from the bed and scrambled around on the carpeted floor, retrieving her clothes.

Appeased, he got up and strolled over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window of the hotel room, staring out at the bright city lights of Chicago. The weak shade of light from the corner lamp silhouetted his tall, muscular frame in the darkness as he stood stark naked and pensive before the window.

One by one, he cracked his knuckles, trying his damnedest not to think of her. He failed. Knuckle cracking no longer worked as a distraction. How much longer? How much longer will it be before I can regain the missing half of my soul?

With every thought of her, his heart ached like a curse from hell. The heart-wrenching fact that the hands now caressing her weren't his, that the lips kissing hers weren't his, that the body making love to hers...oh dear god, it's as if a bullet was left lodged right in the center of his heart, killing him slowly, painfully, surely.

No. His fingers curled into mighty, determined fists at his side. No. He could tolerate it no longer. He needed to reclaim what was his. It was time he informed Calle who she really was to him.

That she belonged not to Calle, but to him. And if that disgusting piece of shit tried to rebel, he'd give the son of a whore a torturously painful ending. No more chances.

A faint click of the door handle pulled him from his malevolent thoughts and he turned to see Nameless Blond standing there, her green eyes glistening as she wished him, "Goodnight, Mr. Black."

He gave a chin lift to the open door, wanting her to be gone already. The profound guilt he always felt after sleeping with someone who wasn't her, never allowed him to be...nice to these innocent women.

His usual reaction to the pang of guilt he felt along with the frustration of not having her, was to take it out on the woman present. Made him an asshole, but he couldn't help it.

Nameless Blond gave him a sad smile and teetered away, the door closing silently behind her. Her green eyes were ridiculously alluring, had pulled him in. But alluring as they were, he favored seductively brown eyes.