Page 50 of You're so Vain


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“But you don’t spend enough time planning out any of your projects,” I continue, determined to say this much, because unless someone tells her, she’s going to keep doing the same thing again and again. I know all about vicious cycles. My mother’s caught in one, and I doubt she’ll ever find an out. “You’re always so excited in the beginning, but you don’t think through how you’re going to make a sustainable income, and then you give up without even really trying. You give up the second it doesn’t work out the way you wanted it to. I’ve always wondered why, Ruthie. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it, to help—”

Her grip tightens until it hurts a little. And that also makes me harder. “You think you know me?” she seethes. “You think you have the solution to all of the problems in my life? What about you? You’re so far up your own ass you’ve nearly made it to your trachea. Do you honestly think you’re too good for Mr. Freeman and his firm? It only took a five minute conversation for me to know he’s a better man than you’ll ever be. You could take lessons from him.”

Fuck. She goes for the jugular. I grab her hand on my tie but don’t attempt to loosen her hold. A twisted part of me likes it. Likes it too that she doesn’t speak in platitudes and praise. She tells me like she sees it. Even if I wished she saw something more in me than a funhouse reflection. A voice in my head says that’s all I’ve let her see—purposefully. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it was one more way I’ve kept my attraction buried.

“Sure,” I say, my hand moving over hers, engulfing it. “You’re right. He’s a good man, a regular Mr. Rogers, and he’ll get fucked over twice a day until he dies because of it. I don’t apologize for taking care of myself. You should take care of yourself too. You have a good head, Ruthie. Use it. One-time fees from venues aren’t going to carry you. Why aren’t you selling books or merch? What services can you offer in the winter? How are you capitalizing off your association with the animal shelter, or are you just letting your own heart be bled dry?”

“I hate you,” she says, her eyes glistening. Her hand pulls harder on my tie.

“You want to punish me, Ruthie? To hurt me?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice shaking. “You’re trying to hurt me.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to talk straight to you, the way you always do to me. I’m treating you as an equal.”

She swallows, my eyes tracking the movement in her slender throat. Sweet fuck, she’s beautiful.

“Why are you really here, Shane? Tell me the truth.”

“I told you,” I say, swallowing. “You’re Danny’s sister. He’s my best friend, so it’s my job to protect you.”

She tugs on the tie again. “You listen to me, and you listen good. It’s my job to protect myself. I’m a grown woman.”

“There’s no mistaking that,” I say, my voice low and husky. “You must realize I’ve noticed.”

“Then why persist in using that horrible nickname?”

I can’t help but smile a little. “Because I’ve tried to keep thinking of you that way. You haven’t made it easy. I’m guessing that’s why you’re always wearing those shorts around me.”

She lets out a harsh laugh. “You assume everything is about you.” Her hand flexes on the tie again, although she’s eased up. Her chin tips up to me. Her lips are still painted as red as a cherry, lush and soft. Now that I’ve tasted them, it’s hard to hold back my hunger for all of her. She releases the tie, and I instantly miss the soft pressure—the implication that she wants to lead me by my tie to her bed. “You heard Izzy. I wear them because Tank told me I have nice legs.”

A growl issues from the back of my throat. I’d told myself I wouldn’t touch her, but I’m almost rabid with the need to shift our positions and press her into the wall. She needs to feel like she’s in control right now, though, and I won’t take that away from her. Even if I suspect neither of us are in control. Still, I find myself reaching for her chin, tilting it further up so our eyes meet and hold.

“Are you lying to me, Ruthie?” I ask, my voice holding a note of danger. I’d never hurt her. I’d die before hurting her. But there’s something to be said for punching a wall in a fit of rage. I’ve done it before, and the feeling of the drywall crumbling around my fist, my knuckles bloody, made me feel better. For five minutes.

“Yes,” she says, and licks her lips. My thumb reaches up to chase her tongue, following its path and feeling the plump red lip.

A gasp escapes her. “Do you wear those little shorts for me?” I ask, feeling a pounding in my veins, my cock, my whole being.

“No, you narcissist. I like them.” My thumb is still on her bottom lip, and I keep it there.

“Did you wear them for me today?”

“Yes,” she hisses, as if the word costs her, and she’s going to be sending me the bill.

“Did you want me to give you a spanking, like the bad girl you are?”

She makes a sound that tries to be laughter. “I’m the one who has you backed into a wall. It’s time you noticed.” She pushes my thumb from her mouth but moves in closer, rubbing against me to let me know she’s noticed my hard-on and doesn’t object to it. My whole body is attuned to hers, from the way she’s breathing to the feel of her through the fabric.

“What are you going to do about it?” I ask, my voice a stranger’s voice. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this far gone, as if control were a foreign concept and not something that’s become so easy for me it’s like breathing.

“Maybe I’ll give you a spanking.”

Maybe I’d let her.

Her hand finds my tie again, and a breath of relief escapes me, because I liked it there. This time she pulls it down. I recognize the movement for the welcome invitation it is and lower my head to claim her red lips.

I’m so hungry for her, starved. I suck on that bottom lip as if it’s the answer of life, and if I release her, I’ll never learn it again. Her tongue finds mine, her hand still wrapped around my tie, pulling me down, directing me like I’m the damn dog. And I can’t say I don’t like it. I shift the angle so I have more of her, my hand lifting to her hair, fisting around it like I wanted to do earlier, in the courtroom. Its soft silken weight in my hand is a boon, a prize, a revelation. She releases a little sound into my mouth, and my dick pounds commands to me. But I won’t rush this moment, because I already know it’s not going to last.

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