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But he scared me.
I couldn’t read him and I wasn’t entirely confident that he wouldn’t kill me, or at the very least hurt me.
“On the bed,” I said, straightening my shoulders and meeting his eyes.
His back stiffened and his hand stilled. He then tossed the gun on the counter and it made a loud clatter. “I didn’t offer that option.” His stool scraped on the ceramic tiles as he shoved it back.
I swear my heart was either going to stop or burst right through my chest. I could do this. For him, I could do this.
He stalked toward me. And it was a stalk. A predator approaching its prey. The question was how he intended to take me down.
I was stupid prey, too, because I should have had the instinct in me to run. But my instinct was skewed because everything in me said to stay still. I knew the outcome. He was going to break me into pieces then devour each one.
Regardless of his cruel words, my mind still saw the man he had been. His memories were gone, but mine were intact and being near him ignited my feelings for him.
And as he approached, his long lean legs confident with each step, my belly flipped and I felt the little tweaks between my thighs.
I inhaled deeply, released the door handle and raised my chin as he came toe to toe with me.
Neither of us moved.
I stared into his deep blue eyes, turbulent ice-cold waves. There wasn’t a hint of playfulness with that cute smirk that used to make my heart flutter.
He half smiled, but it was stern and gave me chills. His hand curled around the back of my neck and it took everything I had not to close my eyes and sag against him. To throw my arms around him and sob. To have his arms fold me into his protective strength and take me away from here.
But this wasn’t about me. It was about him.
His thumb stroked back and forth along my hairline. “Do you always fuck your husband’s business acquaintances?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then why me?”
He wouldn’t accept the truth so I went with another truth. “My husband hasn’t touched me in three years.” I’d become his trophy, untouched and sitting on a shelf only to be admired. Sometimes I wondered why he kept me alive, but I was an obsession, a possession. Everything was a game, even me and Connor. We were one big game to him, for him to toy with our emotions, our lives.
The lines around his mouth eased. He stepped toward the couch, taking me with him with his hand still on my neck. “You don’t have a choice where I fuck you.”
I stopped. Time to be brave. “You want to fuck me, Connor. Then we do it on the bed and you wear this.” I uncurled my hand and held out the shiny gold square package.
I’d stolen the condom from Diego’s room. He had them scattered all over his dresser and I knew this because he didn’t bother shutting his door even when he fucked girls.
His brows drew together as he stared down at the condom then he swiped it from my hand and stuck it in his front pocket of his black cargo pants.
He gestured to my blouse with a chin-lift. “Take it off.”
Shit, well at least he took the condom. I was on birth control, but I didn’t know who Connor had slept with over the years.
I licked my lips, took another deep breath to try to settle my nerves, and then undid the top button of my shirt. My fingers trembled so badly that it took me a while because I couldn’t get the stupid things undone. What made it worse was Connor’s eyes were on me.
“Christ,” I swore under my breath as I fiddled with the third one and I couldn’t push it through the little slit.
“Fuck. Let me.” He shoved my hands aside then quickly undid the tiny white buttons. I was surprised he didn’t just tear my blouse off, but it made sense he didn’t. If I were caught going back to my room with a ripped shirt, questions would be asked.
I watched his hands. Hands that had held mine. Hands that caressed my hair while we’d danced under the stars. That cupped my jaw before he kissed me.
A choked sob escaped my throat.
Connor’s fingers paused on the last button and his head lifted and our eyes locked. “Second thoughts?”
“I… I… no,” I choked out. “No,” I repeated stronger, more to convince myself than him.
“Stupid girl,” he drawled.
He parted my shirt sliding it off my shoulders, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing my skin.
Goose bumps.
Tingles.
Quivers.
I stared at Connor, his hands gliding from my shoulders to my wrists while his eyes remained locked on me. Tweaks erupted between my legs and my chest swelled.
