Page 63 of Bobby

“Sure of what?”

“If your pussy is soaked.”

And if it tastes as good as it smells.

Chapter 23—Willow

Oh my God!

He can’t be serious. Can he?

“Bobby, stop.” I grip his wrist, but all it does is let me feel him move up higher on my thighs. He’s going slowly, not to give me a chance to stop him, but to drag out every blissful, tortuous second.

I should have known he would do something like this. Well, not this. No way could I have expected this. But after the email, I certainly expected something. Honestly, I thought he would confront me after the day was over. I don’t think I would have lost my job. At worst, I’d have been downgraded. Maybe a request to get out of the apartment. I don’t want to, but I’d been freaking out all week, second-guessing everything. When he didn’t send me anything, not a single pigeon note or smoke signal in the sky, I thought I was being the mature one by canceling the meetings. Going out on top, in a way, deciding in-person contact isn’t needed so we could both keep face without seeing each other.

Not that I wasn’t seeing it in my dreams. So many of them that I’ve taken to locking my door at night to keep the girls from coming in and seeing what I’m doing under the covers. Something I never had to worry about in the past. Even before my marriage ended, sex was not something I had on my mind a lot. It was pleasurable sometimes, usually if I finished myself off, but it wasn’t something I craved. Yearned for. I sent silent pleas to the universe to answer my calls. All of which I’ve done this week.

And all for one man.

Bobby has ruined me. Completely destroyed me.

In the bedroom.

Outside of it, I’m able to think and function, but he’s constantly on my mind. I didn’t want to, but I put up barriers all week in preparation. Each day that went by without a word from him, I built them higher. I promised myself once that I wouldn’t fall out over a man. And even if Bobby is three times the man Trevor will ever be, I intend to stand by that promise.

“You don’t want me to,” he purrs as he finds the spot between my legs. The spot that’s been aching all week to see him again. His teeth graze my neck as he moves them over my pulse point. A threat that he’ll bite. And all I can think about is how good it felt the last time he touched my neck. How his hand closed so tightly, squeezing me. Some might be sickened by that, but all I can do is let out a small moan from the memory. The way I came so hard on the release makes up for the slight panic I first felt when he wrapped his fingers around me.

Hearing my moan makes me stiffen and try to get back to the point.

“You didn’t call.”

And there it is. The panic that’s been on my mind since Tuesday when he said he would call soon but never did. I thought a dozen times about calling him first. Texting. Emailing. Every time, I didn’t. I didn’t want to be the needy woman who didn’t know she was a one-night stand. I didn’t want to be seen that way or show my girls that that’s how to act. I tell them to act like the queens they are, and queens don’t beg for attention. They earn it, or they don’t. You can still lead without it, but it’s not as satisfying when you do.

He stills but doesn’t remove his hand from my panties. Once he reached my center, he pushed in, just enough to feel the wetness seep onto his fingers. Now he’s just holding me, gripping between my legs as if it’s his right.

He looks at me, seeing far more than a man should see in a woman’s eyes. Especially one who’s on the brink of realizing her feelings are more than just a crush, and his actions made a part of her heart hurt.

But he sees it. He sees me. All of me. He has since the start of whatever this is between us.

“For that, I’m truly sorry.” He nods as he leans back, accepting his mistake, but not removing his hand.

“Each time I wanted to, something came up.” He shakes his head at his words. “But that’s a poor man’s excuse, and certainly not one you should accept. All I can say is I’m sorry and I’ll do better going forward.”

I blink twice. That’s not what I expected. A complete apology and a commitment to change?

“What are you?” I voice my inner thought without meaning to. He speaks as if he honestly means it. As if they aren’t just words to stop an argument to get what he wants. I’ve been around men my entire life, and I’ve never seen one really apologize before. Not even my dad. It was always followed up with something tied to it that the other person had to take responsibility for. Bobby seems unreal in this moment.

He leans forward, resting his forehead on mine and closing his eyes. “Someone who must make amends.” The anguish in his voice mends a part of my heart. “Please let me. I’m not a begging man, but I am sorry that I hurt you.”

This man sees more than my ex-husband ever did. He can tell things just by looking at me, and instead of making me take the blame for my feelings, he’s acknowledging them and wanting to make changes.

How can I not accept his apology?

“It’s okay.” I lick my lips. “I could have said something instead of letting it brew this week. Guess we both need to apologize, huh?” I laugh a bit to ease the tension, as this moment seems bigger than just a dating couple’s spat. It feels more like a promise for the future between us. Something I’m not sure will occur, but something I also want to have.

He stands up fully and takes a beat before nodding. Then he removes his hands from between my legs and grabs his chair, sitting down right in front of me.

I feel better now that we’re on even ground and push my skirt down. I go to stand, only to be stopped by firm hands on my wrists, squeezing tightly, though not enough to leave bruises.