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The tree was in the corner, and Cal had gone into town to get some stuff to decorate it with, which left Jack and me alone under the roof.
“No,” I said with equal determination. That one got his glance to turn into a glare real quick, so I hustled to finish my statement. “Cal’s off doing something, you’re making dinner, and I want a job.”
“Fucking Cal,” Jack muttered and chopped the rest of the potato.
“What does that mean?” I asked, rounding the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
“It means he changed you,” Jack replied. He turned away to wash his hands. His black sweater looked soft and masculine and was rolled at the sleeves, and paired with dark jeans and a black leather belt made him so mouthwatering I didn’t care about dinner. I wanted something else. But his words were too heavy to pull away from.
“Cal changed me, huh?” I challenged. “What? You don’t like that I say what I want? That I don’t give in to your every command?”
Clenching a small towel, Jack wiped off his hands and stared are me with a sinister and sexy gleam.
“That hasn’t changed. You’ve always voiced what you’ve wanted. In fact, I recall a time you scratched and clawed and took just that,” he said. My mind flashed to the memory he was planting. Jack liked his control, yet he’d gotten me so hot, so needy, I’d demanded and took everything I wanted, and he was right…scratched and clawed for more.
“I also remember the follow-up to that encounter,” I said.
A small tug of Jack’s lips was enough to do me in when he said, “Oh, so do I. And if memory serves, you liked me smacking your ass and commanding you.”
I swallowed hard. I did like that. So much. Jack was all strength and dominance, and with every touch and command he gave me the freedom to let go. To put myself in his care. To trust him while reveling in my own strength of letting go.
“I’m different now,” I said, a slight tremor in my voice.
“I’m aware.” Jack tossed the hand towel on the counter.
“And, you don’t like me anymore?” I said with sarcasm.
He scoffed. “You used to drive me nuts. Always straddling the line between innocence and wanton.” He took another step. “Begging and demanding all at the same time.” His gaze skated over my body. “Now you drive me fucking insane. You’re more assertive, but those pretty eyes are looking at me, silently telling me that you still crave being taken over. Which makes this very difficult because I more than like you.”
“Stop,” I said softly. Because it was too much. I didn’t want to hear what he maybe would say next. Especially if it was good. Because, while I remembered quite a bit, I also remembered one thing vividly. I’d asked Jack once if we were doomed form the beginning…and his answer plagued my dreams. Yes. Now it was just playing out what we both knew would happen. The end.
“Stop? Are you giving me a number? Because I’m not even touching you.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. Our number scale was something Jack had come up with to help ease me out of my fear of men, of sex, of everything.
“Give me a number, Lana,” he said, moving closer.
“It’s not that simple anymore.”
He was so close that I could smell his cologne. His fingers barely dipped into the front of my jeans and ran along the waist.
“Give. Me. A number.”
“Six,” I said.
“I won’t ask you hot or cold, because I feel it. You’re hot.”
I couldn’t deny it, but couldn’t give in either. Justifying the single time I’d had sex with Jack since he’d been back was one thing. But going into this was another.
“It’s not—”
“That simple?” he cut me off. “I know. But you want to talk about how I left, how I hurt you?”
“You broke me, Jack,” I said with anger-laced sadness.
“And I fucking hate myself for that!” he snapped. He cupped my hip. “You’re the one in control. Always have been. And you’re holding my God damn soul in your fist, Lana. So just this once, stop squeezing.”
My eyes shot wide. Jack was nearly shaking from the instinct he was fighting. He struggled when he felt out of control. He was being honest, stripped and raw, and it was hurting him. Despite everything, I loved him. I didn’t want to hurt him. Didn’t want to make him pay for the past anymore. I wanted to let the pain go. Wanted him to be happy. Wanted to be what he needed. It was an instinct of my own I couldn’t fight.
