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I need her to stop.
I need her to be quiet.
I need her to feel me.
I need her to feel my pain.
I need her to understand my emotions.
I love her. I hate her. I can’t be without her.
My lips crash down on hers as I release her throat. She reaches up and pulls my hair, my ears, trying to get me to stop kissing her. It takes a moment, and then she relaxes against me and kisses me back.
My mind calms. My body relaxes. The tension between us moves from that of anger to sexual. All the emotions and passion take over, and we can’t get enough of each other. This twisted game only fucks with my head more.
I told her the first time I put my hands on her that it wouldn’t happen again. That time, I only grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving. She winced, and I immediately released her. Somehow, things changed, and she pushes and pushes until I crack now. She knows where it will lead, but she won’t back off. She doesn’t deserve this, but why can’t she stop herself from pushing us there?
Every time, I’m left with regret. I’m left giving the apologies that are nothing more than words. As much as I don’t want to put my hands on her, I can’t seem to hold back. I can’t break the cycle. I am weak. I am a bastard, born of a bastard, and I am destined to repeat my father’s mistakes.
I hate myself. I hate what I do to her. I hate what we do to us.
I don’t mean to hurt her. I don’t mean to hurt us. I thought I could break the cycle. I was wrong. Can’t she see I need her? Doesn’t she see I love her? Can she understand this is all I know?
Chapter One
Getting ready for the day, I stand at the bathroom counter in only my green boxer briefs. I pick up the can of shaving cream, then squirt the white foam into my hand. Wiping it across my jaw and neck, I turn when the door opens.
Missy enters in her black silk lingerie. She moves to me and pushes me back, climbing onto the spare space of the countertop. She picks up my razor, leaning over and wetting it under the running water. Without hesitation, she slides the sharp metal down my face and neck. The only noise between us is the running water.
I cage her in with a hand on each side of her as she leans over to wash away the shaving foam and my facial fuzz. Eye to eye, I take in the woman who consumes me.
She’s short, five foot three to my six-foot-two frame. Missy has ample breasts with an hourglass figure that bubbles out into the hips and thighs I love to grip as she rides me. Her tanned skin is flawless, as is her heart-shaped face that is full of pinup style seduction.
How did it start so amazingly and go to hell so fast?
I get hard as she sits in front of me, her chest rising and falling with every breath she takes. Her nipples poke out from the thin material. She licks her lips, and I want a taste.
Leaning in, I lick her lips. With our faces inches apart, she pulls the razor down my face again. Her legs wrap around my back, keeping me in place.
“What’s on the agenda today, Mr. Stanley?” she whispers seductively.
I smile as she rinses the blade. “Meetings at nine and eleven, lunch with Tatiana, planning conference at two, and then I’ll be at the gym till after dinner.” I give her my day honestly.
With a smile, she brings the blade to my face. She starts at mid-cheek and comes down. At my jaw, she twists, and I feel the telltale burn of a cut.
“Lunch with Caldwell’s woman?” The tone in her voice is pure evil, as was the cut I now sport on my chin.
I jerk back, her legs releasing me. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes flash from sexy to malicious. “Maybe I should give Jagger a call. He sure did give me good. I don’t know why I ever came back to you.” She reaches out to swipe at me with the razor, but I catch her wrist, stopping her.
“Are you fucking psycho? I could crush you, yet you cut me and try to do it again.” I fight to contain my anger. “Why do you do this, Missy?”
“Don’t you give me that shit, Jason!” she screeches, swinging out with her other arm, which I catch at the wrist, forcing me to step into her. “This is not on me!” I wonder how she can say that when I feel the trickle of blood move down my freshly shaved throat. “You put your hands on me,” she continues yelling. “Then it’s ‘I’m sorry, baby,’ and you do all the right things until you fuck up again.”
