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“Fuck. I didn’t mean you. It’s fine for you to want whatever you— But for me, it’s not, I can’t ever—” He rakes a hand through his hair just like he did last night, looking flustered and pained at the same time. It looks like a deep pain, too.
He closes his eyes and breathes out before piercing me again with that gaze.
“This will never happen, Miss Rose. I’m not the man to scratch your itch. Find someone else. Please leave now.”
But I didn’t get where I am today by being meek. I didn’t survive Bryce Gentry by walking gently into that good night. No, sir.
I’m stubborn. There were nights, more than one, where I felt so worthless I wanted to give up and die.
But I didn’t. I’m here today and everything I’ve gotten after Bryce was because I stubbornly stood up, demanded, and took it.
“I’ll leave on one condition.”
Dylan looks exasperated and throws his hands out.
“Give me your phone number and I’ll leave right this minute.”
“What? Is this some sort of fucking game to you?”
I’m the one breathing out hard this time. Shit. Games again. “Maybe. I don’t know. I try to be as straightforward as I can. I’m not trying to fuck with your life.”
He scoffs. “Aren’t you?”
“We’re both single. And unless you’re celibate, you need, how did you put it, you need to get your itches scratched too. Why not with me? Someone you can trust to be discrete. I’ll sign an NDA or anything else if you’re worried about that, show you my test results, I know we didn’t use protection the other night but I’m clean and on the pill and I—”
“Jesus Christ, you say giving you my phone number will shut you up and get you out of my office the quickest?” He yanks open the top drawer on his desk and shoves his phone my way. “Have at it.”
I stare at the phone but only for a second before snatching it up and punching my number in. I hit the green dial button and wait for my phone in my purse to buzz before hanging up.
I know I’m being pushy as hell, unattractively so. Maybe this all goes nowhere. Probably this all goes nowhere. Probably he blocks my number the second I walk out his office door.
Still I add myself to his contacts and hope for the best. Stranger things have happened. And when I glance back up at him, it’s to find him quickly averting his eyes.
He was watching me.
He’s attracted to me.
He followed me to that garage roof last night. He’s intrigued. Maybe my pushiness today killed any interest.
Or maybe he remembers exactly why he hung around last night after he came the first time and kept on fucking me for another half hour. Maybe he remembers exactly how incredible it felt for both of us to give into the animal and let ourselves free. For once, finally free.
I incline my head as I lean over to place his phone back on his desk. Does it afford a spectacular view of my cleavage? Yes, yes it does, and yes, I hope he’s looking.
“My ass is still sore from your fingers last night,” I whisper.
And then I turn and head out the door.
Five
DYLAN
My ass is still sore… said with that impish little saucy grin.
I shake my head at her audacity for what feels like the hundredth time.
“I told Hannah never to let her back to my office if she comes again.” I stride back and forth on the well-worn path in Dr. Laghari’s office.
“I don’t need this shit. I’ve been doing so well in my recovery and then to fuck it up so bad like I did last night.” I shake my head again. “Fucking maddening.”
Dr. Laghari doesn’t say anything for a long moment so I look over at him.
“What, you think last night wasn’t fucking up my sexual sobriety?”
He inclines his head. “I’ve never used that term. You came up with it yourself. But it’s interesting that you see having sex for the first time in four years in terms of an addict going back to a drug.”
“Isn’t it?” I throw my hands up. Fuck, I know I’m being dramatic, but I could use with the good doctor being a little more… well, a little more. I expected him to look, I don’t know, disappointed when I came in today and told him about last night. But the last half hour all he’s done is ask me how I felt about what happened.
I feel like I want to crawl out of my own fucking skin, that’s how I feel. I never wanted to be in that position ever again, standing over a weeping girl after putting my hands on her.
But there I was, having come fucking twice. And even then, at the end when I was horrified looking down at her so broken, still there was a part of me that loved it. That loved seeing her there like that, that loved knowing it was me who’d done it to her. That wanted to grab her by her silky brunette hair, shove her face down and immediately do it to her all over again.
