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“The first part.” It was as if someone had ripped the gritted admission from him against his will.
I halted, my gaze trained on my bare toes. My discarded shoes lay in a heap somewhere over by the couch. “What?”
“I’ve never once said I didn’t want you.”
His touch burned. His words burned. His eyes, which I could feel boring into the side of my head, burned a hole right through me. He fucking set me on fire. I wasn’t sure he’d hear me, I could hardly hear myself over the sound of hot blood coursing through my ears. “And the second part?”
His fingers tightened painfully. I heard his slow intake of breath as he deliberately relaxed his fingers on my wrist, flexing them while his thumb shifted to draw circles lazily against my skin, like he was trying to distract himself from the thoughts my words had induced.
Taking a breath of my own, I forged on, my voice a breathy whisper, ?
?You want someone else to have me?”
He stilled completely. My eyes traveled the length of his body as I turned to look at him, my fragile heart thundering in my chest as my gaze stopped just short of his shadowed jawline, fear and doubt halting my progress.
His voice was so husky and low, it was almost unrecognizable. “What do you want me to say, Riley?”
I lifted my gaze. Our eyes collided and locked. “Just the truth,” I breathed, begged.
He lowered his head. “Riley…”
My lids slid shut, heart sinking. He was going to deflect. Again. Just like he couldn’t say he didn’t love me, but he wouldn’t say he did. He was fighting a war, and somehow, I’d become the enemy. Pulling from his grip roughly, I walked to the couch and bent to snag the straps of my shoes with my fingertips.
“Fuuuck!” What sounded like a fist slammed into the wall. I could almost feel his turmoil.
Suddenly he was right behind me, his harsh breaths blowing my hair.
“No. Okay? That what you want to hear?” My heart stopped, my lungs seizing as I straightened, bringing his chest flush with my back. His heat seeped into me and goose bumps erupted over the surface of my skin. “There’s your fucking answer.”
His breaths became ragged. “Do I want some other guy’s hands all over you, touching you, his mouth on you? No. I can’t fucking bear the thought of it. Do you have any goddamn idea how hard it was to see that fucker touching you tonight? Do you? You want to fuck someone else, Riley?”
He heaved, his chest expanding heavily against my back.
“You want to know how I feel about that? Some worthless fucking asshole sticking their dick inside you?” His voice bordered on enraged, driven by some unfiltered, untameable emotion he couldn’t keep under control. “Not happening, Riley. Never fucking happening. Not while I’m fucking breathing. You know why... because you’re fucking mine,” he growled, guttural and raw.
He’d splayed himself open by admitting it. I had backed him into a corner, and he’d battled his way out, but it sounded like he’d lost the war. This was no victory cry. And we both knew it. I tasted salt on my lips and my entire body trembled, because I didn’t know where that left us.
Turning slowly, I faced him, looking up through blurry eyes. I couldn’t disguise my confusion, or how lost I felt in that moment. I also knew he’d see the inkling of hope that I couldn’t seem to snuff out, because for every time he fought me and pushed me away, he came back.
“Then what do you want from me?” I whispered.
Head deeply furrowed, his eyes scanned over my face for half a second before he muttered, “Goddammit, Riley.”
And then his mouth was on mine.
Thirty-Two
Riley
My head was still spinning from the events of the weekend. From whatever Reno’s goddammit, Riley and that bruising kiss might have meant. I obviously wouldn’t know since he didn’t stick around long enough to enlighten me. Forty-eight hours and change was not long enough to figure out what it was exactly that Reno wanted from me. Not sure I’d figure it out given forty-eight years. I questioned whether he even knew.
Distracted, I shouldered my way into fourth period U.S. Government, keeping my face averted because I was tardy and naively hoping Mr. Stenson would cut me some slack if I didn’t look directly at him. Not a chance.
“How nice of you to join us, Miss Mason. Class is almost over; I wonder why you bothered.”
Man, he was an ass. Averting my face to hide my eye roll, I muttered a lackluster apology and hauled my persistently preoccupied self to the desk I usually sat in at the back of the class. Glancing to the last cuckoo clock in existence hanging on the far wall, I noted I was four minutes late. Drama Queen. It took some effort to resist coughing out my newly formed opinion of Stenson under my breath. Approaching my desk with my head down, and far less haste than I should have, given the circumstances, I finally glanced up... and my heart slammed into my rib cage. My brows hiked to my hairline and my sneakers squeaked loudly on the linoleum as I ground to a halt.
Reno.
