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Three weeks.
Three fricking weeks.
My body had almost completely healed. There were still some stubborn bruises, a thin, red scar on my stomach that would hopefully fade, still some aches and pains, but I was back to normal.
I was even back at the café, although Swiss had tried to argue against me going back too soon. I’d argued back, passionately. He’d had a weird look in his eyes, one that made my thighs clench and my stomach dip. His face had lingered close to mine. I’d held my breath, near salivating with need. Then he’d muttered about, “Going on a ride,” and left.
Turned around and left.
I’d been pissed off. And horny. So I’d used the vibrator that Freya got me as a gift after I’d spent a night ranting about Swiss and the bullshit ‘friends’ arrangement.
It was the first time I’d used it because before that, I’d held out. I was uncomfortable about orgasming without Swiss. About using a vibrator in the first place. I wasn’t in tune with my body like that.
But I’d gotten mad enough to get in tune.
And it was great. Really freaking great. It had nothing on what Swiss and I had, but it was different. It was erotic because I was the one in control. It wasn’t about a man. Wasn’t about someone else’s pleasure. It was something deeply personal and intimate.
Swiss had come back an hour later, took one look at me, and let out a low growl in the back of his throat. “You’re trying to fuckin’ kill me,” he ground out. Then he left again. For two more hours.
Needless to say, he knew me well enough to know what I looked like after I’d come.
That was two days ago.
And we’d barely seen each other in that time. Swiss was creating distance.
And I was over it.
I was pissed off.
I was lonely in a bed that he was supposed to be in.
I was horny.
Sure, I could’ve used the amazing little device in the nightstand, but I didn’t want to. I shouldn’t need to. There was a six-foot something biker on my sofa who I knew could make me tremble in need, who could make me leave this freaking world. And he wasn’t doing that because of some stupid idea he had in his head.
So I was done.
“Screw this,” I said to my bedroom ceiling, throwing off my covers and stomping toward the living room.
Summer had come back with a vengeance, one last hurrah before fall gripped us. The nights were hot, and I liked to sleep with the windows open, so I was wearing as little as possible. And because I was hoping that Swiss would catch a glimpse of the short silk nightie and reconsider this whole ‘friends’ deal.
The TV was a low hum, and the lamp in the corner illuminated Swiss on the couch.
He was shirtless. And he was not asleep.
His eyes went to me immediately, flicking up and down my body, focusing on where the lace was sheer enough to see my hard nipples.
His low hiss echoed through the room. I felt it in my pussy.
“You were right that day,” I said, going to stand in front of him, my hand on my hip. I didn’t miss the way it bunched the silk over the curve of my ass, nor did I miss Swiss’s eyes traveling to that location.
My body thrummed with need, but I had shit to say. “I have had men making decisions for me for almost two decades. Before Preston, was a stepfather who stole precious, priceless, irreplaceable things from me.”
I could feel Swiss’s anger as I mentioned Hal. We hadn’t spoken about him since that night, just like we hadn’t spoken about his daughter and wife, but all three still lingered like ghosts.
“And before him was a mother who hated me for being born,” I continued, nowhere near done. “I have not lived a life without pain, without being controlled in one way or another, without walking on eggshells.”
I watched Swiss as he got up from the sofa. I fought the urge to drool at his sculpted torso, the jeans he wore that did not hide his need for me.
