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"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"You wanted me to come in search of you, to chase you through the airport, and corner you and—"
"And—?"
"And," his lips kick up, "fuck you, of course."
"How dare you," I say in a low voice. "You have some ego if you think that I missed my flight on purpose."
"Didn’t you?" His smile widens. "Perhaps, it was your subconscious mind that wanted you to stay in the airport, so there was more of a chance for me to find you?"
"Fuck you," I spit out at him, and the asshole laughs.
"Good to see you haven’t lost your spark, Flower."
"No thanks to you." I set my jaw. "After that stunt you pulled back at the house, I’m not sure what you want from me."
"Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?"
"You have a funny way of showing it."
"I admit that my ego gets in the way sometimes."
"Sometimes?" I snort. "And I’m still not hearing the apology, by the way."
"What if I show it to you instead?"
I bite the inside of my cheek. "Show it to me?" I narrow my gaze. "What do you mean?"
"My actions always speak louder than my words, Flower; surely, you know that by now?" He closes the distance between us, and the heat of his body envelops me.
"Stay ba-back."
My voice trembles; damn it. I shouldn’t let him intimidate me like this.
"Stay away from me," I say in a firmer voice, "don’t touch me."
"You don’t tell me what to do. Have you forgotten that?"
"I may have let you dominate me in the bedroom, but that’s where it stops."
"Is that right?" He chuckles, and the sound chafes across my skin. My belly flutters, my scalp tingles, and every part of me seems to be tuned into him. I watch as he steps closer, until his chest is flush with my back, his thighs cradle my hips, and that thick hardness between his legs pushes against my arse.
A shudder grips me, and I grip the edge of the sink even tighter.
He slides his hand around to cup my pussy through the fabric of my jeans.
"Oh, god," I squeeze my eyes shut, "oh, my fucking god!’
"Open your eyes," he commands, and I snap my eyelids open. I meet his gaze once again, and his eyes… They are burning into me with such intensity that goose bumps pop on my skin.
He pushes the hair at the nape of my neck to the side. I shiver. He bends, and without taking his gaze off of mine, he presses his lips to the curve where my shoulder meets my neck. It’s so sweet, so not like the Christian I know that a moan bleeds from my lips. He digs his teeth into my skin, and I yelp. My pussy clenches. My toes curl. He drags his tongue across the bruised skin, and moisture beads my core.
"Christian, please," I whisper. "Please…" I want to tell him to stop, but I can’t seem to form the words. He lowers the zipper on my jeans, then slips his fingers under my panties. He brushes across my swollen clit, and a whine bubbles up my throat.
"Fuck," he growls, "you are so wet, Flower." He peruses my features in the mirror as he shoves his fingers inside of me. My pussy clamps down instantly on his fingers, and his gaze seems to intensify. He moves his fingers in and out of me, and my entire body bucks. I throw my head back against his shoulder, even as a part of me wishes that I could resist him. But I can’t. God help me, but I tried; all I have to do is see him, scent him, feel his skin against mine, and all thought seems to drain from my head. Damn it, I cannot give in to him like this, not after the way he treated me.
"Christian," I burst out, "don’t. Please, don’t."
