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I set my lips. "Oh, youforbidit?Youforbid it, eh?"
"I do."
"And what makes you think you can stop me from doing anything?"
"I’m your boss… And the man who fucked you so hard you couldn’t stop crying out my name as you spasmed around my cock."
His words sweep through me and arrow straight down to the space between my legs. I have to stop myself from squeezing my thighs together. Why do I find his dirty talk such a turn-on? Is it because of the assuredness with which he speaks those four-letter words? Or the confidence with which he glares at me as if daring me to challenge his order?
I scowl at him.
He raises an eyebrow.
"Are you going to lay back in bed, or am I going to make you lay back?"
"You wouldn’t dare."
His eyes gleam. "There’s nothing I’d like more than pressing you back onto the bed, then undressing you and—"
"Don’t you dare," I say hotly.
"There you go again, daring me." He takes a step forward, and I throw up a hand.
"Fine, fine. I’ll lay down. But not with you."
"Where else am I supposed to sleep?"
"Anywhere else, just not here."
"This is my bed," he says in a voice that drips with exaggerated patience. Oh, my god, I hate it when he treats me like I’m a child. I do.
"That is exactly my point. This is your bed. You want me in your bed. And that’s fine. I’m willing to sleep here, just not with you."
"This is a big bed. You sleep on one side, and I’ll sleep all the way over on the other side."
I glower at him. "Oh, no, you’re not pulling that on me."
He raises a shoulder. "You can sleep on top of the covers, for all I care. But you are going to sleep in my bed, and so am I, Lena."
He turns around and heads toward the bathroom.
"Where are you going?" I ask, then snap my lips together. Why the hell do I care where he’s going? And why did that come out sounding so needy?
"To get you ibuprofen for the pain," he calls out over his shoulder.
"Oh." I let out a sigh.
He returns a few minutes later with a glass of water and two tablets that he hands over to me. I wash them down with the water.
"Thanks." I place the glass of water on the bedstand.
“I’m going to get you something to eat.” He turns and leaves.
I glance around the room. I saw it, of course, the last time I snuck in here, but now, I’m taking in the details. The plush dark blue carpet on the floor. The bookcase that takes up one entire wall. The sectional in front of the fireplace on the far side that makes for a cozy seating area. A door set in the wall on the other side, which I assume leads to the closet. And the bed I’m seated on which is large. It’s a super king-sized bed. So wide that we could easily sleep without touching each other. Tiredness pulls at my muscles. My limbs feel like they weigh a ton. I lower myself onto the pillow and yawn. I snuggle into the bedsheets and my eyelids flutter closed.
A delicious warmth cocoons me. Mmmm. I rub my cheek against the soft—no, the hard surface, which is also soft. How is that possible? Thud-thud-thud. The reassuring beat of his heart mirrors the beating of my own. I turn my face into the warmth and inhale. Notes of sherry oak and cinnamon fill my senses. A slow pulse flares to life between my legs. I wiggle my toes and my foot feels fine. Huh? Guess I’m not hurt as badly as I thought I was. In fact, my entire body is tingling with a sense of well-being. I tighten my hold around the wide surface that is also warm. And muscled and—
I snap my eyes open. It’s dark in the room, but I can make out the acres of ripped planes. Grooves, divots… pecs. I’m staring at his pecs. His very deliciously-sculpted pecs with a smattering of hair on them and that deep groove that demarcates them. And there are scars. Scars big and small pepper his chest. The skin above his nipple is puckered. Is that a gunshot wound? Itisa gunshot wound, and it’s so close to his heart. My own heart spasms at the thought. How did he get that? Was it in a gang war? I heard Isaac mention that JJ once belonged to an underground gang.
