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I’m not in a relationship with Rafe. I haven't even had sex with him, but I already know that I wouldn’t want him to share me with his friends. The man could fuck with me mentally and torture me physically, and I probably still wouldn’t have enough of him.
In my opinion, that makes me mentally unstable.
“I got it.” I hear his voice come from behind me. No doubt he’s talking to Ricardo, who’s about to bolt after me. Despite wanting to be as far away from Rafe as possible, I feel a small triumph in the fact he wants to come after me himself, and I sense him lingering behind me, clearly allowing me my space.
I sit on the bench that looks out at the water, trying to ignore the cold bite of the evening air that’s attacking my skin. I can just make out Rafe in my peripheral vision, pacing over a small amount of lawn with his hands in his pockets and his head down. I try to blank him out and pretend he’s not there, but a presence like his is impossible to ignore.
“You’re cold.” He eventually comes toward me, sliding out of his jacket.
Is he kidding me? Tonight he’s insulted me, assaulted me, and now he wants to be a fucking gentleman.
“I don’t want your fucking jacket,” I snap at him before he has the chance to drape it over my shoulders.
“I said, you’re cold,” he repeats, impatiently throwing the jacket at my lap.
“What’s the matter, Rafe? You prefer your whores warm?”
“What I’d prefer is for you to stop being so fucking stubborn and come inside.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Make me, drag me inside. I’m your puppet, aren’t I?” I point out, knowing that I’m making him tick by the way he runs his hands through his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with them. It sets little sparks all over my body while I wait for his reaction.
“Stop it,” he warns.
“Stop what?” I stare back at him and shrug confidently.
“Being so fucking testing all the time. You’re cold, and I want you to come inside so you don’t get sick.” He’s frustrated. I don’t think it’s often he has to give an explanation.
I stand up from the bench, letting his jacket slide off my knees and fall to the ground before stepping into his space.
“I’m already fucking sick,” I tell him spitefully, moving past him and marching toward the gravel path that leads inside the house.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” He quickly catches up with me. His hand grabs my wrist in the exact same place where he’d hurt me earlier as he forces me to turn around and face him.
“Tell me what you mean, Riley. Do you need to see a doctor?” His eyes scan me over in confusion like he’s trying to make a diagnosis himself.
“No, I need to get the fuck away from you.” I snap my wrist from his grip, only for him to grab it again.
“Well, that isn’t gonna fucking happen.” The determination in his eyes cuts into me like glass.
“Not until you’re done with me, right? And then what will you do, Rafe? Whore me out to your friends, let Ricardo take a turn as a little employment benefit.” I laugh at myself for being so sucked into his bullshit.
“No one will ever touch you except for me.” His nostrils flare as he inhales through them.
“Is that right? Because last time I checked, Raphael, whores actually got fucked.”
That comment pushes him over the edge, and his fist crushes into my hair, tilting my head sideways and exposing my neck to his mouth.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’re too stubborn to beg, so you try to get me angry enough to take it from you.” His breath touches my skin, and his words speak straight to my clit.
I don’t know how to answer him because I think he might be right.
“I’ll tell you why I called you a whore tonight, Riley.” His hand clasps my throat, and I feel the strain in his fingers.
“Because the man who asked you your name is an even worse man than I am, and he’d love to see me hurt.”
I’d picked up on a little animosity between them, but nothing to that extent.
“If he knew what you are to me, it would make you a target. I called you a whore to protect you,” he growls in frustration, quickly releasing me and turning his back on me.
