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Heavy. Frantic. So alive.
“Boom... boom.... boom,” I whisper. “I can feel it, Ava.”
She’s as stiff as a board, pushing herself into the wall. “Please, leave.”
“Put your hand over my heart.”My black, dead heart.I take her hand and rest it on my shirt, just so she can appreciate exactly how I’m responding to her. This isn’t a one-way street. I need her to know that.
“What’s your point?”
“You are one stubborn woman.” It’s infuriating. “Let me ask you the same question.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you trying to stop the inevitable? What’syourpoint, Ava?” I force her to meet my gaze by gently encasing her neck with my palm, bringing her face to mine with the lightest of pressure. I dip and ghost my lips over her ear, enticing a breathy gasp. Oh God, help me, her smell. “There it is,” I whisper, the relief of hearing that tiny sound of submission emboldening me, sending my mouth on a leisurely tour of her sweet skin. “You feel it.”
She does nothing to stop me. She lets me at her, finally, and I continue to work her with my mouth, making my way across her jaw, my target those soft, beautiful lips. I’m nearly where I need to be.
Nearly there.
Just a few more pecks and my tongue will be meeting hers.
My pace quickens at the thought, until the squawking of a phone suddenly breaks the delightful sound of her ragged, sex-fueled breaths.
My lips aren’t on hers anymore, and her palms are set firmly on my chest. “Stop, please.”
I sag, pulling my phone from my pocket and looking down at the screen. Sarah? Does she have a radar on me? “Fuck.” I stab at the reject button, send it to voicemail, and return my attention to Ava. “You still haven’t said it.”
She hesitates but then draws breath, and I dread the words I’m about to hear. “I’m not interested,” she whispers, sounding desperate, but I can’t work out if she’s desperate to get rid of me or desperate for me to prove her wrong. “You have to stop this. Whatever you think you felt, what you think I felt, you’re mistaken.”
A burst of laughter flies from my mouth. “Think? Ava, don’t you dare try and pass this off as a figment of my imagination. Did I imagine that? Just then, was that my imagination? Give me some credit.”
“You givemesome fucking credit.”
My shoulders tense. What’s the matter with this woman and her foul language? “Mouth!” I yell, wondering what the hellmyproblem is. Hearing such harsh words fall from those lovely lips is really rubbing me up the wrong way. Something so beautiful—so pure—shouldn’t be swearing, and especially not at me.
“I told you to leave,” she repeats, dragging me back to the present.
“And I told you, look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me.” I stare at her, watching for any sign of a falter.
“I don’t want you,” she says quietly, but she’s not avoiding my eyes. No, she’s glaring at me, completely resolute.
“I don’t believe you.” I catch her fiddling fingers shifting quickly from her hair. She’s lying, she has to be.
“You should,” she affirms, a cold sheen glazing her dark eyes only strengthening her order.
Pain sears me.
We’re staring at each other, her jaw clenched, her expression resolute, me doubting myself—doubting all my thoughts and assumptions.Because no woman in the last two decades has said no to me. And I don’t know how to handle it.
I run my sweaty hand through my mess of hair, but frustration overrides my disbelief and anger sets in. Red-hot anger. And if I don’t leave now, she’ll see a side of me I’m not familiar or comfortable with.
But this isn’t done. I just need to restock on some calm and energy because this woman is draining me, and I’m about to lose my shit completely with her.
I stalk out of her house, slamming the door behind me and throwing the disposable phone to the ground with all the force I can muster in an attempt to dispel some of my fury. I stand, my body heavy, fighting to get my ragged breathing under control, and slowly turn, looking up at the house, feeling in my trouser pocket. Her keys. I pull them out and play with them for a few moments, before shaking my head and walking back to post them through the letterbox.
I pull out my other phone and start pacing down the street, dialing the big guy to come get me. “We have a problem,” he says in answer.
“What?”
