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“Chris and I went out.” I can’t tell him about the police, because he’ll make sure I find nothing. He’ll take away my investigation and if I insist it continues, he’ll take over it.
And that’s dependency, right? Leaving everything in his hands and letting him handle it all. And since I loathe the thought of it, I’ll change it. Fuck that word. Fuckdependency. I won’t depend on him anymore. From now on, I’ll take care of everything myself so that no one can say that word again.
I’m addingdependencyto the stupidDlist that keeps growing.
“You went out with Christoph,” he repeats slowly, menacingly, and my fingers shake. They shake so hard, I think he sees the effect he has on me. He sees how much he rattles me. But I don’t hide it, because his eyes rage a dark color that leaves me breathless.
His reaction to my shaking is wrong. My reaction to him is even more wrong.
Weare wrong.
“Yeah. We went out.”
“Where?”
“Around.”
“Around isn’t a fucking answer, Gwyneth. Where did you go?”
“To the…uh…park.” It’s such a stupid, lame place to pick, but I’m not good at lying and that’s what came to mind first. I should’ve said to his house or something to gauge Nate’s reaction.
But I don’t need to, because he’s approaching me now, stalking actually, with his jaw set and his broad shoulders eating up the horizon, at least for me.
“You went with Christoph to the park on the back of his bike, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“And what did you do?”
“Stuff.”
“What type of stuff?”
“Talking and…” I trail off, because he’s right in front of me and I’m drunk on his scent and the masculine warmth that’s emanating from his chest.
“And what?”
I jerk up, and my head hits the wall, but that doesn’t matter. I lose sense of pain and reality when he’s so big in front of me. His sheer size makes me feel so small, and I clench my thighs because I’m sure he can smell my arousal, the reaction I have because our size difference turns me on.
“Go on. What else did he do? Did he touch you?”
“W-what?”
“Did he put his hands on this face?” He cups my cheek, his skin hot. Or maybe it’s mine since I’m on the verge of combusting.
“No.”
He drags his palm down to my throat, to the pulse point that’s about to burst and spill my heart out. “How about here? Did the fucker touch you here?”
“No…”
The hand that was just touching my face is now wrapped around my throat. Tight. Not so tight that it cuts off my oxygen, but it’s tight enough that all my attention is zeroed in on him and on the nerve endings of my jaw where his thumb is grazing it.
His other hand bunches my shirt and he pulls, tearing it open with more ease than any man should have. I don’t see the flying buttons, but I hear their sound as they scatter on the stairs.
My breasts bounce out, and even though they’re covered by a bra, that doesn’t last for long. He pulls it down, ripping the straps on my shoulder, and I gasp, the sound so aroused, I don’t recognize it as coming from me.
He exposes my pale naked breasts tipped with two hard rosy nipples that ache and harden with each passing second.
