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Time slows as he closes the distance between us, mouth dropping to my ear as he stands behind me. “That was quite a bold move for a man you hate,a chuisle.”His breath drags along my skin, giving me goosebumps.
“I never said I hated you.” I can’t help myself, I arch my back so my shoulders rest against his front.
“Then tell me, Harlow. What is it you feel for me if not hate?” His question cuts into the deepest part of me that still doesn’t understand why I feel the way I do. And definitely doesn’t want to tell him.
He snakes a hand to my front and under my shirt. He caresses the soft skin of my belly, and liquid heat pools in my core. I open my mouth to respond, but his other hand teases the waistband of my leggings and my mouth clamps shut, biting down on my lip as butterflies erupt in the pit of my stomach.
“Answer me,a chuisle, and I’ll give you what you want…” His fingers slip below the waistband and graze the sensitive flesh above my pussy. “What youcrave. And I won’t even make you beg.” He dusts his lips along my neck, and my eyes flutter shut, rolling my head to the side. I don’t understand how such a light touch can be so seismic. His mouth barely skims my skin and I feel like the ground is shaking under me.
When his fingers reach my small patch of curls, my eyes fly open and lock with his in the reflection again. There is an esurient deepness to them that makes me feel, now more than ever, that I’m making a deal with the devil.
“Tell me, and I’ll let you watch.” His voice is getting more demanding, less patient. His fingers dig into the pillowy part of my stomach as if in warning. I watch in the mirror as my cheeks flush rose. The sight of his arms coiled around me makes my pussy flutter.
My response is tangled around my tongue, and the lower his fingers slide in my pants, the more unsure I am of what to say. What do I feel for him?Anger, lust, aggravation, hopefulness, attraction, connection, disgust?
“I don’t know,” I breathe, and watch as his gaze hardens.
“That’s not good enough,a chuisle,” he growls, ripping his hands away and spinning around to slam the emergency-stop button again.
The elevator whirs to life again, and I whisper, “Floor four.” He smashes his finger into the fourth-floor button, shoulders trembling and foot tapping the floor in a rapid beat.
He whips around and crashes his mouth down on mine. There is nothing loving or gentle about his kiss. It’s all dominance and conquest. He crushes my forehead against his, hands clasped on either side of my face. “Why won’t you just accept that you fucking belong to me?” There’s a confusing mix of spite and pleading to his words.
Like I am the first thing he’s ever wanted that he couldn’t have, that he couldn’t just acquire with brute force and a harrowing reputation. He could force himself on me, of course, but he doesn’t just want my body.
He wants mysoul.
The one thing I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give.
The elevator shudders to a stop, and the doors slide open.
“Go get your things. I’ll wait here to make sure Officer Shit-For-Brains doesn’t get any ideas and come riding back on his white horse.” He is cold and emotionless when he speaks, refusing to look at me. The whiplash burns.
This trip to my apartment was supposed to be about me getting some of my power back, and instead, I’m left spinning and confused.
I open a bottle of wine, determined to shake this off-balance feeling I’ve had since the elevator this morning. After I packed a bag from my apartment, Cash dropped me off at his place without a word. Barely even put the car into park and let Roman walk me to his unit.
I’ve fluctuated between pissed off, horny, and dejected all day alone at home.
Home.
What the hell am I talking about?This place isn’t my home. My home was with Beth, and now she’s gone and I’m living with a psychopath who thinks he loves me. And if he does, it’s only as an object. Not a person. God, even the way he speaks about me is always in a possessive nature.
Ownership, not partnership.
I skip the glass and take a long pull straight from the bottle. I need some goddamn air. And more wine.
While walking through Cash’s bedroom to the rooftop terrace, I spot a white bathrobe tossed on his bed and a wicked idea shoots through me. I’m giddy as I strip, wrapping myself in the robe and leaving my clothes in a trail to the French doors. My heart skips at him coming home and seeing it.
Will he see it and think I’m with someone else? Will he think I left them for him?
I know it won’t be nearly as tumultuous as he’s made me feel, but I’d kill for him to feel even a fraction of what he’s done to me. I skip out the door, leaving it slightly ajar, the wine bottle swinging in my hand.
I drop the robe on a table next to the hot tub and feel positively alive being completely nude under the setting sun. The air tickles my exposed skin as I walk the ledge separating the pool from the hot tub. The steam from the hot tub licks at my legs.
I dive into the pool, the chill of the water shocking every bare inch of me as I glide under the surface. The sensation instantly reminds me of the time Beth and I went skinny dipping with some friends during a party at someone's parent’s lake house. We shrieked at the frigid water and goaded others into joining us.
I float on my back, reminiscing. The sky is a swirl of sherbet orange and lavender.Does Beth get sunsets wherever she is?
