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“Then what did you think I meant?” He sounded confused, and his grip on my hand tightened.
“That you needed a hug or something.”
“No, I need my hooker to make me forget again.” He quirked a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hell, I could even try to find money if you want to make it real.” This wasn’t the real Josh. What was he doing? There was something in his voice that sounded off. Nerves? Denial? I couldn’t understand what it was, but this situation was wrong. I untangled our hands and eased myself away from him, standing and taking a step back.
I’d gone from fancying myself in love to facing the harsh reality of what we really were, and anger coiled inside me.
“I’m a federal officer, not a freaking hooker. You know that, right?”
He stared at me for a moment, then shook his head before moving right into my space. He was so close I could see the light reflected in his eyes, and he smelled so good that it took determination not to yank him in for a kiss.
Anger be damned, I wanted him.
“I don’t need the cop right now,” he muttered. “I need the guy who held me down and made me say his name. I want that man to fuck me.”
“Please, Josh—”
He twisted his hands in my hair and held tight. “We have proximity, and it’s sex.”
I wish my conscience extended to my cock, which was already hard and begging for me to get with the game.
“It’s not—”
“Fuck! Now you get a conscience?” He palmed my cock through my jeans. “All I need is sex, not something that means anything.” His words cut me deep as he squeezed, but I had to stop myself from whimpering as he huffed a laugh. “Of course, I’m cool if you want me to act pathetic and desperate for it, if that gets you off—”
“What?” I shoved him away, wincing when his fingers yanked my hair.
“Come on, do it already.” He unbuttoned his jeans, “I can channel the idiot father again—”
“You deserve more than some role play hooker-client shit,” I snapped.
He stopped with the unbuttoning and glanced up at me in confusion. “It’s fucking, and you know what? It’s pretty muchallI deserve right now.”
“No, it’s not.” It had only been a few weeks, but slowly and surely there’d grown a Josh-sized need inside me, making me feel things I shouldn’t. Each day we spent here together, joking, reading to Josh, playing games, using the gym, laughing, I wished I could get my head around the sex thing. Everything changed between us without me even realizing, and he needed to know he deserved more than what he asked for. He meant something to me.
“I can’t hope for anything more.”
“What about laughter, and early breakfasts, and snuggling in bed, and seeing where we could go together if we let it.”
“Trapped here?” He waved at the cabin, and I winced. He had a point. We were in an enforced space, thrust into each other’s lives for so long. But I liked him.
A lot.
More than liked him.
So much so that I didn’t want to have sex with him, because I wanted to hold back and make love. With sweet kisses, and gentle words, and more.
I could love him.
“You deserve something better.” I began. “Like me dating you.”
“The fuck? Well, that’s fucking shit,” he muttered. “Because dating is a fucked up non-starter. I think we just have each other and proximity, so you’re all I have right now, and now… fuck you… ” He stepped past me and headed away, but something made me stop him—some part of me thought I could show him he deserved more. I tugged him close and cradled his face, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. I could feel the heat in his cheeks.
“Josh—”
“I want to hold you and hug you and be with you, and I think I have feelings for you, and it’s so messed up, because it’s just Stockholm Syndrome, right?”
“You’re not my hostage, or my prisoner—”
