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My lip twitches in disgust. At her. At myself. At this whole fucking situation.
With a push, I fling her from me. She stumbles back, her expression shocked.
"Leave," I rasp.
She looks at me for a moment before she steps back.
My chest rises and falls with every breath as I try to control myself. Yet as she reaches the door, it's not to open it and leave me the fuck alone.
Her fingers on the lock, she turns it to the side, effectively locking the door.
Swiveling to face me, she straightens her spine before she reaches for the thin straps of her dress, pulling them down her shoulders and letting the garment pool at her feet.
Stepping out of the dress, she tentatively walks towards me.
I grind my jaw in displeasure as I realize I'd been right about her strategy from the beginning. She didn't come to have a genuine conversation—regardless of whether I may, or may not have been inclined to listen to her. She's only here to get some fucked up ego boost, isn't she?
"Raf," she says my name in that throaty voice of hers, knowing it will get a reaction out of me. And oh, but it does.
I take deep, even breaths as I try to keep my anger at bay—so that I won't fucking strangle her on the spot.
"I missed you," she whispers as she approaches, undulating her body so every curve is emphasized.
My treacherous eyes don't seem to get the memo that I should be indifferent to her as my gaze dips from her face to her torso, admiring the way her full tits bounce with every step. Going lower, I gulp down as I scan her trim waist and flared hips that give way to long, shapely legs.
Noelle might be small, but her body is the stuff of wet dreams.
But then there's the triangle of dark hair at the apex of her thighs, taunting me with every little movement as I spot the glistening evidence of her arousal clinging to her pussy lips.
Fuck. Me.
My whole body tenses as she stops in front of me, sliding between me and the table.
"What do you think you're doing, Noelle?" I ask in an unbothered tone.
Yet it takes everything in me to pretend to be unaffected when I'm everything but.
I might be mad at her. I might hate all the deceit and despise her for what she's done.
But even the most horrible news doesn't erase the fact that I still love her, or that she's the only woman to ever have such a devastating effect on my body.
Her villainy doesn't decrease her physical appeal—not one bit.
"Didn't you come here to talk?" I raise a brow at her. "So talk. But you can do that clothed, too," I remark drily, sneering as I look her up and down.
She's so fucking close, I can smell her. And as my nostrils flare with the combination of her body wash and her natural musky scent, I find myself worse than before. I'm teetering on the edge, and if she poked me with one finger right now, I'd fall.
Fuck.
Since my days at the hacienda and knowing what it's truly like to lose control of my body, I've done everything in my power to maintain it in all aspects of my life. And having her like this, so close—so fucking close—doesn't help one bit.
I'm one second away from blowing, and she can sense it, too. She's banking on it.
"I didn't rape you," she suddenly says, bringing her eyes to me. "Technically," she adds after a brief pause.
My lips quirk up in amusement.
"Technically?" I repeat, doing my best not to succumb to laughter at her flimsy excuse.
