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Oh my god, did I blurt that out? Fire streaks my cheeks. I try to pull away again, but of course, he doesn’t let me go. "You got what you wanted; can you release me please?" I manage to croak out the words through a throat that feels like I’ve been screaming.
"You don’t have to be embarrassed about what happened. It was on that asshole that he didn’t realize the value of what he had."
"And you do?" I shake my head. "Ignore what I said. My emotions are all over the place. This is why I don’t like to talk about what happened. I wish you hadn’t forced me to share it, now I feel like a complete idiot."
"He’s the wanking toss-arse who didn’t deserve you in the first place."
I choke out a laugh. "You’re creative with your insults."
"As are you."
"One of my redeeming features," I murmur.
"I can think of a few more."
"Oh?" I still. "Like what?"
"You looking for compliments?" he asks in a light voice.
"Of course not." I wriggle in his hold, then freeze when my butt brushes up against the very thick, hard column in his pants. "Umm—is that—?" I swallow. "Did I just—"
"Rub up against the evidence of how aroused I am? Yes, you did."
I twitch my backside and, once more, connect with that very sizable bulge.
This time he groans. "What are you trying to do, Goldie?" His voice is slightly breathless, and that makes me feel good. He should hurt for how he makes me want to slap his ridiculously handsome face, then jump him, before throwing myself down and demanding he fuck me every time I see him. It’s only right he feels some of the—whatever it is that’s been growing between us since we met. I squirm in his hold, and this time, the hockey stick in his pants stabs into the valley between my butt-cheeks.
I freeze. "Oh."
"Indeed," he says in a droll voice. One that’s bereft of any emotion. Which tells me how much he’s feeling. Which is a lot. Funny how I can already read between the lines of his grunts and one-word replies.
"I think you should let me go," I manage to say around the ball of sensation in my throat.
"I think I should throw you over my shoulder, march you over to the bed, toss you down, and tear up your pussy until you stop sassing me."
"Excuse me?" I squeak.
"You heard me."
Oh god, oh god, oh god.If he does it, I’m not going to protest. Nope. I’m going to lay back and take everything he gives me. I’m going to climb him like he’s a California coconut palm and suck face with him. I’m also going to squeeze other parts of him. And let him squeeze me, too. Aargh, the fire in my cheeks intensifies until it feels like an inferno.
"Only, I’m not going to follow through with my thoughts, sadly."
Before I can open my mouth to ask him why not and disgrace myself further, he releases me. I stumble forward, then turn and stare at him. "D-d-d-did you just say what I think you did?"
"Which part are you talking about?"
"Uh, all of it."
"And if I did?"
"I’d say you’ve got a hope in hell for that happening." I spin around and prance out of the door, then stumble over the carpet in the bedroom because goddamn, but I’m better at walking with heels. And that’s a fact.
I manage to hold onto the remaining shreds of my dignity as I head past the bed and into the closet. I snatch up my nightdress. It’s a silk kimono, and damn, if I’m going to wear anything else. If he has a problem with it, he can jump out the window.
I hear his footsteps behind me and race into the bathroom and slam the door shut, because I’m a coward. Because if I look at that gorgeous body of his, I won’t be able to keep my hands off him.
I drop my clothes onto the small table in the corner of the bathroom, then step into the shower. I switch on the water and step under it. The steam envelops me, sinking into my blood. My already sensitized skin prickles in reaction. I press my forehead into the tiles and close my eyes, then slide my fingers down between my legs. It’s okay. He can’t hear me—not over the sound of the shower. I know he's hurting, but so am I.
