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He takes his card, slots it into his wallet, and stands. Then he nods to the waiter and holds out his hand. I lay mine in his and he tugs me up, releasing me immediately to rest his arm around my waist.
I let him lead me from the restaurant without another word. Then he stops, turns me into him, and rests his mouth against my earlobe.
“I despise being that polite to you,” he breathes.
“Is that so?”
He taps my ass. “You know it, babe. Fuck the conveniences. You know I’d much rather tell you how I’m going to tie your wrists to the railings on my balcony then bend you over and fuck you from behind.”
I swallow, my heart thudding, and run my hands down his stomach. My fingers ghost over his belt until they find his hard cock straining against the confines of his pants. I cup him, squeezing lightly.
“Is that a promise?”
“You bet it is.” His voice is tight, needing. “Now move yourself and your pretty little ass inside my car before I bend you over that instead.”
I give his erection another light squeeze and release him. He follows me to the car. His eyes are burning a hole in my back, and I can feel the heat in his stare. I can feel his promises in the way he slowly rounds the car and sits inside, in the way he takes my hand as he drives away.
I can feel everything he wants and needs tonight.
He wants to make me lose control, to take me into a blacked-out oblivion where nothing matters but us. He wants to work my body and make me lose myself the only way he knows how to.
But every time he does, I crave a little more. Of him. Of his touch. To the point where not touching him for an hour is driving me insane.
Not having his hand around mine or his lips at my neck is unsettling.
I’m already losing control. He doesn’t need to fuck me into next week to propel me into oblivion. The guy just needs to exist. Pure and fucking simple.
And I can feel it. Everything slipping away. Control over my addiction. The control I’ve exercised for so long is now truly disintegrating right beneath my fingers.
“What’s your favorite fruit?”
“What?” Tyler glances at me.
I ask again.
“Peaches.”
“Vegetable?”
“Uh, I’ve never thought about it, but I guess it’s a carrot?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling you.”
I nod once. “Okay. Good.”
He doesn’t say anything else as we drive, and neither do I. I didn’t mean to ask those two questions. They just slipped out. With the thoughts of loss of control come the actions to prove it.
When Tyler kills the engine, I take my hand from his. I get out of the car before he does and walk into the elevator. Then I press the button for his floor and stare at his confused face as the doors shut.
“Liv?”
I lean back against the elevator wall and close my eyes. Back and forth, back and forth, constantly. Never-ending indecision. Never-ending fighting. Never-ending fucking battling the little bitch inside my head who tells me that it’s all or nothing.
I wish I could be Tyler.
I wish I could accept and live with my addiction. He doesn’t fight at all. He embraces it wholeheartedly. He just gets the hell on with it in a way I can only dream of.
