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Tyler raises his eyebrows and orders us some drinks. His ability to do so without taking his eyes from mine is incredible. Really. It’s a wonder the girl behind the bar isn’t bitch-slapping him for his rudeness.
It’s a wonder I’m not bitch-slapping him for the uncomfortable feeling his intense gaze is filling me with.
“It’s okay to look somewhere other than at me,” I snap, grabbing my glass of wine. Sure. We’ll go with the verbal bitch-slap, Liv.
“I know, but the view isn’t nearly as good,” he responds smoothly. “Let’s go and sit down.”
I move to the nearest table, but he grasps my upper arm and leads me to the corner.
“Over here.”
I bite my tongue and let him take me there. Of course we’ll sit in the corner. Why would we come to a party and actually be a part of it? Such a ridiculous thought.
“Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
He glances up at me from his seat. “Sit down, Liv.”
“I’m fine standing.”
“Sit the fuck down before I pull you down.”
“You’re really quite controlling sometimes, you know that?”
“Only because you’re disobedient.” His lips twitch.
“But I obey in bed and that’s where it matters.” I sit down and turn away from him.
He laughs. “Do you know you do this thing where one minute you really like me then the next you’re bitching at me like you’re at the height of your period and someone stole all the chocolate?”
“Yes. It’s one of my better qualities.”
Another laugh. “I agree. Your feistiness turns me on. A lot.”
My eyes drop to his pants. No kidding. “Is there a point to this conversation?”
“Yes.” He takes my glass from me and sets it on the table. Then he grabs my chair and yanks it toward him.
I grasp the edge of the table to stop myself from falling off of it from the sudden movement. Unnecessarily, because Tyler hooks an arm around my waist and holds me to him.
“I want you to admit something,” he breathes against the back of my neck.
Every word makes my hair stand on end. “Admit what?”
“Admit how much my dancing with…whatever her name was…bothered you.”
“I told you to go.”
“In spite of that, Liv. When I looked at you—which I did, a lot—I could see it in your eyes.”
“What ‘it’?” I wriggle to get away, but he holds me closer. His other hand slides down my thigh and inside it, running up until his thumb is close to brushing my pussy.
“Fear,” he whispers.
I swallow. That’s ridiculous…but plausible. Sure, I wasn’t acknowledging it at the time, but I was a little afraid. Of what? I don’t know. I just know I was.
Maybe I was—and am—afraid of losing something I won’t let myself have.
