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I suck in a breath. “And I don’t enjoy looking like I’m a victim of abuse. I felt abused. I liked what we did, but it went too far, and you hurt me because you could. You were angry. Liking it and looking like people should call the cops isn’t good.”
His shoulders lift. “I didn’t mean—”
“But you did it.”
He turns, leans against the door, his eyes glittering. It’s a pure Jac fuck the world move, but there’s something there, in the stillness to him, the way that it’s a pose and not Jac being Jac.
Maybe if I told someone my childhood story, I’d feel like he looks. Like he’s got a mask held up to his face.
“I don’t get complaints,” he says.
“Yeah?” I think about putting the gun down but hold on to it. “But I’m not one of your simpering fans.”
“You love my cock,” he says, “the sounds when my piercing pulls on you, fuck that’s enough to make any man bust one.”
I’m caught tight between these two men, and I hate it. I hate the games and the being pulled in each direction, and I crave them both. With Jac here, he’s right, I fucking love his cock, and I miss that feel when he really works it in me, moving so I get the maximum benefit of the piercing. But he’s too wild, too dangerous, even for me.
Jac touches my cheek, right on the almost gone bruise, but he doesn’t offer a platitude. He just rubs a gentle thumb there, then, as he moves to slip his hand beneath the hair at my nape, he takes the gun and tosses it on the side table, where it lands with a clatter.
“Good thing the safety was back on,” I say.
He pulls me into him, into his warmth, and even though Hendrick is there, I go. Willingly. Needing it.
“We’re not done, MG,” he murmurs low. “We want each other.”
I don’t answer.
“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll never see you again. Your get out of fucking jail free card.”
I take a breath. It would be easy, to take his out. Even if it only lasts a few days or weeks, it’ll get me the reprieve I need.
He massages the back of my skull, and I almost purr. “Well?”
“I—” I stop, make myself breathe, tell myself to just say it. “It doesn’t work that way.”
He smiles slowly. “Thought so.”
I look up at him, our eyes lock, and my heart thumps hard. Magnetic field. Pulling me in across a minefield. “Jac…”
“I’m going.”
He releases me, turns, and he walks out the door, leaving me staring after him.
There’s a part of me shocked he left without a fight, and though I’m empty, throbbing for him, I’m also glad he’s gone. He confuses me most of all.
Jac’s my type more than Hendrick in looks. I like a little arrogance. It comes with money, and those men usually leave a girl alone after having an orgasm.
Hendrick isn’t my type on paper, but fuck, he ticks the boxes. His dark male beauty, his intelligence and measured ways. The games of con-non-con he plays with me. His conversation whether we’re arguing or talking or flirting. He’s as forceful as Jac, as commanding. Justdifferent.
Jac’s hedonism comes with a special arrogance, a special confidence that borders on being too obnoxious. He doesn’t bother with conversation in the way Hendrick does.
They both pull me to them.
They both tick every single right and wrong box in ways that matter. And in the bedroom? In the bedroom, they both exceed my own fucked-up expectations. On equal measures in different ways.
But Hendrick has depth, and we connect in a way I haven’t with anyone for a long time. The way we can talk even if we’re angry. Jac…Jac’s over the top red-hot ways rub me the wrong way with nuggets of right. He’s a minefield.
Maybe they both are.
