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“I would never give you or anyone that much power,” I'm bluffing. I don't have to give, they take.
“I'm not worth that much,” he scoffs.
“No, you're not,” I say and begin to massage the spot he just touched, wanting to rub his touch off me.
He chuckles, “Look, about yesterday…” he exhales and takes his hand to grab a fistful of his hair at the back of his head, “Things got a little out of hand and it wasn't how they were supposed to go.”
“Yeah, right,” I snort and try to walk away but he hinders me by moving in the same direction.
“I'm not going to pretend and say it won't happen again, it might.” He scans my body, “Well this dress can sure help to make it likely not to happen,” he chuckles.
“Get away from me.”
“I'm just saying I'm sorry,” he lifts both hands slightly.
This is Benedetto from New York. The charming, vanilla-like young man. He even sounds less gruffy and although he smells like he has been soaked in cannabis, and his honey eyes look coated in darker brown, he has a cheerfulness around the edge that was absent yesterday.
“Let me through.” I still don't buy his apology and there's no way I'm accepting it. What he did yesterday wasn't a one-time slip, and he just said so himself.
“I can't,” he shrugs, “I can't help myself and you have no idea how hard I try and how far I wish my legs could take me from you,” he shuts his eyes and drags in a lungful of air. “Did you have your breakfast?” he shoves his hands into the pocket of his beige sweatpants that hang low on his waist.
“I did,” I gulp, trying to stop my eyes from scanning his bare upper body. If I'm being honest, it's why I want to go down the stairs so badly.
He confuses me.
He messed with my head. I feel like an experiment gone wrong.
I don't know how this much hate that I have for him can burn in my lower stomach in a way that makes me tingle in my core anytime I remember what happened yesterday. I hate it. I mean I should hate it. But why then does my body have a mind of its own now that I'm here with him. It's like I want him to do something. But then I don't actually want him to.
His eyes drag down my face to my now heaving chest. He bites his lower lip but scoffs and shakes his head slightly.
“Did you like it?”
“No, I did not like what you did to me one bit, it was demeaning, it was barbaric, it was terrifying and utterly disrespectful and I did not like it,” I grind out.
He cocks his eyebrow, “I'm asking about the breakfast.”
Oh, that. I gulp. “Sort of,” I shrug and my eyes drop to his carved Adonis belt. I shut my eyes immediately and gulp the uneasiness stuck in my throat down my stomach.
“Sort of?”
“I would have if your buddy had allowed me to eat,” I sound like such a baby right now but I don't mind. I'm a hungry baby.
“We should feed you then,” he smiles, “I'll personally make you lunch if you want,” he makes room for me by moving slightly.
“Whatever,” I start to move past him, and as if I knew it was a trap, I motion to hurry down but he corners me, caging me with both hands by the sides of my waist on the wall behind me, “Get away from me,” I ball my fists, feeling my stomach walls jamming and that uncanny hot spell spreading through my body, “Please,” I mutter.
“I want to but it's so fucking hard, Rosaline,” he drawls, “Tell me why it's so damn hard to let you be?”
I'm blinking repeatedly, unable to keep my eyes fixed as he's gazing at me.
“Tell me,” he moves closer, one hand dragging up to the side of my head, his taut body now bordering smothering. “What is this you have unleashed in me?” He lowers his head, pressing himself more against me and I tip, trying to find a way into the wall behind, but he takes that as his cue to catch my lips in a wild kiss, his tongue forcing through my pressed lips into my mouth.
I squirm, trying to wriggle my way to escape.
“I like it when you squirm,” his hand grabs the side of my waist and he smirks, “If I slip my hand under your dress, what would I find?”
He starts to ruffle the light fabric of the dress up with his hand grabbing my waist.
