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His gaze rakes over me as he utters the threat, emphasizing all the damage he could do. My heart hammers in my chest. “Get your hands off me, Jonathan.”
“Why?” He leans closer, brushing my cheek with his in a mocking imitation of a nuzzle. “Am I ruining all your plans?”
I hate the way he talks about me, like I’m some kind of scheming opportunist. He’s the asshole here, not me. All I’m doing is minding my own business and trying to have a relationship with a man I like who likes me back. What’s so bad about that?
Meanwhile, he’s putting his hands on me and cornering me in halls like some kind of rapey douchebag.
I knowhe’sinthe wrong and not me, but I’mnotsure what will happen if he steps over the line and I have to call for help. What would his dad do if he walked in on this? How would he feel? What if he couldn’t even look at me the same way after seeing his son’s hands all over me?
Milo said the deeper we get with this relationship, the more complicated things seem to get—thismight complicate things too much for him. I know he said he would always be there for me, but… there are limits.
And he wants us to get along. How thefuckcan we ever be expected to get along if this is how Jonathan insists on treating me?
I try to move, but he presses closer, keeping me caged against the wall. I try to push away from him, but I’m trapped with nowhere to go as he presses his hard, muscular body against mine.
“Jonathan…”
His hand is still on my jaw, but he loosens his grip. His thumb grazes my bottom lip, then pulls down on it like he’s going to push his thumb into my mouth the way his father has before.
Before he can, I murmur, “If I were you, I wouldn’t stick anything into my mouth that you don’t want bitten off.”
He smirks down at me. “Yeah?”
I nod wordlessly, but meet his gaze with steel in mine so he knows I mean it.
His hand leaves my face. For a fraction of a second, I feel relief thinking he’s backing off, but then he places his palm across my bare stomach. Before I even have a chance to react, he shoves his hand down the front of my shorts.
I gasp, trying to squeeze my thighs together, but I’m not fast enough; his hand is already between them.
Thank God I put my panties back on so there’s a thin barrier between his skin and mine, but his hot palm covers my pussy, and I know he can feel how wet I am.
“Jonathan!” I grab his arm, reaching down to pull his hand out of my sleep shorts as my heart races. “What the hell—?”
“Just as I suspected,” he says, sending bolts of humiliation straight through me. “Wet as fuck.”
Oh my god.
I could cry, I’m so embarrassed.
I brace my palms on his chest and give him a hard shove away from me. I catch him off guard, so he falls back a step, but he seems more amused by it than anything.
Fucking asshole.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I tell him, turning and hurrying down the hall toward his father’s bedroom.
I’m terrified he’ll follow me, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of outright running.
Maybe I should have worried less about saving face and more about saving my ass because just as I get my hand on the knob, I feel his hot skin against my back. He grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves me against the door, trapping my body with his.
I freeze, not turning the doorknob to free myself because I don’t want him to follow me into Milo’s bedroom.
His hand slides around my front, and his palm catches the weight of one breast.
Tears spring to my eyes as he pushes his hips forward, forcing what is clearly an erection against my backside.
He’s going to ruin everything.
“Please leave me alone,” I whisper, my face turned, my cheek smashed against the wood.
