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I laugh. "Ah, if you must suffer, so will I, huh?"
"Exactly." She smiles. "Don't be here all night."
"I won't. I have one more thing to do, and then I'm going home to some rocky road ice cream."
She sighs as she begins walking. "If only my night sounded half as interesting."
"You might enjoy it," I shout at her back.
Shaking my head, I get back to looking over the applications for charity care. I hate that there are so many of them, and I won't be able to call even a fourth to tell them we can assist them. After Law found out how hard the hospital had made it for me to get on the transplant list because of not having the money for the surgery, he'd made a lot of changes to try to cover costs for those who couldn't afford treatment or procedures. But there was still only so much money to go around. Not nearly enough.
When I rub my lower back for the fourth time, I decide that's going to have to be it for today. I don't need to look around to know I'm the last one in the office. I'm usually the last to leave. I like being here after hours, when it's just me and the occasional sounds of footsteps from the cleaning staff. Maybe because I spent so much time alone when I was in this hospital, I find I work best when it's just me, when I have solitude. It feels easier to be in this hospital then, when it sounds like it did the nights I stayed up watching repeats on the TV, and hoping for a future I wasn't sure I'd get.
But here I am, living the very future I hoped for, and yet still holding myself back. Or, at least I am with Jackson. Because as I look down at my phone to check the time, again, I'm struck with the strong desire to text him. It's becoming harder and harder to restrain myself since the baby shower last week, especially since he hasn't come to me since. It’s been far too long. But the oddest part is that I don't want to text him about when I'll see him again, when we'll fuck again, when's the next time we'll meet in the dark. I want to ask about his day, ask if he's thinking of me as much as I'm thinking about him. But I shake my head as I put my phone in my purse, reminding myself, yet again, that that is not what me and Jackson are. We're not in a relationship. Hell, we're not even really friends. Just two people fulfilling each other's needs, and feelings have nothing to do with that, and have no place in whatever it is we’re doing.
I power my laptop down and straighten a few things on my desk before leaving my office, just as the woman from the cleaning service arrives. We exchange hellos and then I'm heading toward the elevator. I look at my reflection on the mirrored doors as I descend, hating how much I wish my hair was covering a bite mark from Jackson, or that beneath my skirt, I knew there were bruises in the shapes of his fingers. That man is far too deepunder my skin, and even though I realize that, I have no idea how to get him out. Or, if I even want to. Only that I should.
"Goodnight, Miss Lexington," the security guard says as I step out of the elevator.
"Goodnight, Jerry."
"You want me to walk you to your car?"
I look out at the parking lot, noting there aren't any cars near mine, and that Jerry can see me walk to it from here.
"No, I'll be fine, but thank you."
"No problem."
I walk through the sliding doors and the slight chill bites into my skin. My heels click a steady rhythm against the concrete as I cross the lot. Then I'm opening my car door, tossing my purse into the passenger seat while I bend to get into the driver's seat. Just as I start the car, movement makes my eyes snap to the rearview mirror.
"Don't even think about screaming." I know that voice by now, even when it's deeper, more demanding, more intense.
I know those eyes staring back into mine in the mirror, gray, commanding. I know the scent filling my car, that lets me know I'm safe, and in so much danger all at once. It's the danger that makes the fear still come. Because I have no idea what he's about to do. What he's going to make me do. And what lengths he'll go to to make me do it.
"There's money in my purse," I say, my voice shaky.
He chuckles, and God, that sound sends shivers racing over my skin. Just remembering the way I've heard that dark chuckle when he's been inside of me.
"I plan on taking much more from you than money. Now put your hands on the steering wheel. Slowly."
I raise my trembling hands to the steering wheel as I see him lean forward in the rearview mirror. His eyes are boring right back into mine, daring me to try something, anything. So I do. One hand goes to the steering wheel, while the other goes to the door handle, gripping it, preparing to pull. But in the next second, I can barely breathe.
Jackson's hand is on my throat, squeezing, pushing so my head jerks up as his mouth comes to my ear. Heat rushes through me, and if I could breathe, it would be shaky from the way my body is pulsing with need for him. I can feel how wet my panties already are, beginning to coat my thighs, making me slick and ready for him.
"You sneaky whore," he hisses. "I was just going to fuck you and leave you full of my cum, but now I'm gonna have to make you pay for trying to run."
"Please," I wheeze. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Not yet. But you will be. Now drive."
I cry, shaking my head as tears form in my eyes. His hand squeezes tighter and the tears slip out onto my cheeks.
"I won't-" My words cut off when I feel his tongue lick the tear on my right cheek, slowly, as if he's savoring it. From my jaw to just under my eye. I shudder at the feeling, the warmth of it, the sexiness of it, the fucking dirtiness of it.
"Oh, don't cry yet," he all but whispers. "There'll be plenty of reasons for these pretty tears later. Now fucking drive. I will not say it again."
"Okay, okay," I gasp out, his grip on my throat so tight now that I can feel my pulse pounding in my face.
