The bastard actually seems surprised that’s a factor. “Is that what has you so upset?” he has the balls to ask, like him having her here is nothing.
The space between us disappears even more and he reaches to rest a hand on the small of my back, drawing me toward him.
“I didn’t touch her,” he claims, sounding annoyed that he even has to say it.
When I scoff and slip from his grasp, his eyes follow me toward the balcony where I stand just inside the threshold.
“She was in your bed, half-naked, West. And you and I both know there’s not much that bitch won’t do for you.”
He brushes his thumb over his lips, hiding a slick grin.
“She came here to talk, and also thinking I’d let her spend the night, but only because she’s delusional,” he adds with a sigh. “The conversation got heated and she said some shit that pissed me off, and in Parker World, you make things up to people with sex. But I swear to you, I never touched the girl.”
I stare at him, glaring because this feels weird, having him explain anything to me so emphatically. Like … he actually cares. Meanwhile, I can’t tell if he’s just a really good liar, or if this is all true.
“Doesn’t it count for something that I put her ass out the second you showed up at my door?” he asks with a throaty laugh. “Or … have you forgotten that little detail?”
He’s baiting me. I’m convinced of it when he comes toward me again.
My eyes drop to his waist, where the muscles there are unbelievably cut, giving a preview of what’s just below the band of his sweats.
Don’t let him get inside your head, Blue. Just … don’t.
He’s in my face now, closer than he ought to be, breathing down on me when he speaks again.
“I couldn’t even get hard for her. Not like I do for you.”
He’s lying.
He has to be.
Before I can even finish the thought, he takes my hand and lowers it between us, forming my fingers against his dick, making me feel that the opposite is true right now. He’s solid against my palm and his size never ceases to impress me.
I stop breathing altogether when he takes my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. I know he intends to kiss me, because he always preys on the weak, but I snap out of his spell just in time, remembering how I’d been given the cold shoulder.
“I’ve been an afterthought for you all day. And you think you’re just going to talk your way into my pants now?”
He has zero response and it burns me up.
“You are such a damn fuck-boy,” I hiss. “You think you can do and say whatever the hell you want and just—”
I go silent when his mouth covers mine. He swells in my hand and I grip his length tighter, knowing some bruised part of his soul just enjoyed that insult, enjoys being verbally destroyed.
“Tell me what else,” he insists, pushing his tongue inside my mouth right after.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this angry with someone, but for some reason, I can’t put distance between us.
“You’re a walking tragedy,” I continue, speaking my mind in a trance as his lips move down to my neck.
“What else?” His breath is warm against my skin when he asks, making me lose my foothold in reality a little more.
“You’re stubborn and I hate it,” I say next. “Sometimes, I get so frustrated I think I could actually kill you.”
A soft laugh leaves his mouth after I speak this time, the reaction vibrating against my neck, but he doesn’t stop kissing me there. Instead, he sucks the hollow of my throat and I’m officially losing this battle. He pushes the top of his sweats down a few inches and I feel more of him, skin-on-skin, but he hasn’t exposed himself completely. Not yet.
“I need a second,” I manage to choke out before pulling away.
He’s quiet, panting, but there aren’t words.
Those godlike features of his are highlighted in faint light and I don’t miss the desperation that’s overtaken his expression.
“I’m not leaving,” I rush to tell him, although I know I should. “I just … I need a second.”
The rims of his nostrils flare as his need becomes even more apparent, but he gathers himself and nods. He steps aside and I rush to the bathroom, close the door behind me, and turn on the light.
Staring at myself in the mirror I’m not even sure who I’m looking at. The Blue I knew a few months ago wouldn’t be here tonight. Not with someone like West. Someone who definitely doesn’t deserve her company.
And yet, not a single part of me wants to leave his room tonight.
I rinse cool water over my flushed cheeks and feel drawn to the other side of the door, where temptation on two muscular legs is waiting for me to return. It dawns on me that West and I have accomplished nothing here tonight. We haven’t worked out any of our issues, and I wonder if this is the only possible way to have him.
Broken.
Twisted.
But maybe I’m willing to settle for that.
His words ring inside my head, his declaration that the only path to unearthing our truth being between the sheets. I also can’t deny the part of that statement concerning the two of us being far from normal. On that point, he’s right. Possibly about all of it.
Maybe intimacy is the only way to tell if any of what we suspect the other feels is real. The only way to tell if what we, ourselves, feel is real.
My gaze shifts to the door again and I ask whether I’m willing to be denied something I want so badly, but I don’t have to wait long for an answer. Knowing my fate is sealed, I turn off the light when I’m done, and easily see my way to the bed.
West
