“I know in the beginning, we agreed that it, us, would end here at the end of the tour, but…well, I didn’t get around to fulfilling all those orgasms you’re owed…and I was thinking…” He shifts his position, looking uncomfortable.
I’m hanging on his every word, waiting, desperate to see where he’s going with this.
He rubs a hand over the stubble on his chin. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want to lose you from my life completely, and I can’t ever imagine us just being friends.”
He gives me a soft, sexy smile that seeps into my chest and curls around my heart.
“So, I’d still like to see you…”
He wants to see me again. He wants me like I want him.
My heart lights up.
“A few times a week to, you know, hook up. So, what do you think?”
And my heart dims.
He wants us to keep being fuck buddies.
He doesn’t want me. He just wants to screw me a couple of times a week.
My heart drops to my stomach, free-falling, taking the rest of my insides with it.
I feel so stupid. Heat is prickling my face. My throat is thickening while tears are threatening my eyes.
“You want us to continue being fuck buddies?” I can’t hide the edge or emotion in my voice.
His eyes meet mine, a wariness in them. “Yes.”
“Right.” I step back.
“Was that the wrong suggestion?” He scratches his cheek. “Because you don’t look so happy with the idea.”
The wrong suggestion? Not happy with the idea? You could say that.
And I do. “No, I’m not happy with the idea.”
“Right…” His fingers lift to his forehead, and he presses them against his skin. A second later, he drops his hand, and his gaze hits mine. “So, what’s changed?”
I frown at him. “What do you mean, what’s changed?” My voice is rising.
And he’s getting annoyed.
I can see from the telltale line between his brow and the darkening of his eyes.
“I mean, you were happy to be my fuck buddy for the tour and up to last night, but now, suddenly, you’re not. So, I’m wondering, what’s changed between you climbing out of my bed this morning to now?”
“About sixty seconds ago, I realized I’m in love with you. That’s what’s changed.”
And there it is. My absolute fucking inability to filter anything that comes out of my mouth.
I watch his face reverberate with shock. That shock quickly transforms to absolute horror.
My hope for anything beyond sex with Tom burns away into ashes and blows away in the gentle breeze.
He shakes his head. “You don’t love me.”
My eyes fill with tears. I can’t stop them any more than I can stop the fact that I love him.
Pride hurting like a bitch, I bite out, “So, you’re telling me what I feel now? I thought your commands stayed in the bedroom.”
His eyes snap up to mine. He’s angry, the angriest I have ever seen him.
“You have no fucking right telling me you love me!” he roars.
His voice is so harsh that it startles me, forcing me back a step.
“We were just fucking! Fuck buddies. Nothing more. You agreed. Love was never supposed to come into it.” He drags his hands through his hair.
His features are tight. My heart is breaking.
“I-I…this wasn’t something I planned on.” My voice is small. “I didn’t mean to…fall…” I grip the helmet tight to my chest like it’s a life raft. I desperately need something to cling on to.
Tom lets out a careless laugh that strikes me like a hand across the face.
“What did you think was gonna happen when you told me you love me? Did you think I’d tell you I felt the same? That we’d ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after? I’m not that guy, and you fucking know it. I don’t do love. Never have, and I’m not about to start now. I am interested though—at what point did I give you the impression that I might?” His voice is getting harsher with each passing word. “Was it when I was fucking you up the ass? Or maybe when I fucked you under that stage? Or was it when I had you down on your knees while I fucked your mouth—”
“Stop it,” I gasp, each of his words feeling like a blow to the chest.
It’s painful enough to know he doesn’t feel the same about me. But to know the thought of me loving him makes him this angry…hurts beyond words.
Tears are running down my face. I press the leather sleeve against my cheek, trying to dry them, but all that happens is I get a lungful of Tom. It ignites my pain further.
“You never gave me any indication that you felt the same,” I whisper, my voice broken. “It was all me. My mistake.”
I turn to leave, but Tom grabs my arm, keeping me there. He’s clearly not done with inflicting his rage on me.
“This whole thing was a mistake.” He runs his free hand through his hair, tugging on the strands. “Fuck! I never should have started this with you.”
A mistake. If he’d hit me, it would have hurt less.
“Get off me!” I cry, trying to pull my arm free.
Having Tom touch me right now is like pouring salt in my bleeding wound.