Pushing my tears away, and trying to pull the rest of me back together, I quickly finish washing up in the shower and turn it off. As I step out, I dry myself with the blue, fluffy towel before pulling on my clothes, which I left hanging in the bathroom. Usually I’d stay naked and let him look—not today.
Opening the door, I walk out into the lit bedroom. Lucien is dressed and sitting on the end of the unmade bed with his elbows resting on his knees. He turns his head to look at me and watches as I try to ignore him while I shove my feet into my boots.
Seeing my purse on the table by the door, I don’t bother with fishing out my make up bag, instead, I gather up my things and turn to face him.
He doesn’t look too happy with his jaw tightening. He’s pissed. Well so am I.
Unable to stand the silence any longer I blurt out, “This is it. I won’t be coming back.”
He doesn’t react apart from a twitch at the corner of his left eye, which tells me he isn’t as calm as he wants me to believe.
“Is this because I took my own pleasure without giving you anything?” He looks embarrassed. “I said I was sorry. You’re usually there with me.”
“So it’s my fault?”
He shrugs.
Bastard!
“This has nothing to do with you fucking me earlier.” I can’t bring myself to call it anything else.
“Then why? You usually enjoy yourself.”
He makes me so sad…and so angry! “This whole arrangement with you is making me sick. This isn’t me. I don’t know who I am any more. I’ve lost weight.” I edge towards the door and when I turn back to him, my tears are flowing down my face again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this with you again. Please don’t ask me.”
I dash out of his apartment and practically fall into the elevator.
What have I done?
Chapter Four
Lucien
Watching her go sends a lance of pain through my chest that I don’t want to think about. I’ve wanted her to walk away from me for a few weeks, but she’s kept coming back for more. That’s why I acted like a fuckin’ bastard today.
I like hot rough sex just as much as the next guy, but I’ve never left a woman unsatisfied like I just did. The only way I managed to stay hard and finish inside her was with thoughts of the sex we had in the restroom at Kenza. It was hurting me just as much as I knew it was hurting her, and I wouldn’t have been able to stay hard otherwise. I couldn’t take pleasure from how I had her on the bed knowing damn well that she wasn’t enjoying it, but I’d forced the pleasure with images of her writhing under me. I needed her to be the one to walk away.
She’s the only one since the fire to give me an erection. So it was only natural that I’d want to get her in my bed and under me. I have close to six years of pent up aggression that needed releasing. The only drawback was my fuckin’ heart—I never expected to feel a real emotion for her. I couldn’t, I didn’t want or need something like this. But there she was, slowly sinking under my skin, igniting these feelings, which had started as tiny sparks when we met, into a raging inferno. I couldn’t even be in the same room with her without feeling burned by the sparks flying between us.
We’d spent months dancing around those sparks, quickly stamping out any fire that they caused…until that night at Kenza changed everything. I'd been unable to stay away, like a dog scenting a female in heat. Or maybe I had been the one in heat. Six years...
Six years of thinking I would never be intimate with a woman again. Then Sabrina had walked in and chased away every doubt regarding intimacy. My body had started to come back to life…slowly at first, then with an uncomfortable quickness—that night in Kenza, I’d had the hardest fucking cock I could ever remember having.
It had wanted in Sabrina’s warmth. Afterwards with our clothes back to rights, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from her and had taken her back to my place where I’d fucked her all damn night. Two nights later our no strings sex had started. In fact, she’d surprised the hell out of me when she’d accepted my offer. I think she’d surprised herself as well.
I knew it hurt her when I wouldn’t take her from the front, but I couldn’t risk her touching me. I couldn’t risk seeing the repulsed look on her face when she felt the mess of my damaged skin. And that is now the reason why I had to make her leave me. I needed her to hate me enough that she wouldn’t want me again. Because I know myself, and if I’d been the one to stop this then I probably would have lasted two days tops before I was ready to break her door down to get to her. This way she hates me.
I rub a hand over the pain in my chest at what I’ve done to her…and me…