I bet she has a matching mark on her inner thigh.
My cock bounces. Images flood my mind, of me putting cuffs on her hands and wrists, her helpless and wet and writhing below me. I haven’t played in so long, too absorbed with work at the bar, stress over my brothers. That old hunger fills me as I let my thoughts wander. Would Aubrey even be open to something like that? She seemed to really like me taking control. But there’s a difference in having a small bite mark and the pain that comes with BDSM.
I shouldn’t even ask her.
But I can’t seem to stop thinking about it now, and I am so fucking tempted to palm my cock and stroke myself. Maybe see if she’d be interested in round two.
Something about her is getting under my skin far too fast. I need to cool my shit before I get in too deep and someone gets hurt. At this point, I don’t know if that someone would be her or me.
Because at the core of things, nothing has changed. I’m still the same man I was. My last girlfriend was so freaked out by my dark hunger that she called me a pervert and a creep and told her whole family that I’m messed up in the head. They still shoot me dirty looks when they see me in public.
The accusations she flung at me in the heat of our last fight still sting. How she called me an animal, a user, said my needs were degrading and made her feel cheap.
Maybe she was right about me. After all, this sweet woman is lying beside me, trusting me, and I’m thinking about wanting to tie her up and spank her. She’s too good for me.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
I delicately remove myself from her side and slide out of bed. She barely moves, just gives a small, sleepy exhale as she digs deeper under the sheets. It’s a shit move, sneaking out when she’s not awake, but I need to get my head on straight without being swayed by her eyes.
It takes just a moment to get dressed and in my shoes. I don’t let myself turn back to look at her as I exit her bedroom door. I know if I do, I’ll be far too tempted to get naked and crawl back in bed by her side.
When I reach the front door, I see a baseball bat propped up on the wall. Is Aubrey extra paranoid about someone breaking in or what? This neighborhood isn’t that bad. Something about that niggles at me, but I push the thought aside and leave her apartment, closing the door quietly behind me.
The week crawls by in a tedium of work. Bar business keeps me busy enough, and when I’m not at work, I’m either getting shitty sleep or running. My already surly attitude is brewing over into the red zone. Jax tried to crack a joke about me needing to get laid and I shot him a look so angry that he just walked away, hands up in the air.
I know I shouldn’t take my mood out on them. Because I know the reason I’m feeling so fucking off.
I haven’t seen Aubrey in days.
And why should I expect to? I snuck out of her apartment like a total asshole. I don’t have her number. The only information I know about her is where she lives.
When Friday comes, I’m extra on edge the whole night. The minutes tick by in a painful slow cadence. Maria tries to flirt with me but I pretty much ignore her.
My gaze keeps being dragged back to the door.
The door where Aubrey never comes through.
And it’s my own fucking fault. Even though I know it’s best for both of us, I still want to see her face, hear her laugh, push her buttons and make her snipe right back at me.
Run my tongue along her skin and elicit a groan so sexy it makes my dick throb.
Aubrey intrigues me, compels me, attracts me like no woman has in a really long time. But I can’t have her, because I’ll end up fucking it all up and ruining her. Ruining myself, too.
For once in my life, I’m trying to do the noble thing. The selfless thing.
And I hate it so damn much.
“Are you okay?” Asher asks me as he brings a tray of dirty mugs over to wash. “You’ve seemed…especially angry this week.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”
Asher’s lips thin as he presses them together, and he turns to face the sink and wash the mugs. When he finishes that and puts them on the rack to dry, he faces me yet again. “Smith, I’m fucking tired of this.”
“Tired of what?” The anger in his eyes both takes me aback and brings my own surliness back to the surface.
“Of you punishing me for coming home for the summer. I have the right to make my own choices, whether you like it or not.”
“Yeah, you do. And you made a stupid one. You could have stayed there and gotten an internship in your major and building up experience, but instead you’re here, slinging beer at this place. You’re not going to get anywhere by working here.” The words are blunt. I’m not filtering myself with him about this topic. He fucked up on this one.