“I don’t think so. If you want to fuck me, you’ll have to do it looking me in the face. Or can’t you?”
He took a step back. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t look at her while his cock was inside her. Heck, he couldn’t even kiss her. He would lose himself in her. In her sweetness. In her fire. In what she did to him. And he would never find his way out. Not in one piece anyway. And he was too fucking old and jaded to be shipwrecked.
“You’re scared of me,” she whispered, realization and hurt flashing through her eyes.
“Not scared of you,” he said, tucking his painfully hard cock in and zipping up.
Scared of her? Please, he was fucking terrified, thank you very much.
“Then what? You can’t perform without all your…hardware to keep me under control? You don’t want me? Because your dick says otherwise.”
“My dick is not in charge here,” he spat out, and without looking back, he walked away.
Chapter Eight
“Stop touching my radio,” Jack ordered, his hands gripping the wheel, his eyes never veering from the road. “Stay still for a fucking second, woman; we’re almost there.”
“That would not have happened if we’d taken René,” she said, continuing to flip the stations until she finally found one playing Grease songs. “My car is tuned already.”
Jack grumbled something back, but Elle didn’t catch it. And it was just as well, because he hadn’t said anything worth listening to the whole day.
From the corner of her eye, she studied him. For some reason, Jack was looking mighty pissed, which didn’t make a lick of sense to her. After all, she’d been the one left standing with her pants around her ankles, still trembling from her orgasm, watching dumbfounded as the asshole zipped up and walked away, his face carved in stone, as if two seconds before that he hadn’t had his fingers inside her and his hard dick tucked against her behind. Not to mention he’d been the instigator of the whole situation. Yes, she’d straddled him on the sofa, but she’d unstraddled him and told him she wasn’t interested. He’d been the one cornering her.
Leaving her badly wounded female pride aside, she had to admit not going all the way had been the right thing to do. Sex with Jack would complicate their fragile arrangement to an impossible extreme. He was overbearing enough as a babysitter; she didn’t want to know how he behaved when he thought he had more say because he was fucking her. And fucking her would be all that he would do. There would be no making love. His severe demeanor and the contemptuous way he looked at her ensured that.
“You going to train at the same time or you plan to stand beside me in the dancing room, stalking my every move? It’s an all-female dance class, but I’m sure we can accommodate you. Teach you the steps and include you in the choreography.”
A grunt was his only answer. He hadn’t said two sentences to her today. Grunts and growls had been about it.
She’d been pissed too after the way he’d walked out on her. She’d felt cheap and rejected and, well, hurt. Jack wanted her, but he couldn’t stand the fact that he wanted her, like she was some kind of shameful weakness of his. Her plan had been to read him the riot act in the morning, but she realized there was no need. Jack was punishing himself enough for the both of them.
“Not sure you’ll be any good at dancing though,” she added while Jack parked in front of the gym. “One needs certain flexibility, and you seem a bit stiff, if you know what I mean.”
He threw her a murderous look and got out of the car. Stiff? Ha! Every single muscle in his body was strained by the looks of it. She was afraid at any second he would sprain something.
Good. He deserved that and so much more.
They entered the gym in silence. He didn’t ask what kind of dancing class and she didn’t tell. She wasn’t going to be the one spoiling the surprise.
Jack walked to the practice room with her and glanced around. She rolled her eyes. A frigging miracle he hadn’t insisted on entering the dressing room too. Paranoid ass. Which kind of self-respecting Miami mobster with more money than God would be seen in a suburban Boston gym with violet walls and carpool housewives? Please.
“Sure you don’t want to stay?” she taunted him. “The girls would enjoy a man dancing with us for a change.”
He threw another murderous glance her way and, without saying anything, left the practice room and walked to the weight machines nearby.
“Who’s that?” one of the women whispered to her.
Judging by his language and social skills, the missing link between humans and monkeys.
“A friend of my brother-in-law.”
“He is hot,” she said giving Jack another once-over.
Sure he was hot; a hot pain in the butt. And he brought out the worst in her. The belligerent side. The Elle that didn’t want to submit, never mind how much her body was dying to give in. Exhausting, really.
The rest of the ladies started pouring in and soon the teacher, Dolores, trotted in and got the music going. “You ready to twerk?”
Everyone cheered.