He regarded my coldly. “You need to fuckin’ leave. Now,” he bit out, his voice hard and emotionless.
I flinched slightly at the cruel tone and the equally cruel stare. I felt humiliated. Used. Sullied. I didn’t have the strength to conjure up any fury, to yell or argue or call him a misogynistic asshole. I merely just stared at him a second longer and darted out the door. Then I ran, full on ran across the street and into my house. I really hoped my neighbors didn’t choose now to water their gardens and see the sight, but then again I was too beyond it to care. I just needed to get home.
I slammed the door behind me and sank down to the floor, my head hitting my knees. I didn’t cry. I hadn’t let a man have my tears in sixteen years; I wasn’t about to start now. I also hadn’t had a man hurt me in sixteen years, and I was afraid that I had just opened that door. This time it wasn’t with fists or kicks. It was with cold stares and cutting dismissals. It hurt just the same.
Bull paced his living room, his fists clenched tightly to his sides. He was struggling. Battling actually. This time it wasn’t against the demons that were hell bent on destroying him. No. This time it was against himself. Against her.
Every fiber of his being was urging him to get out of his fuckin’ hallway and follow her, drag her back in here, apologize, then fuck her again. Against the wall. Then he’d take her into his bedroom, taste her pussy, make her come on his mouth, then fuck her for a third time. His dick clenched at the thought of getting her honey on his tongue. Of sliding into her tight heat again. He put his fist through his wall. Out of anger, frustration. But mostly to distract him. The pain didn’t do much to move his mind away from her, though. Pain was normal. It was his constant companion. A welcome friend.
What was dangerous was not feeling pain. Of feeling her hot tight body underneath his. Tasting her mouth, feeling her moan as he pounded inside her. Having his dick milked by her orgasm. That was dangerous.
“Fuck!” he roared, shaking his head.
He’d fucked up. Majorly. Christ, he had vowed to himself, after those torturous two hours at the movie theater, he fuckin’ swore he would do everything to make sure he was never in her presence again. Never close enough to smell the vanilla scent coming off her hair. To feel that spark when their skin met.
He was seriously considering selling his house. He had already spent three nights at the club, trying to get her out of his mind. He’d fucked the only club bitch he could stomach, the one who knew the deal, knew what to do. That hadn’t even helped. He’d only come visualizing Mia. Usually he did everything humanly possible not to think of golden hair while fuckin’ a club bitch. That’s why Whit was best. Dark hair, dark eyes. Curvy. Complete opposite. He’d fucked her the day of the disaster at the movie theater. Hadn’t touched her since; instead, he sought solace in a whisky bottle.
Then within fuckin’ hours of him getting home, the bitch arrived on his doorstep. With fuckin’ cake. She was babbling. Nervous. And fuckin’ irresistible. He had had to lock himself down from dragging her in the moment he opened the door.
And when he had finally lost the battle, hauling her in, finally tasting her mouth, he had expected her to fight him. To rear away in disgust. Hell, he had fuckin’ hoped for it. But instead she had melted against him, clawed at his fuckin’ back. The wildcat took every inch of him. Those moments he was inside her, touching her, tasting her. Everything was gone. The memories, the demons. Everything. It was only her.
When they were done he had looked at her. Her eyes had been lazy, a sated dreamy expression on her face. She had been fuckin’ beautiful. He actually had to catch himself from laying a soft kiss on her swollen lips. From brushing her golden hair out of her face.
That’s what had got him. The hair. Gold. Not the same, nowhere near. But that shimmer had started the battle again. Made those memories rush back in. The pain at the bottom of his gut. So he was cruel. Brutal. He knew it. The moment she flinched, fuckin’ flinched from the weight of his words he knew. But it was necessary. Vital. She needed to stay away. For her own safety.
“Mom, I’ve got something to tell you,” Lexie declared, leaning over the front desk of reception, grabbing a mint from our bowl.