I sit beside him, painfully aware that I’m sitting next to him on his bed. My heart flutters a little as vivid images of him pinning me to the soft mattress with his powerful arms flash in my mind. “Then why did you show me?” I ask, voice practically a whisper.
“Women think they want a guy like me. They think the danger is exciting. How many of them would still be sniffing around if they watched me jam a fucking knife in a young kid’s heart? There’s a big difference between fantasy and reality, and back there, you saw it. I figured you would try to run off on me soon. I just thought you deserved to know the truth before you left.”
I can practically feel the unspoken question hanging between us. It thrums in the air like something electric. Something alive. You’ve seen the real me. What will you do now?
Part of me is screaming to kiss him, to pull him into me and kiss him with everything I have, to let him take me. Another part is begging me to run. He’s dangerous and he’s damaged. I should just walk away, but I can’t. I put my hand on his thigh in an attempt to show my compassion and immediately regret the decision. His thigh is thick and hard, tempting me to squeeze and move my hand along his lean leg.
I nearly pull my hand away, but then I see the bulge of his cock against his pants growing. Jesus. I had forgotten how big it was. Hell, maybe it has gotten bigger. I bite my lip.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I move my hand up his thigh, frowning as I do. It’s almost as if my hand is moving of its own volition. “Helping you to relax.”
He stands, shaking me off. “Well stop it. You think fucking you would relax me? I don’t mix business and pleasure. It’s that simple.”
I reel back, stung a little and feeling an unexpected wave of anger rise up. “God. Just when I think I can forgive you for being an asshole, you--”
“Careful,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “Watch that fucking mouth of yours.” There’s anger in his face. Red, hot anger that would terrify me if I didn’t also see a hint of lust behind it and the bulge of his cock against his pants.
Why does being scolded like a child make my skin tingle? Jesus Christ. I know what I’m going to do before I do it, and the idea terrifies me. “No, you watch my fucking mouth real close so you don’t miss a word,” I say, fighting the mischevious smile that threatens to split my face. Getting pissed turns him on? Well, that shouldn’t be hard... “Asshole. As in you’re a fucking--”
He closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, pinning me to the bed and gripping my cheeks so that my lips smoosh together. He looms over me, eyes dark and face even darker. “You don’t want to piss me off,” he snarls.
On the contrary… I’m finding myself in the middle of a fantasy I never knew I had. I’ve spent so long trying to project confidence and control. The idea of a man like Jesse wrestling that control away from me has all my nerves prickling in anticipation and my nipples hard. My body feels so alive, electric, almost. My wild eyes follow the strong line of his arm as he holds himself up over me, the muscles of his forearm straining as he pins my neck to the bed.
I jerk my head out of his grasp, mustering up all the venom I can manage. “You’re too scared to fuck me because you can’t handle me,” I gasp, shocking even myself with my boldness.
He straightens, getting off me and standing up. For a disappointing moment, I think he’s going to walk away and leave me here, exposed and embarrassed. Instead, he flicks the buttons of his pants loose in a smooth motion. He lifts the black shirt over his head and takes my breath away with the rigid lines of muscle that cover his body. I could cut my tongue on any one of those perfectly sharp lines, and if this goes on much longer, it’s a risk I may have to take.
I watch as he drops his shirt to the floor with so much menace that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Makayla what in the hell are you doing? Doubt creeps up in the back of my mind, logical, reasonable doubts. The biggest of which is the fact that I haven’t seen Jesse in ten years, and now I’m about to sleep with him after just a day of being back together?
He moves toward me, all the power in his body directed at me, practically paralyzing me. What am I doing? I ask myself again.
He climbs on the bed and flips me over. I struggle a little, but it’s half-hearted at best. He pulls my pants down with one hand and I turn just in time to see him raising a hand, as if he’s about to fucking spank me.
I close my eyes, expecting it to come. The moment passes and I look back at him. He freezes. The heat in his eyes melts away and soon his cool, green eyes are back, regarding me. He lowers his hand and shakes his head. “Not like this,” he says simply, almost sadly.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, suddenly embarrassed and pulling my pants back up. “It’s not your fault, it’s just--God. I’m such a fucking idiot,” I say, rushing from the room and leaving Jesse on the bed.
I shut the door behind me, pacing around his living room, seriously considering bolting for the tenth time in the last hour. Just leave. There are probably thousands of bodyguards I could hire. So what if I paid his ridiculous fee already. I make enough money to cover it. I go to my room and grab my phone from beside the bed. It’s the only possession of mine at his apartment other than the clothes on my back. Leaving would be so simple. So clean.
Even if I leave, I know he’ll find me. He may be arrogant and he may be an asshole, but I have no doubts about his competence. There’s no way I could slip away from him for long.
No. I can’t leave. I’m stuck here, and my stupid stomach is rumbling with hunger. Just thinking about having to face Jesse after trying to seduce him and then chickening out at the last second has me terrified. He probably thinks I’m batshit crazy. I go to his refrigerator and open it, raising my eyebrows when I find a jar of my favorite kind of pickle. I twist the metal lid off and crunch into one, turning and nearly dropping the whole jar when I see Jesse standing there, blocking my exit from the kitchen.
“You always did go to pickles when you were upset,” he says, smirking a little.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, forgetting there’s a half-chewed pickle in my mouth.
Jesse covers his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to scare you off, with my… tastes.”
An image of his raised hand over my bare ass pops in my mind. His tastes… “No, it wasn’t you. I just got carried away. I don’t, well, do that. I’m not a prude or anything, but I don’t just sleep with guys like it’s no big deal. I made a mistake. I take full responsibility.” My cheeks burn red and I can’t make myself meet his eye.