My clock glows too brightly at 2:18 a.m. My head pounds from the wine and not enough water today. And my body still throbs with all this want, these foreign, lusty hormones crashing through my system after being on ice for so long.
Even though I was ready to dick-punch that bastard Jared, I want him again. I let my hands skate down my stomach to touch where he touched me, trying to feel what he made me feel on the island, and last night.
I can’t do it. Touching myself only leaves me frustrated.
I toss off the covers and flick on the light, determined to salvage tonight by getting some work done. The e-reader Jared gave me is lying on the bedside table by my phone, but I don’t have any reason to turn it on.
It’s done. I’m not going to be his puppet. The Conover-Colton ticket is not going to happen in 2016, or ever.
My phone trills and I stare at the screen. Jared.
“You should be sleeping.” His voice is husky, low. I hear sounds of traffic in the background.
“I am sleeping,” I say grumpily.
“Then why is your light on?”
Why is my light …? “How do you know my light’s on?”
“Because I’m sitting down here, trying to figure out what the hell to do with you, and you turned your light on. So I want to know if you’re up there trying to figure out what the hell to do about this ticket, or if you’ve already made up your mind?”
I fly to the window and look down. He’s there on a sidewalk bench, his legs neatly crossed, the phone casting a soft blue glow in his hand.
“I thought you already made up your mind.” I say.
“I did. And you changed it.” He’s quiet for a moment, and I watch him stand and cross the street, disappearing beneath my building’s entry awning. “Let me in.”
Chapter Twelve
I hear a click on my line, the signal from my building’s front door panel that Jared’s buzzing to be let in. I hesitate, then press the button to grant him access.
I changed his mind. I don’t know what to do with that information, and I don’t know what it means. Does Jared want to recommend me for the ticket? His knock comes too quickly, before I can change into something more appropriate than my sleep shorts and tank top, and before I can formulate a new argument.
I open the door and he enters in a rush, closing it behind him and killing the hall light so we’re in near darkness. Dim city light and moonlight filters in through my windows.
“What did you mean when—”
“Shut up, Grace.” Jared grabs my waist and presses me against the wall, his teeth finding the base of my neck. He bites down.
I whimper, but my body melds to his. The length of his cock juts from his trousers, digging into my belly. He wraps both of my wrists beneath one hand, pinning them above my head to the wall, then his free hand hitches up my knee, wrapping it around his hips.
I moan as his teeth and tongue torture my neck, biting and sucking, and I’m certain he’s leaving marks I’ll see in the morning. I angle my hips toward him, pressing his cock harder into my center, and his hand on my knee travels up the back of my thigh, beneath my loose sleep shorts.
“God, Grace. You’re so wet. You weren’t thinking about the ticket at all.” He shifts and boosts me up so both legs are around his hips, then he walks me back toward my bedroom, where my bedside light is still on. “You were thinking about me.”
“Yes.” It’s the truth. And a plea. He strips me of my shorts and tank in efficient movements, then stands back from the bed to look at my body.
I cringe a little, pulling my legs together, moving my arm to cover my breasts. I have stretch marks from Ethan, full breasts that have lost the perk of my twenties, and a wide scar just above my pubic bone from the C-section.
“Stop it.” His firm hand presses my legs back on the bed, and a flash from his eyes forces me to remove my arm from my breasts. “I like to look.”
He stands there, fully clothed, looking his fill. His eyes are black beneath dark brows, the light not reaching them, but his gaze crawls over my body. It’s almost more intimate than touching itself.
Slowly, deliberately, he removes his clothes. I watch the final garment go, his boxers sliding over his hips. His cock, hard and thick, juts from his body. He opens his palm and tears open a condom, rolling it over his length, his eyes never leaving mine.
All I can do is watch. Watch and let him come to me like this—full of need and desire and intent. Full of questions and demands and maybe even regret. He stands at the edge of the bed, wrapping my legs around him as I lie back, the head of his cock teasing my entrance.
Once. Twice. Three times. I hold my breath, anticipating the rush of pleasure and sting of pain when he’ll fill me. When he’ll finally be inside me. But he hesitates, and I’m afraid he’ll stop.