“Why do you hate me so much?” he asks.
Because you broke my heart.
I know we were both going through a lot, and he had reasons to behave the way he did, but that still doesn’t justify his actions as far as I’m concerned. He completely destroyed me, and you just can’t get over that kind of heartbreak overnight. I’m still angry.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Why do you hate me?”
His striking eyes are dark as he presses his hands on either side of my arms, caging me in – I’m not getting out of this conversation. My pulse races. I hate that he still makes my pulse race.
“Because you’re a tease,” he says, his mouth dangerously close to mine. I hate myself because I want him to kiss me. I shouldn’t want him.
“I’m not…” my words trail off. I’m breathless, barely able to speak.
“I hate you because I want you, and I can’t have you.” He slides a long finger up my thigh, under my flowy cotton skirt. “The little skirts you wear,” he whispers, “the heels…”
Heat feels me. I want to stay in this moment forever. It’s pure want.
He slides his hand up higher and toys with the lace of my panties. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Freckles?”
I close my eyes and tilt my chin up to his, reaching for more.
He lowers his mouth to my neck. “I want to flip you over that stack of cases and take you from behind. I want to make you scream.”
His hand travels between my thighs, and I spread my legs, opening myself up for him.
He laughs against my neck. “You want this, don’t you?”
I moan softly. “Yes…”
He slides a long finger inside my panties and glides along my wetness. “Yeah, you definitely want this,” he whispers.
I close my eyes and throw my head back. I want him to make me come, right here, in the dark storage room of a convenience store, standing against a shelf of kitchen products.
He slides his finger slowly over my clit, bringing me closer. He teases.
I hold on tightly to his arms, the cool leather of his jacket soft under my palms. “Harder…” I beg.
He pushes a finger in deep, and I jolt at the sensation. I can’t remember the last time I was fingered – it feels so damn good. He presses harder and I sink into the pleasure of it. “I bet Parker doesn’t make you scream often,” he says.
“He… he doesn’t…” I breathe.
I press my sex harder against his hand, desperately wanting to come. He studies me with a curious expression, a whisper of a smile on his lips. I’m completely vulnerable under his touch. I’m willing to open myself completely to him. He owns me.
But then, cruelly, as if he intended this all along, he slowly pulls his hand out of my undies. He shoots me a wicked grin. “Hope you enjoyed that,” he whispers. “Who’s the tease now?”
I’m without words. I’m in shock.
He brings his finger slowly to his nose, the very one he had inside me, and sucks it in his mouth. “Mmm…” he says. He leans into me and I’m still paralysed. He slides his hands down the length of my skirt and presses down the folds. He looks at me one last time, and quietly walks away.
My jaw drops. How dare him. As he opens the door to leave, I grab a bottle of dishwashing liquid off the shelf and throw it at his head. He ducks and laughs. “A little taste of your own medicine,” he says. “Bitter?”
He closes the door behind him, and I’m left alone, in the dark room, wondering what just happened, and how I’ve let myself fall into his cruel trap. I’m embarrassed and ashamed. I cringe at the memory of myself arched against the shelf, one leg hiked up, begging him to pleasure me.
I will never live this down.