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“I’m not different.”
“And yet, you are. And I don’t do different. I just fuck and move on, yet, I can’t seem to want that to be this. I can’t not do this.”
“You don’t know me enough to say that.”
“I want to know you.” He says those words low, almost guttural.
“Why?”
“There’s the question I need answered. Do you want to know me?”
“No,” I lie, despite hating lies.
He leans in close, his hand back at my waist, scorching me, branding me, his cheek against my cheek. “Liar,” he whispers by my ear, and that whisper, his warm breath on my neck and ear, shivers a path through every inch of me.
My hand goes to his chest, and I can feel his heart thundering beneath my palm, radiating up my arm. I don’t remember ever responding like this to any man, ever, in my life. Certainly not the one I’d once thought I’d love. But this isn’t love. This is just plain lust. “This isn’t about knowing you.”
He pulls back and looks at me. “And yet it is. Where do you live?”
“I’m not telling you.”
He studies me several intense beats, and then takes my hand. “Come with me.” But he doesn’t move. He waits for me to agree.
“Where?”
“To fuck. Isn’t that what you want?”
Chapter four
Cole
Ihave no idea what the hell this woman is doing to me, but I want her. I want her in a bad way, in a different way than I want most women. In that way I only want to win. In that way I want a verdict in my favor, in that clawing, burning me inside out while I wait for the outcome kind of way. Like I’ve waited for this woman, fought for her, given everything for her as I do my work, when I’ve only just met her. “You aren’t answering,” I press, giving her no room to run again, to back out. Forcing her to make a decision. “Isn’t this what you want? To go someplace. To fuck.”
“Yes,” she says just as softly, her eyes meeting mine, no blink, no hesitation to her reply, and yet, there is more to her answer. “That’s what I want.”
It’s a simple answer, but there is nothing simple about this woman. She’s a puzzle I want to solve, and I’m clearly aroused as fuck by puzzles, because I’m ten degrees of hard and hot. I’m also one wrong word or move, from never getting the chance, which is why I push her for a firm decision.
“Say it then,” I press. “Say you want to fuck.”
“Why wouldn’t I say it?”
“Why aren’t you saying it?” I challenge.
Her eyes sharpen, and she leans into me, soft curves against every hard part of me, who wants her softer and me harder. She closes her hand around my tie, and tugs gently. “I want to fuck and nothing else. No conversation. No getting to know each other. And we use a condom because I don’t do this kind of thing, and I’m not going to make it life-changing. So, if you don’t have one—”
I cup her head again and kiss her. “Of course I have a condom.”
“Because you’re a manwhore?” she taunts.
“I’m no manwhore, sweetheart,” I say, and it’s true. I fuck when I want to fuck, but I don’t welcome the distraction of a needy woman when I’m in the middle of a trial.
“And yet you’re well stocked, while traveling, with condoms.”
If she were anyone else, I’d simply say, ‘yes,’ but I want more than that fuck from her, when I never want more than a fuck. And so, I play quid pro quo. I give her something. She owes me something. “My father put one in my wallet when I was sixteen and told me to replace it every six months one way or the other.”
“Because your father was a manwhore?”
“Actually,” I say, my voice hardening. “He was that and a bastard, nothing I ever want to be, but nevertheless, the condom was a good lesson. Never make one night ruin your life, right, sweetheart?”
