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“A friend, you fucking Neanderthal. Or am I not allowed to have those?”
“Are you fucking him?”
“What would you do if I was?” His eyes locked on mine, every visible muscle in his face tight. “Kill me too? Go for it.”
Was that a goddamn admission?!
No. No, not Roan. He was too loyal. His heart was too pure. Not to mention, he wasn’t that good of a liar.
“If he touches you again, I’ll cut his fucking hands off,” I growled, flinging his phone on the desk.
“At least hewantsto touch me,” he threw back, like a shock of ice water.
Lowering my face closer to his, I scrutinized each tic, each hard line, the way his breathing hadn’t slowed at all. My gaze dropped from his face, following the column of his throat, down his torso, landing on his groin before flicking back up to him. No surprise he was already getting hard. For some reason, fighting with me seemed to do that to him.
“Is that what you want?” I asked, grabbing his belt buckle and ripping it open. He didn’t try to stop me, but he certainly didn’t help, either.
Situating myself between his spread thighs, I didn’t let him answer. Shoving him back in the chair, I grabbed his jeans and jerked him forward into a reclined position. His cock strained beneath his clothes until I pulled them down, letting it spring free.
Gripping the base of his shaft, I dragged my tongue along the underside, tracing the vein to the top and flicking my tongue over that little ridge. His lips parted and a ragged breath escaped, but the light didn’t come back to his eyes the way I hoped it would. I kept my gaze locked on his as I swallowed the length of him, waiting to see… something. Some flicker of the old Roan.
Instead, he closed his eyes, shutting me out completely. He bit lip and gripped the arms of the chair, the rise and fall of his chest quickening. Unless hewasgetting laid somewhere else, I figured it wouldn’t take long for him to come, considering the fact we had been inactive in that department since — well, needless to say it had been a while.
This was by no means an ideal situation to rekindlethatpart of our relationship, but it was a start. I guess. If it made him happy, then fine.
What I hadn’t counted on, though, was his complete and utter detachment. Before he’d been so… intuitive, warm, connected. It was one of the many things I’d fallen for.
Now?
He’d turned to stone. He was cold, unyielding, uncaring. He was like me and I fucking hated it.
Still, I persisted in trying to make him happy with my mouth and my hand, as superficial as it was, until he jerked upright and pushed me away. Before I could ask what he was doing, he grabbed a cloth from his open violin case and came intoit, instead ofme. Even then, he was practically silent with only a few sharp breaths to even indicate what had happened.
“Better?” I didn’t mean to snarl the question, but that’s exactly how it came out.
He didn’t answer. Nor did he look at me. He simply tucked his dick into his pants and tossed the cloth into the trash can and spun back toward his sheet music.
Un-fucking-believable.
Rising to my feet, I kept my balled fists at my sides. Not happynothaving sex. Not happyhavingit. I was at a fucking loss and he wasn’t helping sort any of this shit out. I couldn’t fucking fix it if he didn’t tell me how!
Shaking my head, I crossed the room for the door, pausing just outside of it. “When does he want the car back?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I’ll take care of it.” That phrase may have been akin to lobbing a grenade into the fight, but I didn’t fucking care anymore. I tried to be “supportive” like his fucking therapist wanted and it got me no where.
He didn’t look up from his sheet music or acknowledge me in any way, but from the looks of it, every single muscle in his body had gone rigid.
I slammed the door shut behind me, hard enough Misha would probably feel it in his fucking penthouse. Exhaling a steadying breath, I marched back to the kitchen, swiping my keys and phone off the counter.
God help the sons of bitches I had a meeting with tonight.
6
ROAN
Sittingon the stiff charcoal couch, I folded my arms over my chest and stared at the arrangement of colorful glass balls piled into a giant bowl on the coffee table. They looked like old-fashioned buoys, something I saw one time at a maritime museum in New England. I’m sure each one cost a small fortune.
