Page 100 of The Stranger

“And, technically,” she adds as though I haven’t spoken, “I should also be able to leave because you said I had to⁠—”

Laughter burst out of me. “You were seconds away from coming around my cock for a third time. And have you forgotten how your pussy pulsed around me when I called you a good girl? A good girl for taking my cock so well?”

“There’s no need to be so coarse,” a sudden prim and proper Primrose asserts. “You said three times, and⁠—”

“Come here,” I say curling my fingers. “Let’s fix that,” I add, delivering a two-fingered tap my mouth. “Right now.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing. We both know it’ll take but a minute.”

Her arms unfurl, her hands curling into fists by her side. “And this is why I don’t like you!”

“I’d say you like me well enough.”

“I’ve never liked you,” she explodes. “Not since the night we met when you were a total dick.”

“I was a dick?” I demand, thumbing my chest.

“Yes.” Her eyes cut to mine, fiery and fierce. “And that was before you pushed me out the door. Then when I turned up at your house,” she adds, beginning to count my transgressions off against her fingers, “when Emmy was considerate enough to arrange cover for the weekend, you looked at me like you wanted to drown me in the pool. You tried everything to make me leave, and when you couldn’t, you blackmailed me into working for you for four fucking weeks!”

“Blackmail is a strong word.”

“So is punishment. Your word, by the way.”

“It doesn’t mean I dislike you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

“That’s such bullshit! The only time you’ve been mildly agreeable was at dinner last night. What was that about, hmm?” Her eyes narrow. “Were you trying to get into my good graces as a way to get into my knickers again?”

“I don’t remember you wearing any.”

“Urgh, you are the worst!”

“You don’t seem to think so when you’re riding my face.”

“And this is why I don’t like you!” she announces, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Primevère, if you’re going to lie to me, at least choose a lie I’m less qualified to disprove.”

Not only is this not going how I expected, but things are also getting away from me. I’d been expecting awkward this morning. A touch of embarrassment, perhaps. Blushes and stolen glances over the top of her coffee cup. The kind of delightful disquiet that says, I can’t get you out of my head. Because that’s how I fucking feel. Where the fuck have the denials come from?

“It was a mistake.”

“Which time?” I don’t mean to taunt. “The club? The kitchen? Or being in here, alone with me again.”

“All of the above,” she retorts, her gaze resolutely ahead as though the estate’s grounds are infinitely more interesting. “And I’m only here right now to say enough, that we can’t… not anymore.”

She makes such an arresting picture. The color in her cheeks high as sunlight catches her honey-blond hair, setting it ablaze. Beyond the window, bougainvillea spills over the pale stone walls, the sky beyond stretching out in an impossible blue. The corner of my mouth kicks up; paradise unconvinced.

I move to the door, resting my shoulder against the frame to better study her. “You do like me. More than you want to admit.”

Her disparaging laugh sounds forced.

“And I like you. I like you more than I ever imagined I could.”

“No, you don’t.” Her eyes dart briefly to mine. “You can’t.”

“It’s been a while since anyone told me I can’t.” My smile feels indulgent.