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I shift my hips as he lowers his head, and I think, fucking hell, he’s going down on me, and then fuck, fuck, no condom.
No. Fucking. Condom.
And that pretty much kills the buzz. “Stop. Stop, dammit!”
I push him away so hard he flails for a moment before getting a grip on the sofa. His jaw tightens and his brows pull together. “What the fuck was that about? You want me to stop, you only have to say.”
I glare at him, vaguely aware that my hard-on is deflating and that cold is setting into my sweaty flesh. “What were you thinking? I’m a rent boy. I could pass any goddamn disease to you. You never come near me without a fucking condom. Ever, Raine.”
He blinks. “Okay. Sure.” Which makes me start second-guessing myself. Was he gonna go down on me, or was that just wishful thinking on my part? Fuck. “Don’t you get tested?”
“I do. I was clean last time I checked, but man, you really willing to risk it?”
His grins. “Didn’t know you cared.”
And that really sets me off. “Fuck you. You don’t get to joke about that.”
“I wasn’t,” he mutters, and that makes it worse, whatever it is. He takes my hand, his eyes warm. “This job will suck out your soul. Let me help you get out. Let me—”
Yeah, I can’t deal with this. I yank my hand out of his grip. “Give it a rest, Raine.”
I shove to my feet, drag my pants up and cast about for the rest of my clothes. This isn’t on him. It’s on me. I let it go too far, again.
Ah, there’s my tank top, and my jacket. I lurch in their direction, unsteady on my feet. I’m shaking with anger, and shock, and something that feels too much like disappointment.
Or maybe it’s the weight of reality crashing back down on me.
“Yeah, run away again,” he says, his eyes flashing as I turn around, and he’s back to pissed. With me. “Pretend you don’t give a shit.”
I grit my teeth and drag on my tank top, then my jacket. “I don’t have to pretend. You getting a disease off me is not something I want on my conscience.”
“Keep telling yourself that’s all there is to it.”
I open my mouth to tell him that’s right, but for some reason I can’t.
I can’t lie to Raine. Why can’t I? Dammit!
He’s silent, too, as I force my trembling hands to zip up my jacket. I’m outta here. This has gone too far already. Time to put a stop to it.
But I still can’t force the words out of my mouth—would that mean they’re a lie? I don’t think telling him we should stop is a lie, dammit—and all the while I’m caught up in my inner debate, he approaches me, holding something out on the palm of his hand.
“Here you go,” he says, and I realize it’s a wad of bills.
I stare at the money. Jesus Fuck. I forgot I’m getting paid for this. That this was a job, and not a fun night out with a handsome guy.
Fuck, fuck! This is so not good.
I take the bills as if in a dream, watching my hand reach out, lift the money off his palm. My anger is gone. I avoid looking at his face as
I put the money in the pocket of my jacket, and nod—in thanks? Acknowledgment? Agreement?
Yeah, this evening was business. Nothing more.
I’m not falling for you, Raine Storm. Here’s proof.
But I’ve barely turned toward the door, when he steps around me, putting a hand out as if to stop me from leaving.
“How much for the whole night?” he asks brusquely. It’s as if the words hurt coming up his throat, and I’m so focused on that, and on the way his hands are curled into tight fists, that it takes me a moment to decipher what he said.
