Her fist bumps against my ribs. “Then you’ll have to force me.” There’s a challenge in her tone, which increases the disconnect I’m having.
Why the hell would she suggest rape as a solution to anything? Especially in that tone of voice?
“Is that what you want?” When she doesn’t immediately answer, my brows rise. “If it’s a fantasy, sure. But, later. Not the first time we have sex.”
“It’s not a fantasy. It’s reality.”
That sinks in like the sharp blade of a knife. “Someone forced you? Who?” A mix of fury and concern spikes my blood.
“Why? Are you going to beat him up for me?” The angry sneer in her tone causes another spike of anger to ripple through me, this one directed at her.
“Don’t use that tone with me.”
“Or what?”
My teeth grind together, and my grip tightens. She’s goading me. I can think of a dozen ways to break her of her bratty attitude, starting with a bare-assed spanking over my lap and ending with real sexual violence. The kind where I pin her to the bed and drive my cock into her until she begs for mercy. But those kinds of scenes require trust. Right now, she’s recklessly instigating things that, for all I know, could be a trigger for her.
“Girl, you wear on my patience.” I let go of her and roll onto my back.
She moves away sharply and sits up with her back against the headboard. “Likewise.” Again with the attitude.
“Enough. Get out of my bed.”
There’s something off with her. There has been since the beginning. Sosa is probably the one who twisted her into this mess. That cartel was run by a true sadist. Rape and torture were used regularly as a form of intimidation.
And yet, there was never a shortage of women who got into bed with them willingly. Flash and money are all it takes to make women into fools.
“It’s interesting,” she says, climbing from the bed and wrapping the blanket around herself. “You’re not as rough as you pretend.”
That causes me to turn my head to look at her with a bemused expression. She stands rigid, like a warrior ready for battle. What is with this crazy behavior of hers? Is she trying to top from the bottom to get what she needs? If so, this isn’t the way to do it. I don’t let girls manipulate me, period. During sex, I’m in control.
When she says I’m not rough, what I should do is laugh. The truth is I’m worse than she knows.
“Sure.” My tone is as dry as I wish my dick was. It’s still standing straight up and pointing in the direction of the troubled girl. “You’ve figured me out. When I’m alone, I read cozy cat mysteries and weep into my sherry glass. Your deductive powers are genius.”
“Fuck off,” she snaps, turning and stalking out.
That’s right, baby doll. No matter how hard you push, you’re not going to bait me into losing control.
Lucky for you.
That said, no other woman has ever pressed my buttons the way Arya Peralta does. When she dangles the bait, I’m dying to bite.
I frown, blowing out a breath.
In my head, I speak to myself in Danish. The way I sometimes do when I want important advice to resonate.
Let go of this.
What happened to the resolution about staying clear of women who cause drama?
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’ll let this go.”
After a moment, I grimace because I know I’m lying. If I could’ve let it go, I would have.
For two years, I’ve pretended not to see Arya.
And for two years, whenever she’s nearby, she isallI see.
