“I know you better than you think,” he whispers in my ear, his voice a husky growl. “You like it rough, rougher than most. You like to be used, bent over, and fucked within an inch of your sanity, then discarded because God forbid you feel any real emotion.”
His words sting, leaving a trail of fire and ash in their wake. I pull my head back away from him, and our eyes meet through the blur of tears that escape freely now. “What happened? Daddy didn’t love you enough?”
I huff out a breath before finding my voice, “You know, I think I finally found some respect for you,” I say, my chest burning with embarrassment. “Turns out Ian Summerscanbe a fucking prick after all.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as I'm forced to see this side of him. A side I'm sure very few people have ever seen. I should feel honored, not devastated for being the reason for it.
His expression loses its edge, and his trademark softness creeps back in. But I don’t let it sway me. I push him away before I lose my nerve and make my way through the crowd toward the front door again.
I hear Ian calling out to me as I reach the door, but I don’t stop—and I don’t look back. This newfound respect for him has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, and I need to go before I say—or do—something I’ll regret.
SIX
Even with the ground swaying under my feet, I make it to my car without faceplanting on the asphalt, which I absolutely count as a small victory. Though, a voice in my head screams at me to turn around. Not because I feel like I should make amends with Ian or apologize to Mitch for leaving, but because I amway too wasted to get behind the wheel of a car.
Before I can decide what to do, another voice, louder and more aggressive, bellows in the night, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I turn to find Ian, his face twisted in a mixture of anger and concern.
“I’m going home,” I yell, returning my attention to my car.
“There’s no fucking way I’m letting you drive off after you just downed two shots of vodka on an empty stomach,” he barks.
“Why do you care?” I cry out, scrambling for the door handle. My heart races along with my mind as I yank the door open, but Ian’s reflexes, while mediocre at best, seem lightning quick to my intoxicated brain. I only manage to get the door open about an inch or two before Ian throws his body against it, effectively ripping the handle from my grip and slamming the door shut.
“Hey,” I yell, stumbling on my feet. “What the fuck is your problem, you–”
In a dizzying blur, Ian’s strong hands grab both sides of my face and pull me toward him. “Shut up,” hemurmurs just before his lips crash into mine—hard and desperate. His hand snakesaround to the back of my neck, gripping me firmly and pulling me into him. He twists me around and pins me between his warm body and the cool metal of my car.
His tongue runs across my bottom lip, and they part like the mother fucking sea granting him access. His tongue wastes no time invading every inch of my mouth.
Time ceases to exist as my body responds to his touch without my permission. A euphoric buzz vibrates my senses, stemming from my fingertips all the way down to my toes. I grip the fabric of his shirt into tight fists, not pushing him away, much to my surprise, but not pulling him closer, either. I stay perfectly still, in mind and body, allowing myself to exist in the moment. A flood of desire courses through me, rough and needy.
The logical part of me wants to push him away, but the more primal and desperate part of me reels in his sudden, intense energy.
My heart beats wildly in my chest as he pulls away slowly, running his thumb lightly along my jaw. He takes a few steps backandstretches his arms wide in a grand gesture.
“Well, did you die?” he asks mockingly, his arms dropping dramatically to his sides.
“What?” I ask, confused and flustered as hell.
My eyes follow his tongue as he licks me off of his lips, mesmerized at the fact that those lips were just on mine. He returns a look that’s just as confused before stepping back toward me. “Is the idea of being with me so abhorrent that you won’t even consider it?” he asks, cutting me to the bone.
My brain stutters for a moment as I try to process his questioning. Everything slows down until I feel like I’m underwater, unable to hold onto coherent thoughts.
“You think the reason I don’t want to have a threesome is because I don’t want to fuck you?” I say incredulously.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard, his eyes narrowing at me, clearly taken aback by thesheer possibility that he’s wrong.
I shake my head, letting the shock of the situation wash over me. The reality of what just happened, and my body’s complete and utter betrayal, slaps me in the face.
“This is so fucking stupid,” I mutter, pushing off of my car and brushing my hair out of my face. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard this is for me?” I say slow and deliberate.
I take a deep breath and consider shutting my mouth and hightailing it out of here, but the alcohol won't let me let it go, and instead of my usual shut up and run, my mouth decides to pour out my soul while looking at him dead in the eyes.
“I see the way you look at people, Ian. Your eyes light up with this…this…this disgusting excitement every time a customer walks through the door of the shop. Just talking to people makes your whole day better because you are just that kind. But then you look atme,” I pause, poking myself in the chest for emphasis, “…and there’s nothing. You look at me like I’m nothing. You make me feel like I’m nothing.” My voice trembles as I try to keep my composure, holding back every emotion swelling within me.
“Roxy, you’re not nothing,” he says, sadness taking over his features.
