I need him to figure out what he’s been doing here this whole time.
But I also just need him to need me in some way that makes sense. Bodies touching bodies makes sense.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says in a voice so soft and deep it comes out as a growl.
My entire body hums at his warmth covering me. Pure, raw energy leeches from him. He’s one of the hottest guys in the entire NFL; this is widely agreed on. It’s only ever served to inflate his ego and get him into incrementally bigger trouble, as it’s clearly turned him into a barely-hirablemegalomaniac despite also being among the best quarterbacks today. All that makes me think he doesn’t need to work to get women and doesn’t need to put much effort in once he’s gotten them.
But that energy I’m getting from him, that same unbrandable frustration that could be hate as easily as it could be lust, tells me he’s a monster in bed.
I can’t keep living on eggshells trying to figure out what Blaise wants. Better to rip that band-aid off and finally figure out how to be the person I swore I’d be for Donovan.
“I hate you,” I whisper, telling myself my voice is weak because of the way Blaise holds me.
“Not as much as I hate you,” Blaise growls.
“You need to leave.”
He leans his weight into me, letting me feel every inch of his muscular frame. The softness of the last couple months has firmed up since he’s been going to the training center. He might not be ready for any shirtless thirst-trap photo shoots, but nothing about the body pressed against mine is soft.
Nothing.
Oh, shit.
“I need to claim what’s mine,” he says, his voice silkier but with a bit of grit to it that I feel when he dips his head down to nip my earlobe.
“Blaise—” I start to protest, but he cuts that off.
“I paid my dues. I own you fair and square.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I can’t do anything to get my breathing under control or quell the heat blooming in my cheeks as I spit out, “You don’t own me.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You sold yourself to me. Donovan is mine. You’re mine. And you should be thanking me that I’m not punishing you more for the stunts you’ve pulled.”
This time, I really do push at him, spluttering, “Stunts? What are you talking about? I didn’t sell—oww!”This time, when he bites my ear, it hurts.
He slaps his hand over my mouth. “You are not waking my son right now. Got that, you little whore?”
“I’m not a whore,” I mumble against his palm, but I can’t make it sound convincing when my entire pelvis pulses at the insult. John wasn’t the last man I had sex with. There were two others, a coworker and a stranger I met at a bar, both when my pregnancy hormones were raging and I just needed something to take the edge off. But John was my last real connection, and those physical similarities between Blaise and John are messing with me.
Whore is a horrible word. Blaise, utter ass that he is, probably means it. But that was John’s game. He called me that so many times, and every time was hotter than the last.
Blaise forces his knee between my thighs, pushing it right up to my center.
I close my eyes, breathe him in, and grind. I can’t help it. I’m a mess. Everything’s a mess. I haven’t even touched myself since having Donovan, but Blaise somehow knows my buttons. Somehow, he knows exactly what I am when he says, “Did you whore yourself to that man, Tilly?”
He rolls his knee, and I moan against his hand as I nod. I’m too sensitive for this right now. He’s going to break me.
And he’s right.
“But you’re my whore now, aren’t you?”
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I can’t breathe, and it has nothing to do with where his hands are. He’s insane. This isn’t changing my mind on that. But I tell myself not to read too much into his words, and I can’t stop myself from doing it anyway. I open my eyes, meet his, knowing I’ll see hatred and cruelty.
Except I don’t. I see fire. Rage. Desperation.
He’s insane. His stupidity with Emerson was borne from insanity. But deep at the heart of it was jealousy, as obvious as the green corona that usually zigzags around the outer edge of his irises but is now hugging his dilated pupils.
He’s jealous of Emerson.
