“See, now that’s a good girl,” he hummed, causing me to completely melt inside. He glanced to my lips, watching them for a few seconds, his eyes suddenly unreadable. After another second, he finally shoved himself away, releasing me to my own dizzying stand. “Go get dressed, put on the helmet, and meet me outside. I have a call to make.”
I watched after him breathless, my heart racing.
I wasn’t lying.
I wasn’t.
I glanced at the helmet on the table that I hadn’t seen walking in. he was doing it again, playing with my emotions, and I half wondered if it was part of the payments. Mental sabotage, mental fucking. I closed my eyes and released a breath. I would definitely get ready to go, but I was damn sure going to take my time, if only to mess with his mind like he was messing with mine.
I spent twenty minutes looking at my phone in my closet before putting on some leggings, a sports bra, and a loose-fitting sweater. I took another thirty minutes in my bathroom, the door locked, watching videos on my phone as I pulled my hair backinto a ponytail, brushed my teeth and put on some light makeup to cover the fading bruises that my clothes didn’t cover. I didn’t feel the need to cover the horrible scars on my face. I had my doubts we were going anywhere public to do this, so there was no point in wasting my time.
Not to mention that I was getting tired of how long it took to wash off the layers of makeup I used to cover them, especially since they never completely disappeared behind the expensive products anyway.
I put on four different sneakers before settling on a white pair, picking a black scarf to wrap around my neck, and finally, after a little over an hour, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, Lucy upset that she didn’t get to go with me.
Everett was watching the door with absolute rage in his eyes.
I lifted my brows at him and locked the door behind me. “Ready,” I hummed, prancing past him. Yeah, that look was well worth it.
I made it halfway down the sidewalk before he appeared at my side. “Evie told me to play nice,” he threatened, causing my steps to faulter and my confidence to diminish, “but don’t you forget that I know how to press buttons too.”
I knew that. He’s the one that started this.
He gave me a once over before pulling my scarf off and tossing it in the yard. “No.” He passed by me and headed for the bike he parked on the street.
I fought the urge to touch the collar, my expression hardening. He slid on his helmet, mine gripped in my hand, and got on his bike, waiting for me without looking back.
My heart was racing. I could do this. I could handle Everett. He was a dick. I could be a dick right back. I had enough pent-up anger to last me a lifetime, and he was the perfect punching back.
I straightened my shoulders and headed for the bike. I slid myhelmet on and swung my leg over, sliding against him with ease.
My pussy throbbed at just the feeling of him between my legs, and I hated myself for it. It was a payment plan, nothing else. Besides, why would I want anything more to do with him than fucking him anyway? He was a complete asshole.
But it had been two weeks since my last real fix, and honestly? I was fucking desperate, but not for him. Just for anything. Anything at all. Steven would always be right in that aspect. I was a whore, and even the slightest amount of attention from Everett was enough to make me forget all the bad and beg for his dick, and I loathed him for that.
But fuck, how was I supposed to ignore it when he said things like ‘now that’s a good girl’, and looked at me with those eyes of his?
I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned in as the bike roared to life. How could I win the battle of wits if he was already so far ahead of me?
He eased us back into the street before we took off, causing my stomach to enter my throat and my body to tighten involuntarily around his.
After about three minutes, though, I found myself relaxing into him and the bike as we rode through the city. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but clearly, it wasn’t close. If I were being truly honest with myself, I would have to admit that I liked riding on the bike. Despite being more vulnerable to death than I was in a vehicle, I felt somehow safer.
Perhaps it was just Everett. Perhaps I had this delusion that he was so terrifying, nobody, not even the assholes of the city, would dare try and get too close to him for fear of their own lives. Perhaps I was delusional enough to believe that he emitted some sort of death aura that caused people to keep their distance and I, a mere little writer, had somehow managed to step into that aura and was now safe from all the crazies of this world.
But I wasn’t delusional.
I was trying very hard not to be that delusional.
But fuck, the way he held me sometimes, the way he lost all ounce of control, the way he hummed certain things as if he were discovering a song within his heart he didn’t know he was capable of hearing.
The vibrations of the motorcycle were so soothing, and the feeling of his body was comforting in a way I hadn’t quite expected, and for a second, just a moment, I allowed myself to close my eyes and wonder how it would feel if instead of a gun range, we were going to dinner.
Or maybe to a play, he seemed like the type, when he wasn’t angry and acting like a complete dick, that would prefer a play over a movie.
I loved plays.
I loved the raw emotion of them. And maybe during this particular play, he would feel the need to reach over and touch me. Touch my knee, my hand, just to make sure I was still there for whatever reason, and then he would retract because it wasn’t quite his thing.
