But that also makes me a little on edge, too.
Not that I think Sloane would come back here, but there’s a strange sort of concern building within me.
I unlatch the chain and unlock the door and open it.
“Robbie, hey. It’s late… what are you—”
He pushes his way inside, not bothering with pleasantries.
I shut the door carefully, locking it and chaining it once more.
“How did it go?” he asks briskly, heading straight for my couch.
I sigh. “Fine.”
I take a seat next to him. And that’s when I smell it. The whiskey. Thick like a cloud.
“How did you get here?” I ask, worry lacing me. “You didn’t drive, did you?”
“Fuck no. You think I’m that stupid, Oliver?” he bites. “I took an Uber.”
He glares at me. “Since you weren’t picking up.”
“I couldn’t answer you. It was too risky. I was with… Sloane.”
“You were with him at eight o’clock?” he presses, leaning into my space. “Nine o’clock?” Ten o‘clock?”
“Robbie…” I breathe, backing up to get away from the overpowering scent and the sudden panic flooding me.
But Robbie doesn’t relent. He pushes me. Crowds me, until my back is slammed up against the arm of the sofa.
“It’s eleven thirty, baby. And you never fucking called me.”
“We a-agreed it was too risky,” I say, my throat tightening.
Robbie presses himself against me, his hand finding my throat.
“I called you from a burner,” he says bitterly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know it was me.” He hisses, his fingers tightening their grip. He forces me to look at him. The solidness of his body mixed with the unmistakable twitch of his cock makes my blood rush and my heart race. Panic, anxiety, and a strange bloom of desire build and I hate it.
I hate how he’s looking at me. I hate the smell of the whiskey on his breath, and I hate how my cock responds tothis.
I shouldnotlike this. There has to be something wrong with me…
“I was working,” I say. “Working thejoblike you asked me to.” I tell him, my shaky hand settling against his chest.
“You don’t answer my call. Don’t show up on time…” he snickers.
“Don’t tell me he has you wrapped around his fat finger already, Oliver.”
“Of c-course not,” I say, Robbie’s vicious glare making my stomach flip and my cock ache.
“I know he’s pretty and that voice could melt the polar ice caps, but he’s not a good person. He’s a fucking asshole who takes things that don’t belong to him.”
Robbie’s free hand finds the waistband of my pants and my body tenses as I feel him pull them and my boxers down in one fell swoop. Instinctively, my body reacts to him—the way it always does. I lift my hips and let him pull them down to my ankles, his gaze holding me prisoner. I swallow hard.
“I know,” I breathe.
My cock throbs and Robbie lets out a dark chuckle.
