“It wasn’t enough.”
When I move to kiss him again, he prevents it and looks down at me with indulgence. “How much did you drink tonight?”
“I lost count.”
Again, he refuses to let me kiss him. “Did you have water?”
“Two glasses.”
“That’s not enough. Come, sweetheart.”
I’m confused and a little lost when he holds me by the hand to lead me to the open kitchen. Why isn’t he ravishing me? I thought the dress would work its magic like it did on men at the club, and he’d be dying to enter me.
“Jake, I’m not here for water,” I protest while he fills a tall glass. “I’m here to fuck.”
“Drink,” he orders, handing it to me.
With a pout, I comply and sip on the cold water. The glass is too big, so I only manage half of it. “There. Now, can we fuck?”
He chuckles, tugs me closer, and lays a kiss on my temple. “I’m not fucking you in this state, red.”
“Why?”
“You’re completely hammered.”
“No, I’m just a bit hammered,” I protest.
He laughs again. “Say you what, if you still want to fuck in the morning, I’ll oblige.”
“Of course I will. I want to fuck you all the time, it’s ridiculous.”
“Well, ditto, love.”
“Then fuck me now,” I demand, sending a hand to his crotch. Is it me, or is he wearing nothing under his sweatpants? Also, he’s somewhat hard, isn’t he?
“Tomorrow,” he insists, pulling my hand out of harm’s way.
“Jake,” I whimper, pouting like a child to look endearing.
“That won’t work on me, Genevieve. Come, I’ll help you get ready for the night.”
He retakes my hand, and this time, he leads me to the bathroom. Like the rest of his loft, it’s in the open, with a large bathtub in the middle and a shower in the continuity of the enclosed toilets.
While he searches for something in the cabinets, I seek the little zipper thing high on my back. Once I grab hold of it, I slide it down and slip the black straps of my red dress to the side, tugging it all down. Once I’m left with nothing but my red lace thong and high heels, I wait for him to turn around again, convinced that’ll win him over.
I notice the surprise on his face when he spins toward me, and he can’t quite hold back from taking me in for a moment. When his green eyes darken, I’m convinced I’ve won. He doesn’t do anything about it though, and his jaw tenses with restraint.
“All I have are these makeup-removing wipes,” he says, extending one to me.
“Are you really not going to fuck me?”
“Not right now, sweetheart.”
He sounds determined, and the fact that I left Hana’s birthday party for nothing is slowly sinking into me. Why does he have to be so reasonable?
“Why do you even have those?” I mumble as I grab a wipe with a scowl.
“I was a manwhore, remember? Nearly replaced my front door with a revolving one to make it easier,” he jokes as I pass the wipe over my right eye, then the left one. When it’s smudged with makeup, he hands me another one.
