My words finally reach him, but it’s too late. I’m beyond pissed. He offended me with his lack of trust.
“I was also excited about spending time with you later, you jerk! But I don’t sleep with assholes who don’t trust me, so I’ll be spending my weekend with Idris instead,” I blurt out, almost choking on my tongue when I realize what I just said. Okay, maybe I’m a little drunk.
Lex’s eyes darken, his anger reborn at the mention of yet another man. Well, that’ll teach him a lesson. Let the idiot worry over a stupid sex toy. That’ll show him how ridiculous he is.
Eager to get out of here, I give him one last vexed glare and move for the door.
Lex grabs my arm as I pass by him, and before I can protest, argue, or even squeal, he slams me into his solid body and plasters his lips against mine. I shove his chest, still pissed, but I’m no match for his determination. Turns out I don’t have much fight in me, anyway.
The intensity of his kiss melts me to the bones. He does it with anger, despair, and desire. A very explosive combination. I forget where we are, his accusations, being mad at him… I forget everything that isn’t him.
His dominant temper, which he usually contains, is all out. He’s imperious and commanding, his merciless tongue barely allowing mine to sample him, his greedy lips making it hard to breathe, his powerful hands holding me in place against him, preventing me from moving even an inch. The music out there is “You Spin Me Round”, which is not only fitting but also turns out to be an excellent song for kissing.
Part of me swoons at his possessiveness, surprised by the novelty of him being like this. It isn’t a kiss. It’s a message. A lesson. He’s marking me as his, showing me who I belong to.
As if I didn’t already know.
Someone yells outside, and it’s loud enough to break through the music, the door, and then through my lust-fogged mind.
“Lex…” I pant, ripping myself away from him.
His lips drag against my throat instead, devouring the soft skin, making me shiver. Fuck, I don’t want this to end, but it has to. “Lex, we have to stop,” I insist, pushing him away. He groans with disapproval but eventually releases me, standing straight and tall. He’s flushed, and I have no doubt I am, too.
“Alright. Let’s go,” he orders. I first think he means to the party, but then he continues. “Where’s your bag for the weekend?”
“Wait, I didn’t plan on staying the whole weekend. All I have is a toothbrush and clean underwear.”
“We’ll stop by your place before going to mine.”
I hesitate, the argument from just before slowly coming back. I want to spend the weekend with him, but I also can’t indulge his behavior by rewarding it with sex. As much as I enjoy his techniques, it’s unfair.
“You can’t do that every time we argue,” I say, gesturing between us back and forth.
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 29
The drive to Andrea’s place is eerily silent. Tension lingers in the air, and I use this time lost in my thoughts as I reflect on my actions. The novelty of her comes with ups and downs, and while the ups are exhilarating, I’m not good at handling the downs.
Expecting that she respects our agreement isn’t ridiculous, is it? We agreed on exclusivity. I’m the only man she should be seeing, the only one she should welcome in her bed.
I park close to her building, and although I expect her to get out when I turn off the engine, she doesn’t. “Do you want to come in rather than wait in the car?” she hesitantly offers.
I nod without a word, and we exit the car. Our ride up in the elevator is just as silent, and I can’t bring myself to break it. I observe her nervousness when her hands tremble as she unlocks her door. We enter, and I discover the space with genuine interest. The main door opens to a short hallway, and then we step into the main space.
“So, living room, kitchen, and those doors are Tamika, bathroom, me,” she explains. “Just give me five minutes, and we can go.”
As she heads to her room, I venture into the apartment. My feet lead me to a shelf filled with trinkets, and I can easily guess which things are hers and which are Tamika’s. Andrea’s fondness for pop culture contrasts with her roommate’s pastel aesthetic.
I distractedly listen to her shuffle in her room as I explore some more. When I notice that my nose, throat, and eyes seem slightly irritated by something, I ask with a clear voice, “Do you have a cat?”
“We kept one for a few days. Why?” she answers from her room.
“My allergy is acting up. I was wondering if it was normal.”
“Oh… The cat never came into my room, if you want to—” She stops abruptly when she sees I’m already there, standing in the doorframe. There must be somethingin my eyes that triggers her apprehension because she asks, “What?”
Looking away, I nervously scratch my jaw to give myself time to think. I shouldn’t say a fucking thing, but my stomach has been in knots since she mentioned him.
