Swallowing, she looks up with those glassy eyes. “It’s not just sex—”
“I’m done. I’m moving on.”
Chanel looks shocked and disbelieving, and if I’m totally honest, I have no idea where those words came from. They just tumbled out of my mouth, and I can’t take them back. And I’m not sure I’d want to if I could.
Never in my life did I think that I’d be the one to end things with her. She’s the one who always does the leaving. But Dorian was right. I have to be the one to stop this. To turn her away. She won’t stop coming back to me otherwise, and the only person who wins is Chanel. Dorian and I both keep losing.
“Zep, come on. You don’t mean that.”
“I can’t do this anymore. Stop coming around here, okay? You made your choice, and that choice isn’t me. Teach Dorian to fuckthe way you want. To become the man to help you when you get your ass in trouble like you tend to do. To know how to do everything you keep coming here for because I’m not doing it anymore.”
This seems to shift some type of resolve in her because she squares her shoulders and stands as tall as possible. “I know you don’t mean that.”
“Excuse me?”
“Let me inside. Prove to me that you’re done.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
A smirk appears, and she wipes her eyes. “You won’t let me through that doorway because you know the moment that door closes, you can’t resist. Your body will react the same way it always does, and we’ll be fucking like animals on the stairs because we can’t make it to the bedroom.”
She’s not entirely wrong. I don’t know how strong I’ll stay when we’re not out in the open. Behind closed doors, it’s just us, and I’ll probably cave.
“You’re right. I want you, Chanel. I might always want you. But I’m tired of wanting what I can’t have.”
“I’m offering—”
“You’re not offering me shit,” I cut in. “You toss me crumbs that kept me barely satisfied for years, but it’s not enough for me anymore. I want more, and you won’t give me that. So, no, you can’t come inside. I’m protecting myself by keeping us out here.”
“I don’t toss you crumbs.”
Now I’m getting pissed. How can she downplay the bullshit rollercoaster we’ve called our relationship since we were teens? “Are you fucking delusional, woman?”
“What are you talking about? We love each other, Zep. I just… I have a different lifestyle that doesn’t fit in Gravelton. It doesn’t fit with…”
“Me. A biker. An outlaw,” I finish. “A man who makes his living by doing unsavory work. Say it.”
“You know I don’t care about how much money you make.”
Bullshit. If she had any idea the real amount in my bank account, she’d probably be on her knees begging to let me keep her. For a while. Then she’d crawl back to Dorian, the mortgage officer.
If I was a banker or accountant, or, hell, a car salesman, this would all be different. What I am is beneath her, and her image means more to her than I ever have.
“You want that lifestyle, and I don’t fit into it. You need to go home. Go back to Dorian. Teach him how to fuck you like I do, and you won’t even remember my name.”
“I don’t want to teach him!” she shouts.
There it is. She wants both. The perfect, white-picket fence life while being sexually satisfied by the bad boy she’s had crawling on his knees after her since they first kissed. And having both the life and the pleasure from the same person doesn’t fulfill her fantasy.
“Then, baby, get used to vanilla, mediocre lovemaking.”
“There’s nothing wrong with lovemaking.”
Coming from the woman who has never let me make love to her, that’s rich. “No, but sometimes a woman just needs a good pounding. Getting fucked just right. Having her body used and toyed with and pleased to the point she’s about to combust. Like the next orgasm might kill her, but what a way to go, right?"
Chanel pants as she stares at me, and I can smell her arousal. She wants to fuck. Hell, she’d strip naked and let me take her against the door if I just let her inside.
But I don’t.
