“Yes, so you’ve said a few times. Do you want me to beg?” I drop to my knees harder than intended, clasping my hands in front of me. “There, are you happy? I’m on my knees, begging you.”
He blows out a breath and pushes a hand through his hair. “In all the times I pictured you on your knees in front of me, Hattie, it was never like this. Jesus.” He hauls me up under the arms. “Come on, I’m taking you home to sleep this off. We can talk about this tomorrow night.”
I pout and intend to argue, but my head feels a little fuzzy as he leads me toward the door.
“Where were you drinking anyway?” He pulls the door open and leads me down the hall with one hand on my upper arm.
“At dinner with Renee and Paige,” I say cheerily.
“I’ll be sure to thank them.” I can just make out the note of disapproval in his tone over the music as we make our way out to the main part of the club.
“Please don’t get them in trouble. They’re my only friends here. They didn’t know that I’ve never drank before.” I stop and spin around, reaching for the lapel of Bastion’s suit. “Please, promise me.”
He studies me for a moment, and in the dim light, his face bathed in the glow of the neon lights, he looks like a god. Not my God, but one that promises damnation rather than salvation.
Bastion holds my stare for a minute, then gives me a curt nod. I drop my hands from his suit jacket, and he spins me around to continue toward the door. The entire walk back to the condo, he doesn’t say a word to me. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry with me or what.
But once we’re inside the condo, he says, “Go get changed for bed.”
I don’t know why I don’t argue with him, but the thought doesn’t even occur to me. I’m not in my bed more than a minute before I’m out.
27
BASTION
Isit on the edge of Hattie’s bed, staring at her sleeping form. I could’ve had her tonight. She was primed and ready. But I refuse to take her for the first time when she’s drunk. When she realizes who I really am, when Carla knows what I’ve done with her daughter and the path I’ve led her down, they both need to know that she chose it willingly.
It’s a shame Hattie is who she is. Otherwise, I could really enjoy our time together. That’s not to say I’m not going to enjoy fucking her, but there’s always that nagging reminder at the back of my head that she got everything I was supposed to have.
The dichotomy of the two ways of thinking is fucking with my head. I find myself forgetting what she’s really doing here, obsessing about her when she’s not around. Jesus Christ, I even jerked off with her underwear.
I blow out a breath and shake my head, forcing myself to walk out of the room. There’s no way I can afford to let Hattie become anything other than what she is—a means to an end.
The following evening, I arrive home earlier than I normally would on a Friday night so that Hattie and I can have a conversation about the previous night. She mostly ignored me at work today, only speaking to me when spoken to, and I don’t plan on letting her pretend nothing happened. Not when it puts me that much closer to my goal.
Alcohol might have been the mechanism that got her to open up, but I don’t doubt for one moment that she meant every word.
As I make my way toward the kitchen, the distinct scent of garlic reaches me. There’s music playing in the background—some kind of indie stuff, I think.
When I turn the corner, I find Hattie at the island, sprinkling cheese on what looks to be a lasagna. She startles when she sees me.
Now this is the kind of reaction to me she would have had when we met if she’d had any kind of self-preservation.
“You scared me.” The hand on her chest moves up and down with her breaths.
“What are you doing?” I walk over to where she is, admiring her ass in the tight-fitting cream skirt. She hasn’t changed since she returned from work, and I, for one, am thankful.
She looks away from me, her tell that she’s embarrassed. “I didn’t realize you’d be home so early. It’s not ready.” She rips some foil from the package on the counter beside her and placesit over the lasagna pan, then turns and places the pan in the center of the wall oven.
“Why are you making lasagna? You could have ordered in.”
She turns and goes back to the island, beginning to clean up her meal prep. “I wanted to apologize for last night.” She still hasn’t looked at me.
“Why would you need to apologize?” I step closer to her.
“I practically ambushed you because I was tipsy.”
“I think you may have been drunk.” Another step moves me right behind her with only an inch to spare.
