She led him into an Irish pub and up a flight of narrow stairs into her apartment. The bodyguard slipped into the one-bedroom property without a sound. Tucker made a face.
“Can you lose this guy? I don’t want an audience.”
“Marco will be staying in the living room.” Tierney smiled sweetly. “Right, Marco?”
Tucker did not like this chick’s sense of humor. Too aggressive. But he wasn’t planning to stick around, anyway.
They slipped into the bedroom, and to his relief, she locked the door.
“I want you to be rough with me. Enough to hurt but not draw blood.” Her tone was businesslike. She shimmied out of her dress, unclasping her bracelet and placing it carefully on her nightstand. This woman was a little frightening.
No matter. He wasn’t going to marry her, just fuck her.
“Sure. Whatever.” He pushed off his clothes.
Tierney felt a pang of regret. He seemed too eager and too sloppy to be a good lover. His first impression at the exhibition must’ve been a facade. But she couldn’t afford to be picky. Shewanted Achilles to know she intended to fuck men however she wanted and whenever she wanted—this was more than a one-night stand; it served as a lesson, too.
They met halfway across the small room, reaching for each other. Tentative, lackluster kisses followed. He got hard between her thighs, and she pushed through the taste of revulsion in her mouth, shoving him onto her bed and straddling him. She brushed her core against his erection, hoping the act would stir something in her. When it didn’t, she grabbed his hands and put them on her throat. “Cut my air supply. Only for a few seconds.”
She knew as well as he did that he couldn’t kill her. She had an armed bodyguard sitting in her living room.
Tucker squeezed her neck for dear life. Her eyes rolled, and she reverted to that blank place in her head.
Wetness gathered between her thighs as she ground against him faster, rolling her hips. He grunted, squeezing harder.
She moaned, but no sound came out because of how tight his grip was on her neck.
Bright lights.
Birds chirping.
Warmth.
Somewhere far.
And pretty.
Where bad memories didn’t have to be buried because they didn’t exist in the first place.
She blacked out, falling to the side of her bed. When she came to, Tucker was above her, nailing her to the mattress, his sweat dripping onto her face, scorching her eyes. Her mouth was dry, and she wasn’t sure if he was using a condom. A strangled sound tore out of her: half-laugh, half-sob.
Achilles was right. She was not equipped to be in a relationship, let alone have casual sex. She felt younger thanher age and lost. Like her only way to feel any kind of control over what was happening was to accept pain and convince herself she chose it.
“Harder,” she growled in Tucker’s face. “I want you to leave marks.”
“You’re fucking insane,” he panted, scowling. He picked up his pace, and her pubic bones screamed in agony each time he slammed inside.
A part of her hoped Achilles would burst through the door, rip this man off her, and save her from him and herself.
She wanted him to dry her tears and protect her. Wanted to know everything about his thoughts, where he spent his days, if the hate he had for her was real.
She wanted him to care, even though she didn’t deserve it.
Time crawled, and Achilles didn’t show up. Her disappointment turned into rage. Then, finally, to hollow resignation.
Tucker finished inside her. He pulled out too fast, causing her discomfort, and ripped off the condom he thankfully had the foresight to put on. “Shit. That was insane.” He wiped his brow with the back of his arm, chuckling to himself as he began to get dressed. “You got anything to snack on over here?” He shoved one leg into his pants.
“No.” She wrapped herself in the duvet and sat on the edge, feeling unbearably cold all of a sudden. “Get out.”
