He turns his head. “You like little pricks?”
My lips lift in one corner. “I actually like big ones.”
His eyes turn dark, and his authoritative voice is back. “If any prick touches you, I’ll bust his face in and then spank your ass for letting him. You hear?”
If anyone had said that to me before, I would have had something to say, but I’m speechless. His tone makes me hot and I almost want to rebel just to test if he means what he says.
“Is that what you did with Mum?”
He swigs his beer. “Your mother was a good girl. I was the prick.” He turns to me with a smile playing on his lips. “A big one.”
My breath hitches. Lying on his sofa is killing me. With each look, or brush of his hand, I’m on fire. I don’t think I can sit through another heated scene with him. I may combust. My feet press into the side of his thigh as I shuffle, trying to get comfortable.
“Relax.” He lifts my bent knees, straightening my legs so both feet rest on his lap this time.
Relax, he says. There’s no way I can relax with my bare feet in his lap. His rough hand rests on my shin and I cringe, hoping he doesn’t feel the prickles from a few days’ hair growth where my jeans ride up. The right thing to do would be to remove my body from this couch. I could pretend I need a drink or something or the loo, but I can’t seem to move my limbs.
His thumb circles the bone in my ankle. “For as long as you’re here, I’m gonna take care of you.”
Does he know how much I need taking care of now? He means look out for me. He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. Or does he?
I shuffle in my seat. The seam of my jeans presses against my sensitive spot, tormenting me each time I move my hips. My foot digs into his lap as I try to get comfortable. I suck in a breath. The sole of my foot presses against a large bulge.
His eyes flare a flash of desire or a warning.
“Are you?” I move my foot just to check it is what I think it is.
He snatches my feet up in his large hands. “Careful, trouble. You keep rubbing your foot like you’re summoning a genie, and I won’t be able to put it back in the lamp.” He grabs a scatter cushion and places it under my feet so I can’t feel his dick, but he can still stroke my bare feet.
The silence crackles between us. He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a sip of his beer, reminding me that my throat’s as dry as a desert.
“I get it, the innocent girl on screen is beautiful,” I say, needing to clear the air, because no matter how much I will it, the ground won’t swallow me whole.
He pauses, bringing the bottle to his mouth. “It’s not for her, petal.”
A flush blooms in my cheeks. It’s for me. I swallow the air because I’ve nothing left in my desert mouth. My voice trembles. “Who?”
He swallows, rippling the ink pattern on his neck. “Er.” His hand scratches the salt and pepper stubble on his jaw. “She reminds me of your mother.” He stares at the screen, unable to look at me.
She doesn’t look like my mother. He must mean her innocence or angelic nature. A complete opposite to me. I try to forget how different Mum and I are. And how, despite my attraction, Kane doesn’t see me the same way.
* * *
The partfor my car still hasn’t arrived and Kane insisted on driving me to work and picking me up. The manager pairs me with Yaz. I don’t think she’s cracked a smile yet, but she shows me the ropes. As the day progresses and we stack the shelves for the hundredth time, I can see why Yaz is so grumpy, her mood rubbing off on me.
“How’s your first day going?” Lucy asks, blowing pink bubble gum in my face.
“It’s okay.” I lift a tin of carrots onto the shelf.
“Party at the lake this weekend.” Her pink bubble pops.
Yaz turns to Lucy in her monotone voice. “You mean an orgy at the lake, where girls offer themselves to the mindless fucktards around here who can’t even remember your name because they’re too high.”
“Jealous much?” Lucy blows another bubble.
I can’t help but wonder if Yaz is talking from experience. She gives Lucy a fake smile before pulling her lip ring between her teeth, then walks away, dragging her Dr Martens along the shop floor.
“Jesse asked me to invite you.” Lucy’s long nails tap against the bean tins. “I think he likes you.”
