Page 47 of The Comedown

“I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“Fucking try to stop me. I dare you.”

“Subtlety of a nuclear bomb,” I tsk, hooking my ankles behind his back, and he mumbles something about exploding soon.

“I’ll share her with you,” Krystall calls after us, and Julian grips the hell out of the thighs she was just between, slowing his steps and meeting my eyes.

My chest tightens at the familiarity of it all, but then so clear the private rooms in the back can probably hear him, Julian says, “No,” and I release all the air in my lungs.

Words do hurt, but that one doesn’t. Not the way he said it. Like it wasn’t even an option.

Julian carries me until we’re back outside beside the McLaren. When he goes to unlock the doors, only to realize he doesn’t have the key, I free myself from his grasp, placing my feet back on the ground. He’s quick to cage me in on the passenger side though, bending down so he’s eye level with me.

I park my ass against the futuristic door, regarding him silently, while simultaneously pushing on his chest to create a little more space.

“You get it now?”

“Get what?”

“You know what.”

I bite my lips together. I do, but I’m not admitting it. I’m not admitting anything to him. Confessions are leverage, they can be used against you when you’re least expecting it.

“You didn’t like watching someone else on my cock, did you?”

My bare shoulder lifts, then falls. “You think I was jealous of her, but really, I was jealous of you. That’s why I took matters into my own hands by trying to satisfy that want you smelled the entire drive over here.”

His laugh is void of any humor as he straightens his spine, then starting at my toes, Julian drags his heavy-lidded gaze up my body, landing on my lips.

“The want Porsche douche got outta you, right? Or was it from Bodee?”

“Maybe both.” I raise my eyebrows and he snarls, pushing into me again.

I hold him off with both hands, giving myself some breathing room. Some breathing room. Not much because Julian…he’s trying. He’s trying to get close, as close as I’ll let him.

And I can’t let him.

I let out my own laugh, knowing how much men hate being laughed at, and say, “Admit it. Your plan to punish me backfired. By bringing me here and making me watch another woman give you a lap dance, you were trying to get me as jealous as you were when I went on a date.”

“Fuck your date,” he spits. “I put an end to that before there even was one.”

“And just what did you think would happen next, huh? That I’d be so overcome with jealousy that I’d spread my legs for you and let you finish what another man started?”

His nostrils flare as he says, “He didn’t start shit,” but I don’t back down an inch. In fact, I lean forward, too, closing the distance until our noses are nearly touching.

“You mean they?” Because if we’re taking this hypothetical plunge, we might as well commit. Neither Victor nor Bodee is responsible for my aching pussy, but that’s another truth I can’t let out.

“We both know it was my car that had you—”

“This isn’t your car.”

“But it was my cock that you were creamin’ your fucking panties on top of.”

“Mmm,” is all I give in response. There’s no sense in denying it. We both know the score on that front.

“Can I expect you to throw a fit every time I have a date? Because—”

“Stop talking about dates, goddamn it.”