“No,” I say. He has a great way of ruining a joke. “No. We can’t do this.”
“Yes we can.”
“On top of the fact that I don’t want to watch you fight, it’s too weird. We can’t keep being together. It’s too awkward. We’ll be family soon.”
“So? Cross that bridge when we get there.”
“No,” I say firmly.
He steps closer to me, takes my hand in his and pulls it up over my head. He begins to kiss the underside of my arm, moves to my neck. I don’t want to, but I turn my head to the side, let him kiss me, let him smell me.
“Don’t tell me it wasn’t fucking unbelievable. I heard you.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t still want it.”
He presses my hand hard against the wall, pushes his body into mine. I can feel his hardness against my stomach.
“Pierce—”
“What good would it be for you to sacrifice something you want for the sake of your father?”
“It’s not about that?”
“Oh? Because I could swear you’ve got a guilt complex about it. About leaving him.”
“Shut up,” I say.
“Isn’t that what you told me at dinner?”
“Shut up, Pierce,” I say.
I’m angry, but he’s too strong; I can’t pull my arm down, can’t get out from under him. He pushes his forehead against mine, stares into my eyes. I see his wolf eyes.
“You’re telling me you want this to end?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit. I make you feel alive. I make you feel dirty. I make you feel good.”
His hand is sliding down the front of my body, and when I feel his fingers touch the skin beneath the button of my jeans, I jolt.
“I want you, Pen.”
“Why?” I ask.
He pushes his hand inside my underwear, plays with me, teases me. He squeezes my lips together, then spreads me. I feel it all, and I’m already so sensitive that when he rubs my clit, I let out a soft moan. Appalled with myself, I try to get out, try to get away, but his whole body is against me.
“Stop it, Pierce,” I whisper, but he doesn’t. He rubs my clit so deftly, and it’s only moments before I feel my own wetness pressing back against me. I can smell his musk, feel his heat, feel his desperation for me. He wants me… he needs me. He’ll never let me go.
I know it all. It’s not just that he told me. I simply know it.
“Tell me you want me out of your life.”
“I want you—”
“Tell me you never want to see me again. Tell me you never want to scream again, feel the best you’ve ever fucking felt.”
He forces me to kiss him, claims my lips, rubs my clit exactly how I need it. I can’t concentrate anymore. I’m losing myself in it. I’m losing my grip.
I moan, my eyes fall shut. He rubs me so well, so fast, I’m right at the edge so quickly, too quickly.
“No,” I say uselessly. He doesn’t stop. I feel his finger at my entrance, and he pushes it in, and I shut my jaw tight so I don’t make a sound.
I hate myself for opening my legs a little wider. I hate myself for gyrating my hips to the rhythm of his fingering.
He drives me racing forward, brings me to oblivion so quickly. I climax hard onto his hand, bury my face in his chest, and then I’m coming down, panting, shaken, fogged-up.
“Why don’t you care?” I snarl.
“I do care.”
“Then tell me why you want me.”
He pulls back, like he’s confused, or like he’s contemplating something for the first time. I’m left standing against the wall, my arm still above my head, breathless, panting, my sex still quivering.
“Tell me!” I cry. My voice breaks.
His eyes meet mine, and this time there’s something else there. More than just base lust. More than just Pierce Fletcher getting his way.
He turns around and leaves.
“Why?” I shout at his back. The door’s bell ding as it closes behind him. “Coward!”
I’m shaking with a heady mix of anger and disappointment.
Why couldn’t he just tell me?
Chapter Twenty Five
The days blend together, one smudged aching blur.
I’ve never felt this way before.
Penelope isn’t talking to me, and it’s eating me up. I’m not some clingy dick with low self-esteem, but she and I really had something. I’ve never felt more comfortable around a girl before, more attracted to one.
I’ve never wanted to please a girl more than I do Pen.
I’ve never felt the sting of disappointing a girl more than I do Pen.
And I’ve disappointed a metric fuckton of girls.
Usually I just get mine, and I’m fine with that. I fuck them, and leave them. I don’t need any attachments. For fuck’s sake, I fight underground. Attachments get you burned one way or another. Distractions take your mind off the prize, the win.
But now I’m doubting that philosophy. Now Pen has got me going back on my own beliefs, on the way I’ve lived my life.
Because now she’s the prize, she’s what I want to win… need to win. But I need to protect her, too, and that makes my mind go somewhere it doesn’t want to.
Do I need to protect her from me?
She is pissed at me, and rightfully so. I didn’t fucking know that I’d get involved with the mob. They basically gave me no choice but to fight in this pathetic little dick-measuring match. Some local mobster cunt and some Russian mafia cunt want to settle a bet, and they’re using me to do it, and some foreign beefcake fighter.
They’re not just using me, either. They’re using Pen, too. I wonder idly what this Anton fuckhead was threatened with. I wonder how they could make him fly half way around the world just to do one single fight. Maybe they got to him, too.
Nothing is worse than being a pawn. I’m going to find a fucking way out of this one way or another, and then I’m going to make sure Lev Fallon, the cocksucker, goes down.
But five million is retirement money. Five million on top of what I already got saved and invested? Shit, I don’t consider myself motivated by money, but damn, that’s a good life for me and my kids. And, it keeps Pen safe. If I don’t do the fight, they’ll get to her. That much is clear as day.
Wait a minute… My kids? I blink, surprised at myself for the thought.
I’ve never, ever considered having kids before. I’ve never considered settling down before. To me, that was always phony bullshit. Nobody wants to settle down. Nobody wants some boring fucking suburban life with picket fences and flower beds and shitty fake dinner parties filled by passive-aggressive small talk.