Page 43 of Throttle

“You don’t owe me any explanation. We're just friends,” I say as I try to leave, but he traps me against the door with both hands, and my body responds in a way that makes me aware of each tingle.

The intense heat travels to places I yearn for him to explore.

“Friends, huh? Right now, I’m not so sure. You came up here for a reason. Are you curious, my rose?”

Oh God.

Because of his drinking, he's not acting himself. But it doesn’t prevent me from tracing each tattoo with my eyes. Marveling at the sharp ripple of muscle. I study the small cross charm that dangles just above his hard chest and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching for it, settling the piece of metal between my fingers. There’s an engraving on the back, but I can’t make it out.

I take in a breath as he presses my hand against his smooth pecs. We lock eyes and tiny beads of sweat glisten on his forehead.

Gradually, he moves our hands downward and whispers. “Is this what you want?”

Yes!

He comes to a stop, our palms resting on his abs. I swallow and then emit a desperate whimper. Our breaths mingle, and the ache between my thighs grows stronger.

He firmly holds onto the inside of my upper leg. “I bet if I were to touch you, you’d be soaking wet.”

Arrogant but yes. I am. Soaked is an understatement.

Moving nearer, he aligns his body with mine, and his hardness presses against my lower stomach.

Wait. That’s for me. He’s hard for me.

“I hate myself for it, but I want you. Right now, Tequila, I want you so fucking bad I can taste it.”

What?!

I inhale our shared breath with difficulty. “Take me” is what I long to scream. The number of times I wish for those words, I lost count. But… not like this. Just moments ago, he was with another woman. It's humiliating and infuriating how he dares to demean me.

Tears threaten as I shut my eyes. His opinion of me is so low that he would ask for sexual favors after being with someone else. To agree is heartbreak. And it’d be devastating.

I nuzzle him away. “You’ve been drinking. Not to mention a woman just walked out of here looking like you turned her world upside down or right side up. I’m not sure,” I say, and he winces. “So, no, Throttle, you cannot have me.”

His head rears back and his eyes flash with regret. “You’re right. Fuck. I can’t believe I said that. Fuck!” He punches the wall beside me, and I jump. While he would never harm me, alcohol is influencing him in being a dick. “Forget it. I need you to erase every word, Tequila. Got me? I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what I was saying.”

He reaches around and opens the door. I'm at a loss for words. When I’m able to voice it, my blood is lava hot.

“Go get some coffee, Throttle. And maybe I’ll let go of the fact you treated me like a whore.” I leave, not allowing him time to respond.

I disregard the suspicious looks until I reach my car outside.

One tear falls. Then another, and another. Before I realize it, my tears are cascading down my face, impossible to halt. It’s disturbing the amount of control one man has over me. Every emotion. I despise it. It frustrates me how easily he can manipulate me.

From the start, I've been damned if this is what love is supposed to feel like.

It's a shame that he’s caused me such pain, and I let him.

FIFTEEN

Throttle

“Fuck!” The drywall caves, creating a decent size hole from my fist.

What was going on with me? I crossed a line. In addition, I humiliated her, and her reaction was one of pure horror. Hurt.

Was my dick more significant than our years of friendship?

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