Page 81 of Throttle

TWENTY-FIVE

Throttle

The past week of having Tequila live with me has been unbearable, but not because she's an awful roommate. That part is great. To see her lovely face daily is a gift. The issue at hand is that I can’t touch her. I won’t allow myself to, and I’m pretty sure she’d want to chop my fingers off if I did. But it's hard to resist when she wears those skimpy sleep outfits and her enticing ass cheeks are visible each time she reaches up into a cabinet. I considered turning the air on, hoping it’d get cold enough to put on some damn clothes.

Fuck. I’m in trouble and was running out of reasons to escape when my cock becomes hard.

I'm thankful she’s less angry with me for everything. Sometimes her sassy lip drips from her sexy mouth. Maybe it’s because I forced her here against her will. Could be that. Though, if she can stand being near me, she doesn't hate me.

“Throttle. Did you hear me?”

No, I was too busy dreaming about your pussy and my cock slipping inside.

A low growl escapes me as I watch her lips conform to the mug's rim.

Her eyes widen and she bites her lip. “Um.” She clears her throat, setting down her cup.

When towering over her and leaning against the counter, I glimpse at her tiny tank top and her breasts that are barely supported.

“Your phone has been ringing nonstop.”

Bullet called with texts.

Since we placed the tracker, the van has remained stationary. I find it surprising that they haven't searched for it yet. Or they’re fucking with us.

Bullet: Still nothing.

Bullet: Those fuckers haven’t moved.

Damn.

It couldn't be that simple.

“Hangout with me today,” I blurt out. My mouth speaking before my brain.

“Throttle I—”

Our hands meet, and I can sense the electricity between us.

“Please. Like old times. I miss you.” Miss her so fucking much.

“I miss you too.” She sighs, staring into her coffee. “But it can’t be like before. At least not right now. A lot has happened and I’m not ready to go back there with you.”

Is this the sensation of having your heart ripped apart and stomped on? I deserve every bit I do, but damn how I still crave her.

I'm acknowledging that I may possess traits of a psychopath.

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am, Tequila.”

Beg. Beg like you’ve never begged. Grovel.

“I know. But I also have to protect myself from you.”

I wince. No. This—this is what it was like to get your heart ripped out. She doesn’t trust me. I had the responsibility of being her best friend, her defender, her sanctuary, but I made a huge mistake.

She continues. “It turns out you were right. That being together was an error on both our parts. I need time to heal, I suppose.”

I'm left standing there like a complete idiot as she gets up to leave. I can’t speak but should say something. Anything, but there’s nothing. I’ll try to give her space. Even if it kills me.

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