Page 43 of Done with You

Standing there, still naked, she plunked her hands on her hips and stared at the wide expanse of his bare back right before he tugged a black T-shirt over it. He was already in boxers and slid effortlessly into a pair of dark-wash jeans that made his ass look delectable.

Only when he spun around and sat down on the square black leather ottoman that matched the recliner, and also served as a coffee table to put on his socks, did he notice her standing there.

He snorted and cocked a half-smile that had her seeing red. “You want to go again?”

“No.”

One of his shoulder’s lifted.

“That can’t happen again,” she said, the words tasting foul on her tongue.

“Believe me, it won’t.”

Why did that sting?

He finished pulling on his socks, then stood up, his gaze on her breasts and he wasn’t hiding that that was where he was looking. “Can I help you?”

“You have absolutely nothing to say after …” she pointed to the couch, “what just happened?”

He wrinkled his nose and glanced to where she pointed. “What the fuck should I say?”

“I don’t know? Maybe …”

But she was at a loss for words. What was she expecting him to say? What would make the anger burning in her heart cool off? What words could be the balm to soothe the sting?

He lifted his brows. “When you think of them, be sure to let me know. Then I’ll be happy to say them.” Sarcasm dripped from each syllable.

Then, before she could scream, he slouched into his coat, slid into his shoes and was back out the front door, leaving her standing there, naked, furious, and seriously contemplating murder.

Chapter Ten

Oh yeah, he was an asshole.

A big one.

And he had absolutely no idea where the fuck he was going, he just knew he couldn’t be in that apartment for another second with Oona. Otherwise, he was going to say things he would surely regret and definitely fuck her again.

But it was the saying things part that really scared him.

She made him want to open up.

Which was probably why she was such a highly regarded therapist. She manipulated people into trusting her so they would tell her their deepest, darkest secrets.

He didn’t want to be any more vulnerable around her than he already was. Because truth be told, he was at his most vulnerable, at his absolute weakest when he was with her.

She knew all his dirty secrets. Had read his file and knew why he needed therapy and anger management. And then she wasn’t even treating him. So now another person was going to read his file and learn how he’d failed. Learn how he continued to fail. How he let his emotions get the better of him and his past haunt his present and damage his future.

But she was like a drug.

Bad for him in every way, but so fucking addictive, he craved her to the point of obsession. To the point, where, if he thought about her too hard, about their first night together in the hotel, he started to get the shakes.

Or at least that’s how it felt.

And now he’d had her again.

Not a smart move.

There’s a reason dealers give you the first hit for free. It’s to get you hooked. But what they don’t tell you is that the second hit is the one that makes you really feel alive.

---