Page 27 of Endless Love

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do!” Some of that anger I’ve been repressing bubbles up, as acrid as the smoke still in my lungs. I go to push past him and go back into the hotel room, but Ivan shifts, blocking me in as he presses both of his hands to the wall on either side of my head, his large body looming over me.

My heart thumps, my skin prickling as Ivan looks down at me, his dark blue eyes catching mine with a promise. A promise of finishing what he started just a few minutes ago, in the bathroom.

His gaze holds mine, and I feel myself freeze, like a deer caught in headlights. And then, before I can think or move, he darts in as quickly as he knocked the cigarette from my hand, his lips covering mine.

The kiss is rough, demanding,hard. His mouth presses against mine, his tongue sweeping over my lower lip, pushing into my mouth as he groans. He breaks it for the briefest moment, stopping almost as quickly as he started, a ravenous hunger in his dark eyes as he looks down at me.

“You taste like me,” he growls, and then he’s kissing me again.

Every part of my body wants to give in. He surges against me, hot and hungry, and I feel myself arch into him for a moment, wanting it. I know how good he can make me feel, the things he can do to me, and I feel particularly susceptible to it tonight. The stress, the upheaval of my life, the changes that keep hitting me hard and fast, all of it makes me feel like I’m hovering on the edge of a precipice, and the feeling of Ivan’s hot, hard body against mine makes me want to fling myself off of it, even if I know I’ll have to crawl back up afterward.

“Charlotte—” He groans my name against my lips through the kiss, and I feel it vibrate against my skin. His hips press against mine, his hard length grinding into my thigh, and I’m suddenly viscerally aware of where we are—on a walkway outside of a motel room, in full view of anyone who might walk up. We’re also an inch from the door that goes into our room, and the temptation to tell him to take me inside is strong. To spill me back onto that bed and let me sink for a little while into the fantasy that all of this is something Iwant. That it’s just an adventure I’ll wake up from eventually.

His tongue slides along my lower lip again, teasing. One of his hands is still braced against the wall next to my head, but the other drops to my hip, pushing under the fabric of my shirt to run his thumb over the strip of bare skin just above the waist of my jeans. His pace has slowed, almost savoring me now, but it still feels just as hungry. Just as desperate.

And if I give in, it will be harder to say no next time, and the time after that, and after that—all the way to Vegas, where I have to decide what my new life will look like.

How can I do that if Ivan is confusing me, distracting me, fogging me up like this?

Is that what hewants, to drag me under with pleasure and lust until I can’t make a clear decision to leave him at the end of all of this?

The thought shoves my rising arousal aside just long enough for anger to flood in and take its place. I plant my hands against his chest, shoving him back away from me. He’s bigger than me, but he’s so lost in the kiss that I catch him off guard, and he stumbles back.

“Charlotte—” His eyes are dark, his mouth reddened and slightly swollen from kissing me, a look of suchneedon his face that I feel that lust threatening to sweep in again, and I almost give in. No one has ever looked at me like that. Like if he doesn’t kiss me again, he’ll die.

He’s manipulating me. Trying to make me forget what he’s done.

I shove myself away from the wall, grabbing for the key in my pocket and opening the door. “I might have to rely on you for my safety right now,” I spit out, wedging myself into the room as I look at him standing there. “But you are never,evergoing to touch me again.”

I slam the door, leaving him standing out in the cold. And I feel hot, damp tears, sliding down my cheeks as I hear it shut behind me.

13

IVAN

Ihave the other key, so I can get back in the room. But I don’t, not for several long minutes after Charlotte bolts back inside and slams the door.

For one thing, it’s clear she needs space. I’d rather her be inside and me outside while she calms down, instead of the other way around. It’s more dangerous to be out here, if anyone is watching. Or if anyone finds us here.

For another—I need a minute alone, too. I can still feel the need for her, throbbing through me like a demand, and it’s hard to shove it down. I want her with a ferocity that feels painful.

The change in hair color didn’t make her any less beautiful to me. She still looks just as gorgeous as a blonde as she did when she was a brunette. And I don’t give a shit that it’s not some salon-fancy job. It’s not just Charlotte’s looks that make me want her. It’s everything about her.

And it’s something intangible, too. A chemistry, a connection that I’ve never felt with anyone before. Even when she’s angry with me, even when we’re fighting, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my entire life. When she slapped me in the bathroom, I swear it got me fucking hard. I had to take thatshower just to cool off, so that when I came back out, I’d be able to think straight. And then I came out to see her smoking, and the thought of tasting the smoke on her lips that I’ve tasted in my mouth before made me so turned on I couldn’t think straight.

Her yelling at me after I told her to stop didn’t help, either. And I know she doesn’t want me telling her what to do. But I’m not about to be the reason she picks up a bad habit like that. I’ve screwed up her life enough already.

I run my hands through my wet hair, feeling it snag on my fingers as I lean back against the wall, looking out to the empty parking lot. This isn’t the life for someone like her. She’s no princess, I meant it when I told her that earlier, and she’s holding up remarkably well. But Charlotte deserves better than back road motels and fast food dinners. Better than a life spent looking over her shoulder, waiting for the hot slice of a bullet to end all of it when the shit finally catches up.

I was born into this. She wasn’t. And I shouldn’t keep trying to drag her down with me.

I glance back into the room, where I see the shape of her underneath the duvet, facing away from where I’m standing. She’s turned off all the lights except the one small one on the other side of the bed, and my chest tightens as I wonder if it’s for my benefit, or hers. If it’s a small, subconscious kindness to leave a light on for me, or if it’s because everything that’s happened has made her afraid of the dark.

I want to crawl into that bed with her, wrap my arms around her, and let her fall asleep feeling safe. I want to be the one to make her feel that way.

But I’ve all but ensured I’ll never be the one to make her feel that way again.

I glance down regretfully at the stubbed-out cigarette on the concrete, and I consider going in and getting one of my own. The nicotine would feel good right now. Something stronger wouldfeel even better, but I don’t have the time for that. I have to be on my guard, to keep her safe.

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