Page 93 of Burn With Me

I leave the message on read—literally; I go into my settings and switch the read receipts on so that she knows I viewed it—choosing not to reply until after my morning workout two hours later. It’s not meant to be a punishment or to make her wonder what exactly it is I’m doing this dreary Saturday morning. No, it’s only because I’m not entirely sure how to respond, but I want her to know I saw it.

Ginny disregarded my text about respecting her decision. Though she mentioned it to her stranger, she never responded to me.

It makes me weary.

Should I push my luck and try and see if she’ll talk to me? Is this a cry for me to take the reins and force myself into her space? Or am I reading too much into it, and she really just wants me to know she doesn’t want to stay in the apartment anymore?

I’ve never been this tripped up over a woman before. I hate it—the second-guessing and the need to tiptoe around responses and decisions.

The fact that she lets her stranger get her off, but I get hung out to dry over a stupid mistake where literally nothing happened.

It’s a double standard I find myself begrudgingly, but willingly, allowing.

But only because Iamthe stranger who gets to sink his fingers into her and feel her warm walls clench as I bring her to orgasm. The memory of last night charges to the forefront of my mind, and my cock swells as I remember all the little sounds she made as she came.

Palming it, I adjust myself before replying to her message. To hell with it. I’ll take my chances that she wants to make up. I’d rather sink my cock into her than reacquaint it with my hand.

You don’t have to move out.

Her reply is almost immediate.

Honestly, I don’t want to. But it’s weird…being here…without you.

A smile finds its way to my lips. She misses me. And yes, she may not have said anything without prodding from her stranger. But none of that matters.

This is her telling me she wants to try.

Would you like me to come over?

The three little dots appear and vanish multiple times before she sends a simpleyesas a response, and I’m out the door and on my way within the next three minutes.

I’m respectful of her personal space when she lets me into her apartment. My hands stay tucked in the pockets of my jacket, and I give her a wide berth as I make my way across the living room to take a seat at the end of the blue leather futon she and Lenni found at a flea market.

I begged her to let me buy whatever furniture she wanted, but she said she likes the charm and appeal of eclectic things, as the apartment now clearly shows. There’s a cowhide rug beneath my feet and bright orange abstract paintings hanging on the wall on a set of three canvases.

It’s very Ginny.

“How are you?” I ask as she leans against the kitchen island. She’s wearing a pair of black leggings and an oversized white shirt that’s falling off one shoulder. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s fresh-faced, not a stitch of makeup anywhere.

Beautiful.

“I’m okay, I guess. Would you like anything to drink?”

Unless it’s coming from between your thighs, I’m not interested.

“No, I’m alright. Thank you.”

She nods slightly before pulling the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. When she releases it, it's slightly wet and plump and pinker than normal, and I want to suck it into my mouth.

“You don’t have to be uncomfortable around me, Ginny. I’m not going to hurt you.” Leaning forward, I balance my elbows on my knees as I look at her.

She breaks our gaze to stare at the floor. “You did, though.”

Her words feel like someone sucker punched me in the gut. But I’m proud of her for telling me. “I’m so sorry for last weekend. I should have never?—”

“I asked for it. It wasn’t entirely your fault,” she cuts me off with a shrug.

Pushing up from the couch, I cross the room, deciding now is the time to invade her space. I reach out to grip her chin, gently lifting her head so that she’s looking up at me. “It wasallmy fault. I should have never been that rough with you.”

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