Page 52 of Reclaiming Love

“What’s that?”

“My photos. I want them back. Every single one of them. Off your phone and off your PC.” If she had only known back then how things would turn out, she would have spoken up sooner, defended herself, not given in to his sulky moods. Not let him have it his way.

“See, that’s just it. I want one thing too.” He licked his lips.

She prepared herself. “What?”

“You.”

She exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to get this through to you, but I don’t think we’re going to work.”

He smiled then. “Who’s talking about us working?” He dipped his head towards her until he was so close to her she could feel his hot breath skimming her skin. She swallowed the urge to sprint out of the door.

“I’m talking about a goodbye present.”

She frowned. A present? “What goodbye present?”

“A last time with you. You know what I mean.” She shrank back as his intention revealed itself to her already troubled mind.

“A final fuck.” He demanded, in case she was left in doubt.

The reality of his demand flared before her and she suppressed the thought in the moment it took her to blink once, twice. “You can’t be serious.” He traced a finger lightly up and down her waist. “One last time. Think about it.”

“You’re disgusting.” Her voice lowered to a whisper.

“And then I’ll let you go.”

“I’m not yours to let go. I can walk out of here anytime I want.”

He moved away completely, held his hands up as if admitting defeat. “So go.”

She flinched at the sudden howl of laughter out in the hallway. In the fog of fear surrounding her, the thought that she wasn’t alone, that the other guys would help her, came to her. But her body felt limp. Her legs, her arms, her head were heavy and it was a struggle to move, even though she focused on the door—a mere few tantalizing steps away.

She could escape.

“I’m as hard as hell for you right now, Mel. Think about it. One last time, and I’ll give you the photos. All of them. And I’ll never hound you again or beg you to come back. You’ll never have to worry about those pictures turning up on some social media site, or being accidentally sent to your family, or hell, your employer. You wouldn’t want those images on the net, would you?”

She’d been frozen in place, unable to take a step forward the whole time she’d been staring at the door.

“You wouldn’t do that,” she whispered, turning to look at him in shock. But even as her gaze drifted from his face and fell to the floor, she knew what he was capable of. And that she could not get away.

“Wouldn’t I?”

“You bastard.”

“Come on, Mel. What do you say?” His voice, the lowest she’d ever heard it, spoke softly into her ear and her heart pounded against her ribcage as if it too was desperate for escape.

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