Page 159 of Rush of Jealousy

I suppose this is progress. “I’m glad you guys are starting to see eye to eye. She is my only best friend.” I swallow hard. I used to have Zander too. But he is so emotionally driven at seeing me asmorethat he is willing to lose me from his life entirely.

“His loss,” Graham mutters, reading my thoughts.

I watch as he sits on the ottoman opposite of me, resting his upper body on his elbows. My eyes lock onto his, making me almost embarrassed of the hold that his have on mine. Why does this man still have the capacity to make me blush—despite all the sexual encounters we have had?

I can’t turn away from his gaze. I would only be fooling myself if I thought that giving up now is something that I want. I swallow my pride—tasting grudgingly more bitter than any chemically processed pill ever could. Despite the nightmares, which I’m starting to realize are in direct correlation to my feelings of happiness, I can at least try to see where this goes. When the pills run out—and they will soon—I can try to keep supplementing my supply.

All of the hot and cold liquids filtering through my stomach give me the sudden urge. “I need to use the bathroom,” I mumble, rising with the blanket wrapped around my body. I stumble to the master bath and relieve myself, wash my face, and throw on a lounge outfit folded perfectly in the closet. I stare at the designer label and grimace that even casual wear has to be exorbitantly expensive in Graham’s standards. The purple pants and long-sleeved velour ensemble fit like a painted-on glove—as well as all the articles that go underneath.

When I shuffle into the bedroom, I find Graham lying under the covers with an arm outstretched to me. He has the drapes closed, and the only light is cast from the lamp on the nightstand. “We both need more rest,” he says through a yawn.

I nod and crawl into bed with him. Graham’s hands pull me into his side, and I rest my cheek against his bare shoulder. My legs bump into his, and I find that he is still wearing pajama bottoms.

“You are going to have sex with me sometime this weekend, right?” I blurt out, my mind completely elsewhere.

His light chuckles vibrate the mattress as he clicks off the light, brushing the hair out of my face in the dark.

“Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. Maybe being afraid to break me after last night’s events? Maybe you are more into edge play than you originally let on? Regardless, I’m glad you appear receptive.”

I can feel his smile even in the darkness. His fingers slide up over the bottom hem of my shirt, pulling up the fabric to feel bare skin on the ascent. Every place the pads of his fingers touch, my skin chills and then warms instantly.

“Rest first and then get ravished later.”

“Deal.”

I relax my muscles and try my best not to fear drifting off—knowing that my brain can conjure up images and memories to scare me without warning.

Graham’s soft hums and steady breaths must have lulled me into a sleep, because it’s the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand that wakes me. I stir. The warmth of his bare chest produces a great contrast to the cool air surrounding the cocoon I am nestled in. I reach for my phone to check the time. It is now noon.

Graham hugs me tighter to him as he yawns and stretches his lower half. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers in my ear.

“It’s noon.”

“Point?”

“The point is, if we keep sleeping, then we’ll be off schedule for wanting to go to bed tonight.”

He rolls me over and kisses me. “I’ll make sure you get worn out and exhausted again.”

I exaggerate my exhale. “Finally.”

* * *

Graham and I spend every moment of the weekend together—mostly in bed and mostly naked. So, going our separate ways on Monday is difficult on my heart.

“I miss you already and you haven’t even left,” I say softly, watching him lay out his designer suit on the bed. He needs to be at the office early today, while my class doesn’t start until late morning.

He crawls back onto the bed and cages me in with his long arms. “I miss you too, baby. What are your plans after your work shift?”

“Probably work on my research paper.”

“What is it on?”

I swallow. I want to tell him, but I know it will cause conflict. Everything Graham deems as dangerous causes an argument—one I do not need this morning. “Corporate corruption.” It’s the first thing that comes to my mind.

“How are you getting your data?”

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