Page 29 of Jersey

I stand on my front porch, chest heaving, as he disappears into the darkness. A few moments later, I hear a vehicle crank, and see headlights coming on from down the road.

I can't tell through the dark tint of the SUV when he drives by if he bothers to look in my direction, but he must as he slows a little right in front of my house before driving off.

My heart beats, like a million times a minute, but even pressing my hand to my chest doesn't manage to slow it down.

I've never done anything so bold, especially out in the open where any neighbor could've been watching.

I'm enveloped in the darkness, so they wouldn't be able to see much, but even knowing they could've been listening and heard what we were up to makes an unexplained reaction race up my spine. I'm in no position to figure out if it's good or bad.

Closing my robe and tying the sash, I go back inside.

Kiva watches me as if she knows exactly what I've been up to as I lock the door and press my back to it. I swear I see judgment in her eyes when I look down at her.

She gives a little huff of dissatisfaction before the clicking of her nails on the floor carries her out of the room.

My legs feel wobbly, and my hands tremble. My core throbs with the echo of him, and yet there's not a single voice in my head that makes me regret what happened.

I wasn't scared or hesitant. My body wanted him at the club, and it didn't take much for that ember to reignite when I saw him standing on my porch through the window. It didn't take much thought to take what I needed from him, and he gave me exactly what I needed—the power to control the entire situation.

He didn't try to take charge when I hesitated. He was patient even in his need.

Another tremble washes over my body with the memories of pushing back on him, taking him inside of me for the first time.

"Jesus," I pant, my core clenching around nothing.

It was nothing like the times I managed to get intimate when I was in college. There were no thoughts of wanting to just get it over with. I didn't feel sick to my stomach. I didn't have to shove down a voice in my head telling me to pull myself from the situation.

If anything, I wanted more from him. I wanted to know what it felt like for his fingers to grip my hips as he slid inside of me. For the briefest moments, I felt like it was what I needed. But I was too fearful to open my mouth and ask because I didn't know if I'd regret it, and I didn't want to ruin the moment.

I wander throughthe house, feeling more than a little disoriented. This isn't my life. I don't get involved in stuff like this. I've never been a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of woman. I make lists. I plan everything down to the minute, and when things go awry, they have the tendency to throw me off to the point that I have to come back home and recenter myself so my world doesn't spiral out of control.

I should be freaking out right now, but maybe all these racing thoughts are exactly that.

But then again, I'm not rushing to the shower to wash his touch off me. My skin isn't itching at the memories of what just happened. In a way, I want to sit down and relive every second over and over, from the moment I locked eyes on him at the club tonight.

The accidental brush of his body, the way he circled me without touching, to him showing up here.

I should be freaking out. The man followed me home.

I swallow with the thought because the man who wants to hurt me could've done that very same thing.

I rush to the front door, making sure that the deadbolt is in place.

I turn the front porch light on and rush to the kitchen to turn on the floodlights that light up the backyard, risking a glance out the window to make sure there's no one lurking in the shadows.

Thoughts of the other people touching me tonight is what sends me to the shower, and it seems like I can't get my robe off fast enough to wash those touches away.

I hiss when I step into the shower before the water has a chance to get warm.

It was stupid, the idea of going to the club in the first place. At least that's what I tell myself as I scrub at my skin.

There's safety there with the rules and the attendant making sure that no one does something to me I don't want, but I have nothing in place in the form of protection once I leave.

How did I not even consider that fact?

Jersey's arrival here begins to feel like a violation, and that's not just me redirecting blame as a defense to my insecurities. He had no right to follow me home.

Did he follow me, or does he have access to the contract I signed with Mr. Hart before I started therapy with Eli?

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