Page 54 of Hold You Close
“Why don’t you come in?” I ask sarcastically as I close the door behind her.
“Fuck you and your asshole comments. I’m so tired of it. I’m not running anywhere. You want to talk, then be an adult and talk!”
“I don’t want to talk,” I say, moving toward her. “I don’t want to say a fucking word to you. You said it all this morning.”
She huffs and tosses her purse on the hall table. “What? What did I say that has you so pissed off that you treat me as though I’m just some insignificant slut in your life?”
It’s not what she says, it’s what she doesn’t say. I’ve had it with this shit. I thought if we kept it buried, it would die, but it seems I was wrong.
“I think you’ve got this all wrong, sweetheart.” I get closer to her, my fingers just grazing her wrist. “I never treated you like that. You’re the one who called it sex and left. You’re the one that said we weren’t good together.”
Her breath hitches and she steps back. “No, we’re not doing this again. You’re not going to use your charm on me this time. I’m wide awake now and we’re going to talk about everything!”
She thinks I’m charming. That’s what I heard at least. And all her mouth does is get me hard. Her anger makes me want to lay her down and shut her up in a million ways. It’s like foreplay for us, and now that I’ve had her, I want her again.
“Fine, strip then.”
“What?” she screeches.
“You want to talk, take your shirt off.”
“You’re insane!”
“Maybe, but if you want to talk, I want you vulnerable and unable to run away.”
Total bullshit. I want her naked so I can see every inch of her again.
“No!”
“If you want to talk, I want insurance you’re not going out that door at the first thing I say that you don’t like. So, take your fucking clothes off or go. You pick.”
She puts her hands in her hair. “God, you are such a fucking jerk. It’s unbelievable.”
But what’s really unbelievable is that her fingers move to the buttons of her burgundy silk blouse and start undoing them one by one, starting from the top. After about six of them, she stops. Her blouse is open now, still tucked into her black pencil skirt, and I’m fucking riveted by the sight of the nude lace bra she’s wearing. I bet I’ll be able to see her nipples right through it. My dick jumps around in my pajama pants.
She parks a hand on her hip and looks directly at my crotch. “Nice.”
“Thank you.” I adjust myself. “Now keep going. All the way off.”
Her eyes narrow, and for a moment I think she’s just going to storm out and I’ll be stuck here alone with my hard-on. But she doesn’t—she can’t resist a fight either. She pulls the blouse from her skirt and finishes the task so it hangs open. “Happy?”
“It’s a start. Now the skirt.”
She glares at me like she wants to take off one of her sky-high heels and stab me with it. “You’re despicable.”
“You’re a chicken.”
Her jaw drops. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re scared to have this conversation, so you’re keeping all your high and mighty armor on.” I make chicken noises at her like a fucking fifth grader.
She unzips her skirt and it falls to the floor. Stepping out of it, she brushes it aside with one high-heeled foot and sticks her hands on her hips again. “There. Now that you can clearly see I’m not going to run away, what is it you want to talk about?”
To be honest, I can’t remember shit about what I wanted to say right now. I can see her raspberry-colored nipples through the nude lace of her bra, and the matching panties don’t hide much either.
I take a step toward her and she backs up against the front door. Puts her hands out.
“Stop right there. Don’t come any closer.”
