Page 12 of Masked
Taylor stands and I let her. Can’t blame her for wanting to run, but she isn’t doing it at a galloping pace either. I can’t tell if that’s a good sign or not Then again, I should be thanking my lucky stars she didn’t smash a bottle over my head and slam the pointy bit into my chest.
Deep rooted uncertainty and doubt set in. Second guessing every word that crosses my mind in fear that it might scare her. Chase her further into the abyss and confusion. Turn this somewhat amenable reaction into one that makes her run for the hills and never look back.
Can’t have that. Not after what we’ve gotten up to.
Hell, I knew it in the restaurant, this kiss solidified it . . .
Taylor’s mine and I won’t let go of her this easily.
She turns around,considering her first step. This is my chance to bring her back, settle her mind on what happened earlier, yet I find myself staring at her body instead. Her firm ass, squeezed into the tight, nightmarish body suit.
Images of my fingers between her legs flashing across my mind, when it should instead be fighting tooth and nail for a solution to this problem. I like it to think it’s a coping mechanism, replaying the more enjoyable side of our night, rather than focusing on the torture that has befallen us.
Deep down, I know it’s a false belief. She’s hooked some depth dwelling primal side of me. Reeled it up to the surface and it’s taken full control. It wants, no, needs her in ways I didn’t know possible. Clawing under my skin to reach out and touch her. Bring her in for a kiss. Taste her tongue, skin and cunt.
Shaking my head to snap out of the daze, I grab Taylor by the wrist before she can walk off. She spins on her heels in an instant, a flat palm striking my cheek.
“Don’t touch me,” she says.Says. Not,screams.A second sign that this isn’t the end of our story yet.
I don’t get a chance to respond before a heavy slab of meat steps behind her. Red faced, with thick bullets of sweat pouring down his brow, the no nonsense barman has come to her aid.
“This guy giving you trouble?” He asks, beady eyes narrowed so tight I can barely see the white.
It’s in her hands now.
Answering yes means another fight, and another poor, old bastard laying sprawled out on the floor and covered in blood. She’d blame herself, but it wouldn’t be her fault.
I don’t handle rejection well.
Taylor glares at me for an eternally torturous second, but with a humph she forces a smile onto her face and turns to the barman with unsteady motion.
“Not at all,” she slurs the words with measured precision even the finest actors would kill to possess. Pressing her ass into the table for “stability” she continues. “We’re just having some fun. I got a little carried away.”
I smirk as she drops back into the booth. The instant her face is pointed away from the barman, the ditsy drunk façade disappears behind a scowl. Guess luck is on my side in more ways than I could’ve imagined tonight.
“Right, then I’ll only say this once, you two better settle down. You’re making the others uncomfortable.” The barman shrugs his meaty shoulders.
He lumbers back to his counter, slinging drinks and chatting up a couple sitting opposite him. Doesn’t take long for his attention to shift away from me completely.
“Before you get the wrong impression on why I sat back down, I want you to know that it’s not because I care if you get hit or not,” she speaks once we’re alone.
“Then why did you?”
The scowl softens to timid indecision. “I’m not really sure.”
You sat down because you want this as badly as I do. Your mind and body crave it. Beg for it. Can’t fight the urges to stay, to know what it would feel like to take a walk on the wild side.
“Because you want answers,” I say, instead.
As much as I want to, I can’t say any of my thoughts out loud. It’s a delicate balancing act for the time being. Playing it off as cool and calm, when deep down the fires in my veins burn hotter.
“Maybe.” She turns away from me.
“Then ask, and you shall receive.” I’m not in the habit of spilling my guts, especially when it comes to how I operate my business.
“Why were you there tonight?”
“Business. Nothing more, nothing less.” To prove my intentions, I will give her honesty. I won’t approach her, hat in hand, begging for approval, though God knows I crave it.
