Page 90 of Break Me
When we reach the parking lot, which is empty because it’s the middle of the night, he double parks and then turns off the car, killing the lights.
He looks over at me, my hand still in his.
“Ava,” he whispers quietly. In the darkness of the car, and the darkness around us, it sounds so sensual.
I clench my thighs together, feeling that familiar flow of blood toward my core. We’ve had a lot of sex since the night Mom died, and I hope it never slows down.
“Yes?” I ask him, shifting in my seat to face him.
“What do you want from me?”
My heart thuds in my chest, my brows narrow. I thought it was kind of obvious. “I…what?” I ask him, letting go of his hand.
He blows out a breath, his dark eyes on mine. “What do you want from me? Do you want this?” He gestures between us. “Do you want less? More?”
I shake my head, confused. “I thought…” I trail off, suddenly feeling stupid. This is not what I expected from tonight. I sensed he’d been giving me some emotional space since Mom died but I didn’t know he was planning on bringing this to an end, which is kind of what it sounds like right now.
He probably needs to fly home. He probably is sick of being there for a weeping college girl.
My throat feels dry and I try to swallow but it’s hard to breathe.
“You thought what?” His voice is flat. I have no idea what he’s thinking right now and it scares me.
I rub my hands down my jeans. “I thought we were…I thought you were…” I take a shaky breath. “I thought you were mine,” I finally say.
Silence.
He doesn’t say a word. Seconds tick by and I’m so glad it’s dark inside this car because my face is on fire.
This was a mistake.
I’m an idiot.
I fumble in the dark, reaching for the door handle, but it’s locked when I pull it.
“Where are you going?” he asks me, not commenting on my admission. My confession.
I keep my hand on the handle and press my head against the cool glass of the window. “If you’re going to let me go, let me go.”
I hear him swallow, like he’s nervous, and for some reason, that makes me feel a little better.
But only a little.
Because no matter what he’s done, Benji is a good man. And maybe he’s just nervous about breaking a sad girl’s heart.
Fuck.
“You want this?” Benji asks me quietly.
I close my eyes and nod, wondering if he can see me in the dark.
“Even with…everything I do?” he presses, letting me know he did see me.
“Even then,” I whisper, head still pressed against the glass, eyes still closed tight.
“Bianca doesn’t mean anything to me, Princess,” he says softly. “Not anymore. Not for a long, long time.”
I feel relief spread through my veins like a welcome warmth, but I don’t say anything. Something tells me he isn’t finished just yet.
