“Like you, I’d do anything for my family.” He comes in an inch closer, caressing under my chin and tilting it up with his index finger. “But if you’d ever give me a shot, I wouldn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. I’d take you home to my mama.”
I’m a little too high and a lot too horny for this conversation, for the stone-hard thigh pressing against me, for the heat coming off his body and smothering my resistance. I try to sit up, hoping it will clear my head so I can make my escape, but his hand presses gently into my chest, just above the swell of my breasts, compelling me back into the cushion. His lips hover over mine, and I will him to kiss me because I’ll make the first move if he doesn’t. After years of not moving, I have no idea how I’ll explain that once the smoke clears.
Sometimes at night after the chaos dies, I think about our first kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel. Just like then, his lips start soft, brushing mine like wings in sweet sweeps, coaxing me open and delving into me. Sampling me, he groans into my mouth and chases my tongue. The rough palm of his hand cups my face, angling me so he can dive deeper. He doesn’t come up for air, but keeps kissing me so deeply I can’t breathe. He tastes so good, I’ll choose him over air as long as I can. Why is it never like this with anyone else? I want it to be so bad, but it never is.
He releases my lips to scatter kisses down my neck. My back arches, and my nipples go tight. He knows that’s my spot. After all this time, he still knows. My neck is so incredibly sensitive, a gateway to the rest of my body.
“You taste exactly the same.” His words come on a labored breath in my ear. “Do you know how long it’s been since I kissed you?”
Eight years.
“Eight years.” He shakes his head, eyes riveting mine in light lent by candles and the moon. “And you taste exactly the same.”
His words shiver through me, searching out my nerve endings and invading my bones. If I don’t get out of here, we’ll be fucking on the rooftop before I can draw another breath.
“I should go.” I slide from under him, scooting down the couch as far as I can without falling off. “This is why I don’t smoke weed.”
I force a laugh, hoping he’ll let me get away with it. I scoop my hair behind my ears and drop my chin to my chest. When I glance over at him, displeasure clumps his brows and tightens his mouth.
“It’s not the weed, Bristol.” His glance slices through the haze hanging in the air. “It’s us. Don’t pretend it isn’t us.”
“There is no us.” My feet explore the floor, searching in the dark for my shoes. “You know that.”
He puts a staying hand on my knee until I look at him.
“What I know is that neither of us has been in a serious relationship in years.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” I stand and slide my feet into the Jimmy Choos. “You haven’t exactly been waiting around, have you?”
“Damn right I haven’t been waiting around.” He doesn’t get up, but his firm hold on my wrist stops me from walking away. “I’m not Rhyson.”
I look down at him, frowning my confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Remember when Kai put Rhyson in the friend zone?”
Of course I do. For a long time, my sister-in-law Kai denied the attraction between her and Rhyson.
“Yeah, so?”
“When Kai wasn’t checking for Rhys, I assumed he had to be sleeping with other girls.” Grip shrugs. “I mean, he and Kai were just friends. But, nope. He said he only wanted Kai and didn’t sleep with anyone else.”
“Then you’re right.” I tug at my wrist, but he holds on tight. “You’re definitely not Rhyson.”
“It was months, Bristol. She shut him out for months. Not years.”
“I’m not shutting you out.” I release a tired breath. “I’m living my life, and you’re living yours.”
“Right.” He nods and turns his mouth down at the corners. “So, if you won’t be with me, then I’ll fuck whoever the hell I want. If you have a problem with that, you know what to do about it.”
For a moment, our eyes tangle in the dimness. His words sink into my flesh like briars. Every word out of his mouth only proves that I’m right to get out of here. That I’m right not to give in. If I ever gave him a chance and he fucked around on me . . . I’ve seen what that looks like. It looks like a woman as strong as my mother reduced to pathetic, teary drunkenness.
“It’s none of my business.” I shift my eyes away from him and to the glittering city skyline just beyond the rooftop.
“It’s none of your business until you say it is.”
I force myself to look back.
“Don’t hold your breath, Grip.” I say my next words with deliberation. “I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting around saving it, either.”
He pulls me forward, and I press my hand to the hardness of his chest so I don’t fall into him. My knee supports me, pressed against his on the couch.
“Are you poking me?” One strong hand wraps around the back of my thigh, anger marking his expression. “Do you want to know if it bothers me when you fuck other guys?”
I just stare at him unblinkingly. He presses my leg, urging me forward until I’m fully on the couch, fully on him, one knee on either side of his legs, facing him. Straddling him.
“It makes me want to set the world on fire.” His words come softly, but the truth roars in his eyes. “To think of you with them.”
There haven’t been nearly as many men as he probably assumes, but I don’t reveal that. I can’t offer him any relief.
“You wanna know what consoles me, though?” He looks up at me, calculation in his eyes. Before I can tell him I don’t want to know, he goes on. “For one, I know when we’re together, it’ll only take once for me to fuck their memory out of you.”
I shoot him an uncertain look. He sounds fierce enough to follow through on that threat right now. I manage to snatch my wrist from his grasp. I back off his lap, walking swiftly toward the steps that will take me back into his loft. I’m only a few steps down when he calls from the top.
“It also helps that I know how much it bothers you, too.”
I freeze on the fourth step, my palm pressed to the wall.
“I don’t know what you mean.” The words echo in the narrow stairwell, sounding much more confident than I feel inside.
“The other women.” He mock-sighs behind me like he’s getting impatient. “Like I don’t see it, Bris.”
I know I should keep going, but I’m stuck on the stairs, afraid of what he has perceived. He slips past me and down onto the step below, his height still putting him eye level with me.
“You think I’m that oblivious?” He walks his fingers up my arm. “You always conveniently have somewhere to be when I’m with someone else.”
“I’m busy.” I study my shoes on the step, not looking up. “I have more to do with my life than hang around waiting for you to screw some groupie.”
“And you watch me.” He dips his head until he traps my eyes. “You watch me all the time. You can’t keep your eyes off me any more than I can keep my eyes off you.”
“You’re delusional.” I offer a hollow laugh. “Thanks for dinner.”
I shove past him, squeezing between the stairwell wall and the taut muscles of his body.
“You don’t want to know the third thing that consoles me?” he asks at my back.
“No,” I fling over my shoulder. Only a few steps to go and I’ll be in his loft and then out the door.
“They don’t satisfy you.” He plays the comment like a trump card. “Sexually, I mean.”
My hand is on the knob to his loft, but I look up at him, anger overtaking the fear and confusion of the last few moments.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I snap. “To presume you know anything about my sex life.”
“Oh, but I do.” He takes the few steps separating us until he’s right in front of me, his hard body pressing me against the door. “Remember last year when you bought your cottage and invited us all over for dinner?”