Page 11

I try, but I can’t.
His touch is possessive. His kiss, revenge. Pushing his tongue in my mouth, he grunts and holds tighter, the want, the desire, the need, it’s all there in every delicious way. I moan into his mouth, loving the swirl of passion submerging me under his spell. That kiss, I feel it in my toes. My happiness begins and ends at the touch of his lips. I’ve done pills, marijuana, LSD, cocaine, ecstasy, but nothing compares to the euphoria he provides at the touch of his hand on mine.
Lost in the thrilling taste of him, I remember being excited by the attention he gave me in Paris and craving it, always vulnerable to his power over me. For the next year, I did everything I could to make him look at me, even going as far as dressing as provocative as I could. And then came the denial. I was seventeen, careless, and completely unaware. Roan, twenty-two, rugged, reckless, destroyed in some ways, smiled politely, and said to me, “You’re a kid, honey. Stay that way.”
Only I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not around him and his brothers. They pushed limits, and even though he said I needed to stay a kid, it didn’t stop him from taking everything but my virginity. I knew my way around his sculpted and revered body just the same as he knew every inch of mine and exactly what he did to me.
He breaks the kiss before I do and nods to the house.
I shake my head. I know what he wants. To take me up to his room and though I want that, I shouldn’t. I know where it will lead. Us having sex for the first time and I want that too, but not like this. Not in the wake of revenge. “I can’t tonight. I came with Devyn.”
He’s irritated and rolls his eyes. “So?”
I shake my head. “I can’t just disappear.”
“Sure you can. You’ve done it before.”
He relaxes against the chair, disappointment in his features.
“I’m sorry,” I say carefully. “I just… you told me to get out, and now you want me to go up to your room. What for?”
“So I can fuck you. Why else?”
His words light my nerves on fire. I know, you’re thinking to yourself, he’s nothing like what you described. Where’s the warm, passionate guy you talked about in Paris? I’d like to know too. He hasn’t been around in months. Not since I ruined it, or rather, we ruined it.
“Why are you being so vulgar?”
He blinks, and I can’t tell if he’s caught off guard by my denial or not. He shrugs one shoulder, his eyes heavy on mine, indifferent and unfazed by anything around him. “Why’d you really come here?”
My stare flits to his, looking to see if he’s drunk or high. If I had to guess, just drunk. He’s never been one to rely on the unpredictable high drugs do to him. Not this guy. Nope. He’s always in control. “I… told you.” I swallow, my throat feeling thick.Oh my God, don’t cry, Ophelia. Don’t let him see your weakness. He doesn’t deserve it.“To see my dad.”
He leans back in the chair, casually, yet completely alert to everything around him. He frowns. “Bullshit.” His tone’s tense, like it’s forged in steel, and if you looked at him too long, you’d turn to fabricated metal yourself.
“Roan….” There’s no talking to him when he’s like this, so I stand, unwilling to let him ruin yet another night.
I stand, and he yells after me, “Don’t you fucking walk away when I’m talking to you.”
I’m not watching where I’m going and run right into Tiller’s chest. He looks at me, then Roan. “Hey, man, easy there. No need to yell at her.”
My head snaps up. “You stay out of it.”
He raises his arms wide, provokingly—dark, intimidating eyes boring into mine. “Yeah, I’d love to, honey, but you made me a part of it to get back at him, so fuckin’ deal with it.”
I shove against his chest. “Get out of my way.”
Roan rushes toward me, following me in my retreat inside the house. Mean-spirited and salacious, he corners me in the kitchen. Everywhere I look, people are staring at us. He cares about none of that. He wants to lash out—I see it in his eyes—but he surveys the shake of my hands, my appearance, all of it. Concern softens his gaze and his voice. “When was the last time you ate something?”
He knows me so well. I swallow, searching his face. “Does it matter to you?” Truthfully, it’s been two days, but I’m not going to tell him that. I won’t tell anyone because I know what their reaction will be.
His jaw tightens. “You know goddamn well it does.” Slowly, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. “You didn’t come here to see your dad and you know it. You came here to piss me off.”
Now I’m angry. I can be civil to a point, and it’s either him or Tiller who know how to push me to the edge and send me sailing into a tailspin of pissed off. “No, I didn’t.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and I think he wants to kiss me again. He likes it when I’m angry with him. Turns him on. I can see it in the way his eyes are lit with excitement and his breathing is heavier than before. I bet if I touched him, there, he’d be rock hard and ready. I know this guy. I know exactly what he likes, his desires and how to get him off. What I don’t know, or maybe what I can’t get a handle on, is why he’s treating me like this. His hand rises to the wall behind me, his heat bleeding into mine. “Yeah, ya did.”
I sigh. “Knock it off.”
He stops, his head tilted to the side, chin up and observing me with captivating intensity. “I just don’t understand why you’re lying. Again.”