Page 40 of The Toy Maker (The Pink Cherrie #1)

“Can I come inside?” Why does everyone keep asking me that? I considered slamming the door in his stupidly handsome face.

I chose the less violent approach. “Fine.” I moved out of the doorway, setting the whiskey bottle on the entry table so I didn’t keep reaching for it and end up in the hospital for alcohol poisoning.

Jason walked in cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if I was going to throw something at him. Smart.

I leaned against the counter and motioned for him to start talking.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jason elaborated, voice wary.

“Okay,” I repeated, shrugging as if I wasn’t seconds away from falling apart.

He ran his fingers through his wavy locks and sighed, “I want us to forget what happened today. We both made mistakes and?—”

I straightened. “Please get out of my apartment,” I cut him off and pointed to the door.

He blinked in surprise. Actual surprise. “What?” Did he think he could walk into my apartment and convince me to pretend he hadn’t crossed a line?

“You want to know what I want?” I didn’t wait for him to respond.

“I want a pony. That’s right, a motherfucking pony, a hundred grand in my savings account, maybe a nice chocolate molten lava cake, and definitely not to have just witnessed you dry humping Anne of Green Gables 2. 0 less than three hours ago.”

Jason exhaled slowly, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“But we don’t all get what we want, now do we?”

“Tara, it wasn’t like th?—”

My lips curled in disgust. “Then how the hell was it? Because from where I was standing, that was exactly what it was.”

He clenched his jaw. “I just?—”

“Just what, wanted to hurt me? Well, whoop-de-do. Congratulations.” I lifted my hands and mockingly clapped.

Jason inhaled sharply, his control fraying . “How about you let me get through a damn sentence before interrupting me again?” he growled.

I smirked. “Or what, you’ll punish me?”

His face fell. “No, I’m not going to do that. You have a right to be mad.”

I wanted to stay mad.

I needed to stay mad.

But then his eyes flickered with something else—guilt. Regret.

He scanned my expression before continuing, “I was out of line earlier and shouldn’t have… dry humped Wendy.”

The ceiling fan squeaked above us as we waited in silence. My inner voice whispered for me to forgive him, but it also convinced me to take the job at Pink Cherrie in the first place. And look how that turned out.

Every part of me screamed to keep my walls up, to shove him out the door and never let him in again.

I exhaled slowly. “Okay,” I finally said.

His brows furrowed. “Okay?”

I nodded, but I refused to look at him. If I did, I’d fold. “I accept your apology.” My voice was detached. “As far as I’m concerned, your conscious is clear.”

His expression was torn. “Tara?—”

“I think it’s time you leave,” I blurted out before I lost the nerve.

Jason hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.

He turned toward the door, and I watched him walk away, watched another person leave my life without so much as a second thought.

But then… he stopped.

“I forgot something.”

“Wh—”

Jason turned suddenly, and before I could react, his lips crashed into mine.

The kiss knocked the air from my lungs, stealing whatever anger, whatever resolve I had left.

I barely had time to process before his tongue brushed against my lips, coaxing me open, his hands fisting my shirt like he was afraid I’d disappear.

His touch ignited something inside me—something raw, desperate, undeniable.

“You don’t get to kiss me and make everything better,” I whispered as he leaned in a little closer, causing our foreheads to touch.

He tenderly ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “I know.”

I hated that he could break me so easily, that I would always crave him, even when I knew he would never fully be mine. I ran my fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us and I could feel the beating of his heart against my chest.

His kisses were my torment. I would die with the memory of them on my lips, taunting me, owning me .

He yanked me to him and covered my mouth with his once more. His embrace was the only thing preventing me from dissolving onto the floor.

Because as much as I wanted to hate him, I still wasn’t ready to let him go.

I was in awe of how my body reciprocated his passion and need for each other’s touch. I opened my mouth against him with a low moan; the sound of his shallow breathing filled my ears.

He leaned down and softly kissed the tender area at the base of my neck. My body went rigid as trembles of desire rushed through me. Warmth radiated from the spot where his lips caressed my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. He slanted his head further, deepening the kiss.

His fingers weaved themselves into my hair and guided my movements. The gentle motion of his hips pressed against mine had me drenched within minutes. His grip tightened around me, and I was consumed in my lust for him.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against my lips.

The words rolled off my lips like a purr, “Yes, sir.”

Jason pressed me against the wall so fast that my breath hitched. His body molded against mine, but when his lips found mine again, any lingering protest died on my tongue.

He moved like he owned me, like he had every right to touch me this way, to make me ache for him.

Jason’s hands roamed down my sides, skimming over the curve of my hips before gripping my ass, pulling me flush against him. A soft, breathy moan escaped me, and his grip tightened, as if he needed to hear it, to feel my surrender.

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and then his hands were under my thighs, lifting me.

I gasped as he pinned me harder against the wall, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

Jason smirked, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath cascading down my chest. “You’re so good when you want to be.”

I clenched my thighs around him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against my core. “I can be bad too,” I taunted, running my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

His green eyes darkened. “Trust me,” he murmured, his lips brushing my jaw, trailing down to my throat. “I know.”

I tilted my head, giving him better access as he kissed and nipped along my neck. My nails dug into his shoulders as his hips rolled into mine, slow, torturous. I needed him.

Jason pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto mine. “Tell me you want this.”

I bit my lip, my chest heaving. This was dangerous. But then his hands slid under my shirt, his fingers dancing over my bare skin, making my thoughts scatter.

I didn’t care about the consequences.

I didn’t care about the inevitable fallout. All I cared about was him.

“I want this,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Without thinking, I pushed myself further into his hands, my body betraying me. A shaky breath escaped my lips as his fingers teased along the most sensitive part of me, slow and deliberately.

“Please,” I gasped, hating how desperate I sounded.

Jason’s eyes bore into mine, waiting.

I clenched my teeth and swallowed my pride. “I need more.”

The moment the words left my lips, his touch disappeared.

Frustration flared inside me, and without thinking, I lunged, grabbing at him, pulling him back to me. Jason groaned against my mouth, his body pressing hard against mine.

I smirked, reaching between us, my hand brushing against his zipper.

“Such a good boy,” I said, teasing him through his jeans.

His grip on me tightened.

Before I could do anything else, he caught my wrists in one swift motion and spun me around. I gasped as I landed against the back of the couch, my chest pressed into the cushions, my arms pinned behind me.

Heat pooled in my stomach.

“Jason––”

The sound of his belt sliding free from his jeans sent a shiver through me. His movements were slow, deliberate, letting me feel the leather as it brushed against my wrists.

I wiggled against him in a final act of defiance before his hand came down on my ass.

I bit my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

Jason’s fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to force my head back. “Are you a horny little brat?” he drawled. I kept quiet until he yanked my hair again and demanded that I answer him.

I clenched my jaw, breathing hard, still unwilling to give in.

His hold tightened, and his voice dropped lower. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” I gritted.

“Yes, what? ”

I squeezed my eyes shut, hating the thrill that ran through me the harsher he was.

“I’m a horny little brat,” I admitted, breathless and with a hint of sarcasm.

Jason chuckled, clearly pleased, and let go of my hair.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled me upright, spinning me to face him.

I stared at him in confusion, still feeling the heat from where his hands had been. My body ached for more, but he only studied me, his smirk creeping back.

“Do you want to come?” he asked.

My heart pounded. He was letting me choose.

I hesitated, suddenly aware that whatever I said next would dictate how my night went. I could easily go back to sitting on the floor, commiserating with the dust bunnies I forgot to vacuum under the couch. Or , I could suspend my anger and have an orgasm.

My body answered before my mind could catch up, and I nodded.