I can’t blame her for not believing me. This is what I’ve done to her. I’m guilty of wanting this in the beginning for all the wrong reasons. She has every right to doubt me.
“This isn’t a game, Ivyana,” I say sternly. Her eyes lower at the use of her full name or maybe it’s my tone.
Her stance relaxes as I step in closer, circling around her like an animal does their prey. I know I have her precisely where I want her, and the thought of taking her, consuming her, has a spike of adrenaline coursing through me.
Standing behind her, I pull her hair away from her neck, leaning in close. My dick is pressed against the curve of her ass, and I have to bite my lip to fight off the urge to moan as I subtly rock against her. With my hand against her stomach, holding her to me, she leans back into my touch.
“You feel the way my body reacts to being close to you, Ivy?” I ask, rocking against her once more. She doesn’t respond, only slightly nods her head.
“Tell me you were lying in bed thinking about it, too.”
Her hand covers mine at her waist, and I’m waiting for the moment she pushes me away. For a second, I think she’s going to give in to me and let go of this wall she has up between us when she shoves away from me and races across the dining room and up the stairs to her room.
Eleven
Ivy
Slamming the bathroom door, I sag against it until I slide down to the floor. I let the coldness of the wood cool off my heated skin as I run my hands over my face and into my hair.
Why did I let him touch me?
Why the hell am I even thinking about what he’s offering?
I’m waiting for the second when I find out this is all a joke, that he’s fucking with me. I don’t trust Brix farther than I could throw him. If that’s true, though, why is he right? Why was I lying in bed that night thinking about it being me he was with?
Standing, I open the linen closet and grab an unused washcloth. Turning the tap on the faucet, I let the cold water soak the fabric and gently press the cool cloth against my face. Turning the water off, I sit on the closed toilet seat, continuing to hold the material against my skin, helping ease the tension I’m feeling.
I can’t keep running away and avoiding him. Even when he said he’d see me tonight, I knew it wasn’t his way of asking if I was coming home. He was telling me either I come back tonight or he’d come find me. He was putting a stop to me ignoring him.
Now I need to figure out how I’m going to put a stop to the mess we’ve found ourselves in.
I sit on the toilet for longer than necessary. I listen for any sounds outside the door, any inkling he’s still here or could be waiting for me.
Resigning myself to the fact I’m being a coward and need to face this head-on, I set the wet washcloth on the edge of the bathtub for when I shower in the morning and decide I’ll deal with my problems tomorrow.
I’m not going to solve them all tonight and hiding in the bathroom sure as hell isn’t going to fix it either.
Hitting the lock, I slowly peel open the door and step out into the hallway. As soon as I turn the corner toward my room, I see him standing at the end of the hall outside his bedroom door.
My fingers hit the light switch, and just like that, we’re swallowed in darkness. The lamp from his bedroom is on, casting a faint glow from behind him. He’s dressed in only shorts. His shirt is gone, and for a moment, I wish I could turn the light back on to get a better look at the tattoos covering his body.
Reminding myself of what I told myself a moment ago, I decide to not cower away anymore. Every step of the way down the hall toward my room feels like an eternity. I feel my skin burning up from the heat of his stare.
Just as I’m about to open my door, his words stop me.
“So, are you dating Frankenstein now?”
My brows furrow in confusion. “What? Who?”
“The guy at the festival? The one you were with earlier who looks like he has a stick up his ass. Are you guys together now?”
I hate to admit it, but I want to laugh at his assessment.
“No. We’ve been hanging out, but it’s nothing serious. Nothing I see lasting beyond the summer anyway.”
Peering up at him from where my hair falls in front of my face, my eyes trace his muscles from the way his arms are crossed, leaning against the doorway.
“Coulda fooled me.”