jumped awkwardly as she tried to stuff the other one in. "And so what if that was what I wanted? I think I've earned to right. I think I paid my dues to have a little fling here and there. I fucked you, didn't I?"
"Is that all this was?" Two steps behind, he didn't seem as concerned as she was with clothing. His stomach rippled as he walked, his large cock swinging like a pendulum. "I'm just your little rebound fling."
"What were you expecting? You fingered and then fucked me in a bar!"
"And I'd do it again, even if you were my girlfriend, shit, even my wife. It was fucking hot and you know it. Kinky, dirty, sexy, hot."
"Yeah, well, I don't do possessive." The buttons on her skirt were proving troublesome. She decided to leave them for now and concentrate on stuffing her feet into her shoes.
"Is it somehow wrong to want you to myself?"
"Yes." She spun to face him, one boot half on, the other dangling from her fingertips. "This is what possessive gets you." She gestured toward her lip, the boot swishing in front of her. "That is what possessive gets you." The boot swung dangerously close to his face as she pointed to his bruised eye. "And I don't want any part of it. Ever again." She turned back to the door, fumbling with the door handle, boot still dangling in her hand.
"Clare."
"Piss off." No matter how hard she twisted and pulled, the door refused to budge.
"Clare."
"Seriously. I'm done." Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes, heat rising from her stomach, up her chest, and settling in her face.
The walls were closing in. Closer and closer they inched, ready to extinguish what little fire she'd regained since leaving Chris, ready to trap her spirit between plaster walls. Her chest felt tight, squeezing her heart as the walls were threatening to squeeze her. She had to get out of there. She couldn't be trapped in this house for a second longer and yanked desperately on the doorknob.
When Darus reached around her she unconsciously flinched, a sob catching in her throat. He flicked a latch at the top and the door flung open. The minute the night air hit her skin she bolted.
* * * *
"I'm sorry," Darus muttered as Clare fled down the street, hobbling on her half-shod feet. He would have happily given chase, but knew that was the last thing she wanted or needed. Instead he stood in the open doorway and watched her until she disappeared from view, wishing he could see her safely back to Armand's and knowing that was exactly what she didn't want.
"Yowza!"
"Damn!"
Two girls walking past his house looked him up and down appreciatively. That's right. He was buck-naked.
"See something you like?"
"Yes."
"You and your large friend can come party with us."
"Another time perhaps."
"If you change your mind," one said over her shoulder. "Don't bother putting on pants. You won't need them."
Giggles followed them down the street.
He should probably go inside before someone not as appreciative of his cock passed by and he got arrested.
After throwing on a pair of workout pants and grabbing a bottle, he flopped on the couch and clicked on the TV. He didn't care what was on, he just wanted the company. If that meant watching...Bridget Jones's Diary? So be it.
Why the fuck did he have to open his mouth? And why the fuck couldn't he seem to control what came out of it?
Clare didn't need his petty jealousy. Especially not now. What was he thinking? By springing the "mine" bullshit on her, he'd not only ruined the best night of his life, but he'd completely freaked her out. She'd been like a panicked animal trapped in a snare and ready to chew off her own limbs to escape.
And he'd caused it. Just him. No one else. He couldn't remember a time he hated himself more. Maybe after learning Eve was dead...
He took a swig of gin. It was horrid but he immediately took another anyway. He wasn't even a jealous person, that's what was really screwy. Not normally. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when he'd come close
"Is that all this was?" Two steps behind, he didn't seem as concerned as she was with clothing. His stomach rippled as he walked, his large cock swinging like a pendulum. "I'm just your little rebound fling."
"What were you expecting? You fingered and then fucked me in a bar!"
"And I'd do it again, even if you were my girlfriend, shit, even my wife. It was fucking hot and you know it. Kinky, dirty, sexy, hot."
"Yeah, well, I don't do possessive." The buttons on her skirt were proving troublesome. She decided to leave them for now and concentrate on stuffing her feet into her shoes.
"Is it somehow wrong to want you to myself?"
"Yes." She spun to face him, one boot half on, the other dangling from her fingertips. "This is what possessive gets you." She gestured toward her lip, the boot swishing in front of her. "That is what possessive gets you." The boot swung dangerously close to his face as she pointed to his bruised eye. "And I don't want any part of it. Ever again." She turned back to the door, fumbling with the door handle, boot still dangling in her hand.
"Clare."
"Piss off." No matter how hard she twisted and pulled, the door refused to budge.
"Clare."
"Seriously. I'm done." Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes, heat rising from her stomach, up her chest, and settling in her face.
The walls were closing in. Closer and closer they inched, ready to extinguish what little fire she'd regained since leaving Chris, ready to trap her spirit between plaster walls. Her chest felt tight, squeezing her heart as the walls were threatening to squeeze her. She had to get out of there. She couldn't be trapped in this house for a second longer and yanked desperately on the doorknob.
When Darus reached around her she unconsciously flinched, a sob catching in her throat. He flicked a latch at the top and the door flung open. The minute the night air hit her skin she bolted.
* * * *
"I'm sorry," Darus muttered as Clare fled down the street, hobbling on her half-shod feet. He would have happily given chase, but knew that was the last thing she wanted or needed. Instead he stood in the open doorway and watched her until she disappeared from view, wishing he could see her safely back to Armand's and knowing that was exactly what she didn't want.
"Yowza!"
"Damn!"
Two girls walking past his house looked him up and down appreciatively. That's right. He was buck-naked.
"See something you like?"
"Yes."
"You and your large friend can come party with us."
"Another time perhaps."
"If you change your mind," one said over her shoulder. "Don't bother putting on pants. You won't need them."
Giggles followed them down the street.
He should probably go inside before someone not as appreciative of his cock passed by and he got arrested.
After throwing on a pair of workout pants and grabbing a bottle, he flopped on the couch and clicked on the TV. He didn't care what was on, he just wanted the company. If that meant watching...Bridget Jones's Diary? So be it.
Why the fuck did he have to open his mouth? And why the fuck couldn't he seem to control what came out of it?
Clare didn't need his petty jealousy. Especially not now. What was he thinking? By springing the "mine" bullshit on her, he'd not only ruined the best night of his life, but he'd completely freaked her out. She'd been like a panicked animal trapped in a snare and ready to chew off her own limbs to escape.
And he'd caused it. Just him. No one else. He couldn't remember a time he hated himself more. Maybe after learning Eve was dead...
He took a swig of gin. It was horrid but he immediately took another anyway. He wasn't even a jealous person, that's what was really screwy. Not normally. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when he'd come close
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