Page 30 of It Hurts Me

“Why what?”

“Why have you taken me out to dinner twice?”

I cocked my head slightly. “I want to fuck you.”

She didn’t flinch at the audacity of my words.

“And I care for you.”

When my hand went to her thigh on the drive home, it slipped underneath her dress, almost to her panties underneath.

I wanted to look and see exactly what color they were, but I kept my eyes on the road.

She took a deep breath when she felt my touch, but she didn’t push my hand away. A moment later, her hand moved over mine, and then her fingertips lightly traced my hard knuckles.

I parked on my property behind the iron gate, and then we entered the home that was far too big for a single man. But I needed somewhere to put my money, and I needed something substantial to keep out the vermin. The windows were bulletproof, and the main doors were thicker than the walls of a vault. It was disguised with elegant décor, but it only distracted onlookers from the truth—that it was a fortress.

We walked to my bedroom upstairs, and along the way, I felt her anxiety increase, felt her energy change from calm and confident to erratic. It was a subtle change in her breathing, a drop in her shoulders, just her presence.

I walked inside first and grabbed the bottle of scotch from the bar.

She entered my room slowly, like it was the first time she’d been in there.

“Want a drink, sweetheart?”

“Sure.”

I poured two glasses and carried them to the sitting room. I took a seat on the couch so she could sit next to me if that was what she wanted. There were moments when I could tell she clearly wanted me, but then there would be a surge of sabotage, guilt that squeezed her around the throat and cut off her air supply.

She joined me on the couch, but she kept several feet in between us.

We’d been closer together in the Range Rover.

She liked my touch when things couldn’t go anywhere, but now that this could go somewhere, she was withdrawn and distant.

I drank from my glass then put it on the table beside me. I was just about to speak, but she beat me to it.

“You’re probably wondering what happened between my husband and me.” She looked at the coffee table for several seconds before she looked at me again.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, sweetheart.”

She watched me for a while before she dropped her gaze again. “I’ve decided to give it a try.”

I’d never felt aroused and disappointed at the same time, but it happened now. She deserved better than this asshole, but that was something she needed to figure out on her own. I wanted her, and I would settle for a piece of her if I had to.

“Is-is that okay with you?”

“My opinion doesn’t matter.”

“I meant…will you sleep with a married woman?”

I’d done it before—and not because they were in an open marriage. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

She hesitated, as if she expected me to say something more about it. To talk her out of it. To put a stop to it.

“Sweetheart?”

It took her a moment to look at me again.