Denial (29 page)

22

My eyes burn. My nose leaks. This exhaust fan just isn’t cutting it. I tumble into the hallway to get some fresh air, or as close as I can get in the closed ventilation system of the apartment. I’d do anything to open a frigging window right now.

Isaac is pacing around in the living room, not watching the blaring television, the only connection allowed to the outside world, though I did see him on his phone yesterday and almost attacked him like a wolverine. He’s so antsy it makes me nervous. I’m going insane, obviously, but
he
does this all the time.
He
should be better at this.

He glances toward the bathroom and finds me standing outside, watching him. Our eyes meet and I don’t tear them away like I should, but neither does he and I don’t get a strike.

“Why did you stop?”

“Fumes. That shit is toxic, Sir, it hurts my throat.”

“Come over here.” I approach him cautiously even though I know he’d never hurt me. He lifts my chin with a trail of kisses on my throat before he grabs my wrists and brings my hands up to inspect them. “Your fingertips are red.”

“They don’t hurt. I’m fine,” I lie.

It’s unnerving to see him so jittery, unable to stand still, clearly on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t. “No, it’s not fine,” he says under his breath, bringing my hands to his lips, kissing the damaged skin until it tingles. “Fuck this, from now on, only use water when you fake clean something. You might be allergic to this shit.”

“Okay, Coach,” I peep, linking my fingers further into his when he tries to pull them away.

“Goddammit! I can’t wait until lunch. Timeout.”

The muscles in my back relax as the tension rolls away from me the way it does every time he says that. I release his hands. He scoops me into his arms, nuzzling into my neck as he carries me to the couch and flops us down. This is dangerously outside the lines.

“Isaac…”

“Shhh.” His finger presses into my lips. “Don’t say anything.”

I don’t have to listen to you. We’re on a timeout
. His fingers wrap around my wrists and pull my arms apart. I try to pull them together just so I can feel that he won’t let me, watching him watch me through the corner of his eye as he kisses the ball of my shoulder. If I don’t safeword, he won’t stop. I test his grip again to find it unrelenting and groan as he smirks at me.

I’m so glad I’m not wearing the collar, now his lips just have to avoid the thin chain around my neck. Isaac won’t get within an inch of it and that band of skin howls in envy as he kisses everything else, breathing raggedly with his face against my flesh.

My pulse quickens as he twists his hands into mine and kisses me, his tongue straining into my mouth until it’s next to mine. I slump into him as he leans into me. His arms grow heavier, pulling mine down with them until they’re alone and his are snaking around my waist and up my spine until his hand is
finally
on the nape of my neck again. We have one mouth that can’t speak and it feels like he’s never going to let me go. He breaks it and I want him back so bad I nip at his lips as they flee. It’s over.

“15 hours,” I pant. “That was a record.”

“Oops.” He still hasn’t let me go.
Kiss me again
. And he does, everywhere but my lips, until his face is in my cleavage, something that’s nice to have for a change even if this corset does make it hard to breathe.

I’m expecting him to lose it, ravage me, make me scream and pour out for him. But instead he flips me around in his lap and hands me the remote, interlocking his fingers around my waist as his chin rests on my shoulder.

Oh. I see. One of those sorts of timeouts, so much earlier than usual today. If we never did this, we’d end up sleeping together at night. I flip through the channels anxiously trying to pick something he’ll like, but he isn’t paying attention, just trailing kisses from my temple to my collarbone.

I settle on a funny movie because his laugh is the most beautiful sound in the world. We laugh at the same jokes, and I’m always pleasantly surprised when he isn’t amused in the slightest by the juvenile humor and sexist antics that would have
Luke rolling on the floor.

Luke
never wants to do this anymore. It’s something so simple, cuddling in front of the TV. He’d consider it a waste of time and a week ago, I’ve been thinking that way too. But now I’m so grateful for any moment when we break the rules and Isaac’s hands are soothing me. I miss them when they aren’t here. Every night the door to my room closes and starts a countdown until I’ll see his face again. I don’t miss Luke at all.

******
******

“So I was thinking about our cooking lessons.”

My breath catches in my throat, making me over julienne a carrot. He’s going to put an end to this, and even though I know he needs to, I can’t bear the thought. “What about them?”

“I’m designing the menu for this week. Is there anything that you’d like to learn specifically? A favorite dish perhaps?”

I exhale in relief. “Oh.”

“You were afraid I was going to revoke your friends with no benefits privileges, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t worry about it.” His lips press into the back of my head as he playfully tugs the ends of my hair. “So if there was one thing you’d like to be able to make perfectly, what would it be?”

“What’s the point of making it if I can only have a little bite?”

He’s getting dangerously close, so close I can feel the heat coming off of his body. “Sometimes a little bite is better than no taste at all.” He’s not talking about food.

“What if that just makes it worse?” We do this a lot in here.

“It doesn’t.” He breathes out loudly and shakes his head, moving over to the stove to warm up the oil. “Seriously, though, what would it be?”

I hesitate for a minute, dicing an onion, something I’m getting quite good at. “Well, most of my favorites are breakfast foods, and we’re always so rushed in the morning.”

“So? We’ll do breakfast for dinner some nights.”

“I love breakfast for dinner.”
Don’t say brinner. Please.

“Me too.”

I can’t count the number of times one of us has said that. It always makes the air crackle. “Biscuits.”

“Biscuits? That could mean a lot of things. What do you look for in a biscuit, Maya?”

“Fluffiness, first off all, closely followed by flaky layering, but it seems like you always get one or the other. The tops are supposed to look bubbly and feel kind of greasy. They should be tall and not burned on the bottom, but still cooked perfectly in the center.”

“That is very specific.”

“And if we’re going to do biscuits, I have to know how to make a halfway decent sawmill gravy to go with them.”

Isaac is quiet for a little too long, so I look over at him. He’s grinning ear to ear. “I don’t suppose you’d like a side of grits to go with them. Maybe some sweet tea afterwards?” he says without looking up.

Crap. Every time I ask him something about his life and I get that infuriating “I can’t tell you” response, I withhold the same information about myself. Where we’re from is one of the biggest mysteries, though we’ve both copped to being born outside of New England.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“Not really. I thought I’d get a clue, but had no idea it would be so obvious.”

“Will you still teach me how to make the perfect biscuit?”

“I’ll try. It’s actually something I’ve toyed around with, but I need a native tongue to taste test.” His voice is smug, in a sexy way.

“This is so not fair.”

He chuckles. “I’m sorry, Maya. I would have never thought you were Southern.”

“Well,” I retort, using my native tongue’s accent and overdoing it a little. “You are gettin’ on my last nerve.”

He drops the spatula he’s holding, flicking off the burner. “Timeout.”

“Timeout? We’re on a timeout. Are you un-timeout-ing us, Coach?”

“No. Yes. Not really. Don’t call me that.”

“But, you agreed…”

“I mean don’t say it right now.” A touch of that voice I haven’t heard for days. I instantly shudder. His hands are on my waist, spinning me around to face him. The look on his face is pure lust.

“I’m confused.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” he growls.

Before I can respond he’s kissing me fervently, gasping as his pushes his tongue into my mouth. My arms take on a will of their own and wrap around his shoulders, the spoon I was holding clattering against the tiled floor. His lips and hands are everywhere at once, trying to peel my clothes off as he grinds into my hip. Violently clearing away chopped veggies and utensils, he picks me up and sets me on the countertop.

“What are you doing?” I pant, my lips momentarily freed as his explore my throat.

“Get your clothes off. I’m fucking you. Now.”

“We can’t.”

“Don’t make me order you.”

“Isaac, d—”

A kiss stops my protest and I start to slide down the rabbit hole along with him. I want him so badly, constantly, especially when I can feel how much he wants me. His hands are freeing my breasts from my bra, kneading the flesh while his fingers pinch my nipples. I jerk when he grabs me too hard, the pain bringing me back to reality.

“Stop it.” I beg, using every ounce of willpower.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

He groans painfully, his hand fisting my hair as he pulls his face back to look into my eyes. “I need you.” His words are so hungry and desperate, his face primal and childlike at the same time. “Let me have you. Please.”

“You’ll be so angry at yourself afterwards.” It’s the only reason I’ll refuse him.

His face presses into my shoulder as he stomps his foot once into the ground, his fingers digging into my nape and the skin on the small of my back. It hurts to feel him so conflicted. My head jerks back in his grasp, his feral eyes staring down into mine as my legs spread farther when he pushes closer.

“I wish you were mine,” he snarls.

The tip of his tongue grazes the hollow beneath my throat, then I hear the sound of metal meeting bone. He pulls his head back rapidly, the delicate chain around my neck snapping as he tears it free. The platinum gleams in the light as the strands dangle down from his chin, the pendant between his teeth. Those eyes. They’re so beautifully ferocious. His gaze stays fixed with mine as he spits the symbol across the room, sending it s
kidding across the floor until it hits the wall. I should be mad, but all it did was set my stomach fluttering as I squirm to relieve the pulse between my legs.

“You just need to get off,” I try to reason with him.

“That’s not what it is.”

“You can’t be sure.”

“
Maya
.” My name is that voice. I don’t think I’ll last. “You feel this. I know you do.” His hand links with mine and he pulls it between our chests, kissing me deeply.

“You won’t feel the same way after you come.” My voice wavers, tears building in my eyes.

“Yes, I will.” He calms a bit, the way he always does when I seem even the slightest bit upset. His lips dance around my face, his fingers tracing circles in my hair. A teardrop escapes, running down my cheek. He licks it away.

“Prove it.”

Inhaling raggedly, he presses his cock into my groin. “I will.”

“Just you, not me.”

“What?”

“If you fuck me, I’ll explode on the first thrust. Then everything I’ve been through will be for nothing.”

His fingers close into a fist in my hair, pulling my head back so that I have no choice but to stare at him. “What are you saying?”

“You’ve been wanting to fuck my mouth.”

“Fuck!” he exclaims, nipping my earlobe as he grinds into me. He growls, gripping my hair tighter. “I will destroy your throat right now.”

That should be scary, but it’s just so fucking hot. I slide my fingers beneath his waistband, my other hand traveling up his chest until it’s stroking his jaw. “You won’t hurt me.”

He smiles, his grip loosening. Then he kisses me, somehow managing to be tender and fierce at the same time as our tongue collide. I’m breathing into his mouth, clinging to his shoulders as he tries to pull away. He keeps me with him for a minute before pulling me off the counter.

I drop to my knees immediately before he tells me. I want him to know that I want this too. Looking up at him through my eyelashes, I fumble with his zipper, smiling at the hardness beneath my fingers. Before I can free him, he drops down in front of me, pulling my face to his for a kiss. And another and another. I flash on our first night together and kiss him back hard.

“I’m scared I’m going to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Keep your hands on your lap.” His voice is gently commanding, but still lost and tortured. “Tap my knee if I go too far.”