Page 16 of Hustle

Make him feel as stirred up and conflicted as I feel right now.

With no fucking relief in sight.

He’s always so in control of himself, so measured. I’m always on the edge of losing my self-control. I hate that nothing gets to him. I hate that he’s always so polished, so remote, so untouchable.

I want to make him come undone.

Lose some of that self-control.

I want him to fucking feel something, and I want him to feel it because of me.

Even if I can’t touch his heart, I’m confident I can get other parts of his body to stir.

I turn around and press my ass against his cock, grinding against him in small, tight circles. He gets iron hard lightning fast. Damn, he’s big. A thought that has my eyes growing darker and me licking my lower lip. His hands move to my hips, pulling me against him. They slide from my hips up to my waist, grazing against the sides of my breasts. I go low, swaying down to the floor and working my way back up.

He spins me around and holds me at a distance for a moment, his eyes fierce. It’s almost scary.

But whatever he sees in my face, it seems to piss him off.

“Evelyn,” he growls, “what are you doing?”

We’re both breathing heavily. My lips part and I can’t take my eyes off his mouth. I want him to kiss me. Not like the scared, small kisses of our adolescence, but real, passionate kisses that make you forget who you are until you come back up for air.

I wet my lips, pressing them against his throat. Bodies still gyrate around us, music screaming over the speakers, but time stops as I open my mouth and tease his throat with my tongue. He groans low in his throat in a primal way—I feel it in my mouth—and he pulls me closer. His strong hands grip my ass, and he kisses my neck where it meets my shoulders.

“God, you taste good.” He sucks on my neck for a moment, and I could melt right here. “Salty and sweet.”

“Seamus,” I moan. “This is way better than a fight.”

His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare, and something like betrayal flashes over his face. Where just a second ago, his body melted against mine, he’s rigid with anger. He pushes away from me.

“Is that what this is?” he snaps. “I’m just another way for you to blow off some fucking steam? God, Evi. You can be real fucking cold.”

“I can be cold? I can be cold?” My voice is low and fierce. “Okay, Seamus. No one ever knows what you’re feeling. You play your cards so damn close to your chest and you never let anyone in.”

“And you do, Evi? This is all an act.” He gestures up at where I’d nearly gotten into a fight with Brent, and then back at himself. “Your piece of shit dad would only come home to hit you, so you pick fights because you think it’s all you deserve. It isn’t, but it’s not a reason to fuck with me.”

There’s twisting a knife and then there’s cutting an artery with a razor’s edge. Seamus and I always know exactly how to hurt each other.

I feel my knees start to give. My feet must be tired after being in these awful heels all night.

It can’t be that my heart’s breaking. It’s already broken too many times.

“We’d better stick to business, Evelyn.”

I’m so fucking mad I want to run off. The noise of the club is mixing with the noise in my head and it’s too much. I touch my cheek. I’m crying. I don’t remember starting to cry.

Fuck. Rage slams into me. I don’t cry. I don’t ever cry, at least not in front of people. That kind of weakness, that kind of vulnerability in front of Seamus.

Seamus just regards me for a long time, sighs, and then wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.

God damn it. That’s not what I want. I want him to rage at me, lose control. But at the same time?

He still feels so good. I hate that we keep hurting each other. I hate that we can’t find a way around whatever the fuck this is. I hate that no matter how pissed we are, he always does the right thing.

It would be so much easier to let this go if he didn’t.

If he just finally proved to me once and for all that he’s shit, just like my dad. Just like all the other guys.

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