Page 34 of Only for Him
“So be it,” he says. “Have it your way.”
There’s a faint click, and the world is instantly black as he kills the lights. In the darkness, the distant noise from the bar mixes with the rush of blood in my ears.
I slide off the toilet as quietly as I can onto my feet and brace myself, hands searching for anything to use as a weapon. The only thing I find is my own breath, hot and shallow.
The stall door swings open, so fast it cracks against the walls. Two hands reach in and close around my wrists. Before I can react they jerk me forward and flip me around until I’m pressed againsthim.
My back slams into his chest, hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. Against the broad expanse of his hard muscular chest,I feel smaller than I’ve ever felt in my life. A viselike grip holds one of my arms in place while his arm presses the other to my side. His bicep flexes beneath my chest and my breasts tingle from the proximity between us. The stall lock slides into place and before I realize what’s happening, a hand clamps over my mouth.
He’s taller than I remember from the subway. Six foot two at the minimum, broad-shouldered, and impossibly strong. He smells like a mixture of spices, sweet and cloying, and something that seems to reach the depth of my soul.
I’ve known his eyes, then his voice, and now I know his scent. It overwhelms me like a hit of cocaine, and I can’t help but close my eyes to taste its beautiful mixture on my tongue in a vain attempt to distinguish just what it’s made of.
An involuntary shudder rushes through me and he tightens his grip in response. The hand covering half my jaw is rough with callouses, and his thumb draws lazy circles against my cheek.
He breathes. A deep slow breath as if he’s memorizing my scent so that he can find me in the dark. The same way that I’m doing my best to memorizehis.
It should be terrifying, and it is, but a pulse of heat starts in my chest and slithers down to my belly, unwelcome yet undeniable. Closing my eyes, I realize that my body is reacting to his violence the way it might to a caress.
No. That’s not true.
A caress never didthisto me.
He waits until I stop shaking, and then presses his mouth to my ear. His breath is hot and wet, speaking a language that my body responds to in kind.
I think of the bodies, the roses, even the goddamn tampons. Anything to stop me from thinking about how, in different circumstances, I would be happy to be held like this, melting into a wall of muscle and heat as his strong hands slowly peel away my defenses, my clothing, and the lie that I don’twant this.
“If I take my hand away, will you be a good girl and not scream?” His voice sizzles against my ear, and my knees buckle at how intense his rumbling voice feels against my back.
I know what I should do, what I’d tell any other woman to do:agree to whatever he says until you have the chance to call for help, then kick him in the balls, and jab your fingers in his eyes.
For all he knows, I’m lying when I nod.
But I’m not.
Not to him.
Never to him.
He has me right where he wants me.
He laughs and my body rumbles with his chest. “Good girl.”
The phrase ignites in my stomach. Shame fills me even as my body saysyes, I’m your good girl.
He slides his hand away from my mouth, leaving a cold memory where it once was. I gasp, but don’t yell.
“What are you doing with the little man at the bar?”
His voice is conversational, but there’s a blade in every syllable. A flash of anger hits me.Finally, I think.The thing I should have been feeling all along.
I won’t lie about not screaming, but Iwilllie about this. I’m not going to let this monster act like he owns me. He has no right to my life or my body or what I do with either.
Because he fucking doesn’t.
He’s nothingbut a delusional pervert. I didn’t get this far in life just to forget whoIam.
“I’m flirting with him,” I say, and I feel his hand tightening around my wrist in response. “Because I like him. I think he’s hot. In fact, I’m thinking about bringing him home and draining his balls whilehecalls me good girl.”
