Page 25 of Serena
“Get. Out. Now.” I’m trying to breathe through my frustration, but for fucks sake. “There are two bedrooms, now get out.”
“No, did you think I'd be okay with this? You showed up on my trip. Showed up at the restaurant, now this? How did you even know where I was?”
“Enough.” I bend down and hoist her over my shoulder. And just because I can, and I’m so frustrated, I slap her ass hard. Damn, I’m enjoying this too much. I can’t help but smile when I see my reflection in one of the hallway mirrors.
“Put me down, or I’ll make a scene,” she yells and punches my back. The hits have no effect on me; they’re pretty strong. All those kickboxing classes are paying off.
I slap her ass again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she likes getting spanked. So to test the theory, I do it again. The low moan confirms it. As much as I want to spank her until she begs for my cock, I need to wait. Because if I fuck her right now, this will all be for nothing.
“You’re already making a scene. Now hold still so I don’t drop you.” I won’t drop her, but she doesn’t need to know that. I enter the suite and place her in the middle of the living room. When I landed, I had Augustus move all of Serena's things. I knew she’d be pissed, but that didn’t stop me. She’s going to find out that when it comes to her, nothing will stop me. It’s that simple.
Looking around at what I can only assume is the penthouse suite, the first thing I notice is the view. The ocean serves as a striking backdrop to the large space. The suite itself is huge. I’m standing in the living room area that separates the two bedrooms, each with a connecting ensuite. The kitchen area connects to the sitting area, facing a mounted television on the center wall. The suite is welcoming with earthy tones on the walls, giving it a homey feeling.
I turn and catch Ian staring at me, and his look does something to me. It has since the moment I met him, but I have to force it away. Because I don’t want to let him in—I can’t. The moment I do, I’ll lose the control I’ve tried so hard to maintain. The fear of getting hurt overshadows any other emotion, and I hate myself for it. I hatehim. He has no qualms about what he wants, and that’s what scares me. I have more to lose than he does, so I’d rather be angry and push back than risk the inescapable pain of another broken heart.
“I’m going back to my room.” I cross to the door.
“Well, you were checked out, and there isn’t another room available, so just stop being so fucking stubborn and stay.”
“No,” I shout. “You don’t get to just order me around.”
“Is that your favorite word? Because you sure like to use it a lot, or is it just with me? Serena, I’m trying here. Why can’t you?”
Because I'm terrified of getting close to you, I think to myself. I turn and look at the ocean; the sun is setting, and the water is turning into dark shades of blue, almost black, and I wish I could just jump into that abyss. I don’t want to have this conversation. I’m not ready to jump into wherever that may lead.
“I’m too tired for this, Ian. This week has been a lot." My voice sounds so weak. “I’m only staying tonight because I’m tired and don’t have the energy to find another hotel.”
I walk into the nearest bedroom and close the door behind me. I look at the suitcase, grateful that I picked the room with my things in it. After my shower, I decided it would be best to get some rest, but here I am, in bed, unable to sleep. My mind is all over the place. Just thinking about the way he handled me makes my pussy ache. My hand is gliding down when a knock brings me back.
“Serena, I know you’re awake.”
How would he know?
"I ordered food, come and eat.” Him and his orders. Can’t he just ask?
“Are you asking or ordering me?”
“Serena, if you're hungry, which I know you are since I haven’t seen you eat, please join me for a late dinner.”
I guess that’s as good as I'm going to get. Just then, my stomach rumbles. I hate that he’s right. I open my bedroom door and immediately smell the food. My mouth waters. Ian Kayde loves to eat breakfast for dinner, who would have thought? Thekitchen table is full of a variety of breakfast items: pancakes, fruit, scrambled eggs, French toast, orange juice, and avocado toast. But it’s not the table full of food that has me drooling—no, it’s him. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a white shirt that does nothing to hide his muscular arms, which are covered with tattoos. Unlike his cousin, Ian’s tattoos start above his wrists and cover both arms, spreading to his chest. I can see some ink peeking out of his shirt. And I feel my ovaries explode.Calmate, Serena. There is no way I can share a space with this man. He clears his throat and pulls a chair out. Oh my god, he just caught me staring. I move to the seat but avoid looking at him. I can see the smug look on his face when he sits next to me.
“I ordered you some French toast and an avocado toast. I know they're your favorite. When you send your assistant to pick up an early lunch, you usually get this from the café down the street. And it’s on your preferred list when you have an early work meeting.” He says it so casually, like he didn’t just cause butterflies to flutter in my stomach. “Thank you, that was thoughtful.”
“Hermosa, you don’t have to ever thank me.”
There he goes again with that nickname. I grab the orange juice, remove the seal, and pour some into the cup, handing him a drink. He takes this as an opportunity to touch my hand. I can feel him studying my moves. I’m grateful for the silence that accompanies this breakfast-dinner. Looking at my empty plate, I feel embarrassed. I was hungrier than I thought. He must notice because he lightens the mood. “I think we were both hungry.” He gives me a warm smile, so different from his bossy mood earlier. “How’s your hand?”
“It’s much better, just sore, but it’s healing very well.” He stands up, offering me his hand, and I take it without hesitation. Why do I keep doing that? He leads me to the couch where a first aid kit lies. “Let me help you clean it up.” His tone is back todemanding because it’s not a question. I just nod and sit down on the couch. I’m preparing for the questions that I know are coming. Do I answer them truthfully? Do I lie?
He takes my hand in his, and immediately, my entire body feels warm. I’m not used to being taken care of like this. Yes, my friends are there for me, but this is different. He’s gentle when he uses the antiseptic, then moves on to applying antibiotic ointment, being so careful that you’d think I was made of glass, and finally, he puts the bandage on. I swear to god, this man makes cleaning a wound look like foreplay. I feel his fingers caress my palm; it's a soothing touch. He looks up and, without a beat, asks, “What happened? And don’t tell me you cut yourself cooking. I know what a knife cut looks like, and this isn’t it.”
I bite my lip hard enough to keep my thoughts in the present. “I figured your cousin would tell you.” My voice sounds meek. Grabbing my chin, he lifts my head.
“I’m going to find out one way or another.” He goes back to caressing my palm to reassure me that I'm safe. It’s working. Maybe it’s the emotional exhaustion, or maybe it’s the way he’s taking care of me. I know I’m going to regret this in the morning.
“Okay… When I walked into the branding meeting earlier this week, I saw Byran. The same man from the balcony. He, well, he and I were together in college, and it didn’t end well. After the meeting, he wanted to talk, and he wants us to move forward and let go of the past. Apparently, he visited my mother, and she gave him my phone number. My mother confirmed it. She may not know the full story, but I asked her never to give out my information, and again, she chose not to listen to me. I was holding a wine glass and didn’t realize how hard I was holding it, and well, this happened.” I realize my hand is trembling. He takes both my hands in his. “There was so much blood. I started to panic; I tried to remove the glass from my hand, but I just couldn't. Somehow, I managed to call Elias.” I see the momenthe clenches his jaw, and his face hardens; he’s upset. Ian being upset bothers me, and maybe that’s why I decide to continue. “I have a fear of sharp objects; it can be debilitating. The only reason he knows is because he found me during an episode years ago. I’ve gone to therapy and have coping mechanisms, but it recently became too much. He helped me get cleaned up.” I blink away the tears that are desperately trying to escape.
“Who else knows?”
