Page 44 of Ravaged
Not anymore, dammit.
“I was afraid,” comes his velvet-and-gravel voice. “I was afraid, and I panicked. The ugly, dirty truth is I was protecting myself. What I said before? True. If I had a woman and the relationship was brand new, I would want her time for myself to find out if there was something there without another man’s interference. Especially if she spends a lot of time with that other man. I’d want her to divert some of that attention to me, let me know I mattered. Insecure, needy? Maybe. But again, the truth.”
Two large inked hands bracket mine, and I stare at the differences in size, in complexion, in strength. For an instant, I’m damn near entranced by them. Fingers and palms almost twice the length and width. Light to dark. He could easily enclose my hands in his, coveringthem, squeezing them, pressing them together. Now, he does none of those. Just braces me.
The heat from his body warms mine even though he grants me the space I demanded.
Well, his version of it.
“I’m sorry, Miriam,” he apologizes again. “I ...” He pauses, and his forehead presses into the back of my head. His breath grazes the nape of my neck, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, imprisoning the whimper climbing up my throat. “I was jealous.” The admission is low, soft, and growled. With effort I smother the shudder attempting to work its way up my spine, but I can’t assure myself of my success. “I was a jealous bitch. What kind of man does that make me? What kind of friend? I didn’t want to hear about your date with him, even though I asked you to give it a chance. I didn’t want to know you were giving him that smile, your time, your heart that I’ve come to depend on. I didn’t want it taken away from me.” He stops, and his breath breaks against my skin like waves against a rocky shore. “So I distanced myself, pushed you away. But I missed you. No games, sweetheart, no lies. I missed you. And walking in here tonight and seeing you ...” He presses his forehead harder against me. “It was a fucking fist to the chest. If you don’t believe anything else I’m saying, please accept that. Imissyou.”
Jealous.
My body lights up, fire pouring through my veins as if my blood suddenly transformed to gasoline and that one word is the struck match. I should have my feminist card snatched and cut up in my face. Because his confession infuses me with a glowing, heady power. This big, sex-on-a-stick Viking wanted to hoard my time, my damnsmilesfor himself. God, yes, I know, pushing me away was shitty. And if he dares to do it again, his nuts will end up on an FBI’s most-wanted poster. Yet—
What kind of man does that make me? What kind offriend?
Right. That part. And cold reality snuffs out the liquid flames in my body.
Friend. His friend.
That’s who he’s missed. Nothing else. Nothing more.
And that’s perfect because that’s all we are. All I want. Yes, yes. All I want.
Fuck, I’m so confused.
Dipping my head, I stare at our hands again. Imagine them intertwined, grasping, grabbing, clawing ...this.This is why my brain and heart are like two toddlers battling it out over the last Tonka truck in the toy box. Lust. The unerring knowledge that he can master my body like no one else. Give me such pleasure that just the memory of it has heat rolling through me like a sunburned tumbleweed.
Relief courses over me, and I almost sag against the counter with it. Yes, this makes sense. I’m confused about my feelings for Jordan ... I just want to fuck him.
My body is craving the escape of that ecstasy like a hit.
ThatI understand.ThatI can deal with.
ThatI can put myself in dick detox for.
But anything more, anything deeper?
No. I can’t. As certain as I am that Zack Snyder’sJustice Leagueshould’ve been the only one made, I know Jordan Ransom will leave only ashes of me if I allow it. Ashes that will disappear with one gentle breeze, and nothing will remain.
It’s simple. I can’t allow it.
Good thing it’s not an issue.
Desire. Lust. A physical, chemical reaction that can be ignored. I got this.
Turning, I face Jordan. And when my breasts touch his chest, the nipples drawing into tight, beaded points behind my bra, I question my resolve and sanity. My belly spasms so hard it resonates between my legs, setting off a yawning, empty complaint in my sex.
Holy shit.
“Miriam.”
“I miss you too,” I blurt out. Then, with a shaky chuckle, I dip down and rest my forehead on his chest. “I miss you too,” I repeat, softer, calmer.
Strong yet tender fingers slide between us and pinch my chin. He tips my head back so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Am I forgiven?”
