Page 55 of Ravaged
“Apologize for what? If I remember correctly, I was right there on the couch with my tongue in your mouth.”
God, wasn’t it.
“Yeah,” I repeat. Unbidden, my gaze drops to her mouth, still damp, still swollen from my lips, tongue, and teeth. I shake my headand shove my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, fisting them. “Listen, I’m going to leave.”
“Okay.”
No trying to convince me to stay. To talk about what just happened. Justokay.
Because I’m as much of a mistake now as I was months ago.
Got it.
You’d think I would be used to being someone’s blunder, their regret. Look at my father. Or the women who fucked me for the money or the fame but wouldn’t dare bring the tattooed, rough-around-the-edges ballplayer with trailer park mud still stuck to his shoes home to their parents. Yeah, I’m no stranger to being looked at as a mistake.
But I’m fucking tired of being hers.
And goddammit, I’m wrong. I went into this eyes wide open with full consent. She didn’t friend-zone me against my will. I decided to stick around, knowing friendship was all I could have, all she’d ever accept of me. But with her taste still heavy on my tongue, and guilt over what I just did behind Daniel’s back a grimy oil slick in my chest, I’m not rational.
So yeah, I need out of here.
“I’ll call you later,” I say, intending to leave it there and walk out the door. But I can’t. Because I can’t purge from my mind what she showed me tonight, what she shared with me. “And think on what I said about Zora and Levi. About taking a chance. You deserve it, Miriam.”
She doesn’t reply, but her pretty brown eyes soften.
I turn and head for the door and let myself out.
And it doesn’t escape me that I came here with one burden but leave with another.
CHAPTER TEN
MIRIAM
“Contrary to rumor, I don’t enjoy hurting people. Much.”
—Sarafina Rose, Ravaged Lands
It’s official. Daniel Granger is some sort of mind reader or mentalist. Almost from the beginning of our relationship, he’s seemed to know all my likes and anticipated my dislikes. Tonight has been no different. It’s been the perfect date.
And I’ve been completely miserable.
I hide my guilt and hurt as he finishes helping me into my seat and rounds the restaurant table and lowers into his own. That’s been my only saving grace tonight—I’m apparently a consummate actress because he hasn’t seemed to notice. Thank God. My one fear is hurting him. He is such a nice, wonderful guy and doesn’t deserve it.
Doesn’t deserve me.
Don’t you dare think of why you’re so awful. Don’t you dare go there.
But it’s too late. All it takes is a tiny opening, and my thoughts fly through that crack with a dirty, gleeful abandon that floods me with shame—and heat. Soooo much heat.
That kiss. It’s been two days since that kiss, and my vagina hasn’t let me off the hook yet. It’s steadily punished me for not getting relief—a.k.a. an orgasm. And the one ... or two ... or four I self-administered don’t count.
Foolish. It’d been so damn foolish of me to go there again. And it’d been my fault, not Jordan’s. I’d been the instigator. He’d been nothing but sweet and supportive after I’d opened up and shared with him about Rayland Penn and Ravaged Lands. And when he’d touched me, cradled my face, I’d bit him.
Yes, it’d beenallme.
I’d snapped his control. I’d whimpered into his mouth. Ordered him to touch my breast.
I’d done all of that while insisting we were friends and while dating Daniel.
