Page 40 of Dirty Martini
Except…
Except I know I’m lying to myself. What happened tonight happened for a reason. You don’t just sucker punch someone for the fun of it, at least the Rhys I used to know wouldn’t. He had to have felt justified in doing it, driven by a need that maybe hehimself didn’t understand. Christ, I don’t understand it either, but I know I’m going to get to the bottom of it tonight.
And why does the thought of that make my already racing heart flutter with the promise of what’s to come?
I exit the elevator once it reaches the penthouse floor, cautious of my surroundings, not quite sure how this is going to play out. Looking at the dark corners, I expect to find Rhys waiting nefariously to strike. When I don’t see anything, it sets me on edge. Like prey unknowingly walking into an empty lion’s nest.
“Everest…”
My name is almost sung, and like a siren’s call, I can’t fight it. Every step I take up the stairs is torture as I await my fate. My bedroom door is ajar, nothing but Miami city lights casting colorful shadows on the floor. I raise my eyes slowly, taking my time to meet Rhys.
He sits on my bed, head hanging low, elbows propped on his thighs. His back rises and falls with deep breaths, and I don’t dare take a step closer. I linger by the doorway, waiting, but he doesn’t acknowledge my presence, even though I’m sure he knows I’m here.
“Rhys…” I start, hating that his name comes out as a trembled whisper.
Ever-so-slowly, and with calculation, he raises his head. I’m not prepared for the onslaught of emotions that hit me when I meet his gaze. Frustration, fear, trepidation, and something else I can’t place that makes me shudder.
He still doesn’t speak, and I have to believe it’s a tactic on his part to make me feel unsettled. It’s working, because a little gasp leaves me when he rises and moves toward me. Despite being just slightly taller than him, it's like he’s towering over me. Every bit the mythical god I thought him to be when I was younger. He starts to circle me like a shark, waiting for blood in the water.I spin, trying to keep my eyes locked on him, but end up being herded back until I hit the glass wall behind me. The cool pane against my back makes me feel exposed, like the whole city is here to witness my downfall.
“What are you doing?” I try to keep my voice as steady as possible but fail miserably.
He leans in silently, trailing his nose up my neck, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Did you like it when he touched you?”
I’m confused for a second until my foggy mind remembers what he’s talking about. “This is about Knox. I?—”
“Answer the question, Everest.”
I lick my lips, watching as his eyes track the movement. The truth is ready to come out. That, while I’ve liked Knox’s hands on me before, they felt wrong tonight. But I don’t dare give him that. Like the idiot I am, I decide to push him. Or, maybe not idiotic at all,challengehim. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he repeats quietly with a nod. One hand rests on my hip, digging into the sliver of skin between my jeans and shirt. “How has he touched you?”
I want to shudder again at his voice. Smooth, commanding, so full of dangerous intent. It’s enough to have my knees buckling as it washes over me. But I don’t let that rattle my confidence. I ignore the heady implications of his question and square my shoulders.
“Why do you want to know?” I counter, helpless as his other hand starts to play with my belt buckle. “Rhys?—”
“Show me,” he demands, eyes not giving way to any sort of resistance. He reaches for my hand and layers it over his. “Show me where he’s touched you.”
I don’t know what overcomes me, but I do as he says. It must be the steady pressure of his skin against mine, the softness incontrast with his harsh tone. I start at my stomach, trailing his hand across my abs, then wander up to my chest. “Here.”
“Where else?” he bites out, his words fighting against the cage, stepping even closer. “Where else have his hands been?”
With a gulp, I dare to lower our hands. Low, low, lower, until they hover right over my crotch. “Here,” I breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he brings our joined hands to cup me. “Fuck.”
“Did you like it?” he questions, eyes sharp, so full of hatred. Disgust, almost. Something close to resentful bitterness. “Did you like it when he played with your cock? What did it feel like?”
I nod almost imperceptibly, mouth dry as I croak out my answer. “It felt good.”
Because it isn’t a lie. Everything I’ve done with Knox has been consensual. He was a good time when I wanted him to be, both of us taking no-strings-attached fun from the other.
Rhys doesn’t like that answer. He growls, gripping me harder and causing my cock to jerk in his hold. He presses his forehead against mine, raspy breaths hitting my lips. “As good as this?”
“I…” I can’t lie to him. Not right now. I hate the bitter truth, but it’s what leaves my lips. “No.”
Unlike Knox, Rhys’s touch is electric, waking something inside me that’s been dormant for so long. It’s not just physical pleasure he’s giving me, but something deeper, hotter, needier. Something I’m craving. Like something I know I shouldn’t have. It’s a whirlwind that leaves me both simultaneously in control and reeling. It’s addictive.
“Has he been inside you?” he questions as his other hand wanders to my ass. His fingers slide under my pants and into my underwear. His touch there is familiar now. Pulling one cheek apart, his thumb fingers my sensitive hole. “Has he had this ass, Everest? Tell me.”
“Yes,” I admit, shivering when he presses firmly against me. I’ve tried my hardest to hold myself steady, but the brush of his knuckle against me has me collapsing into him. My hands fly up to grab his shoulders, and he takes advantage of that and establishes himself as my lifeline, holding me up against the glass wall with nothing but his body. But still, I try to fight it, fighthim. “Why do you care?”
