Page 71 of The Boss
“Train?”
“Yes, every morning.”
I fill her in quickly, explaining our new routine. I wake up earlier now, seven or eight, usually, my whole system humming with excitement. I grab something grabbable for breakfast and find him, usually already in the gym. Usually already sweaty from training with his men. Sometimes he’s even bleeding, though it never seems to phase him.
So hot.
Then it’s the same song, different verse, day after day. I advance, he obliterates me. Hits, grabs, slams, catches, grunts. His arms pinning me to the ground. My back pinned to his front. His leg locked over both my legs, keeping me powerless beneath him.
But after a while, minutes or maybe an hour, the touches change, they always change.
And my body reacts, searches, fucking begs him for more—weak, needy thing that it is—and each time he grunts the same words then pulls away.
This morning, though…this morning I really thought I’d done it, broken him.
After he threw me on the mat like a rag doll, his tree-trunk of a thigh ended up right between my legs. Instead of breaking, pulling off, he froze there, his eyes hooded and holding mine like he couldn’t look away if he wanted. But he didn’t want to.
“Quinn, Quinn, please,” I said. At that, instead of pulling his leg back like I knew for sure that he would, he moved it up. Into me. A thick, hot, heavy weight right where I needed it. And I moved. I arched my back and pushed up his thigh for friction and he still stayed frozen, watching. He leaned down, his lips so close to mine I could feel each syllable when he said “I could make you explode right now without even touching you.”
He wanted to kiss me. Maybe. Or he’s messing with my mind.
Because I wanted him to kiss me. Desperately.
“So do it,” I replied. He shifted his thigh again, harder. “You want to,” I added. Then he moved his full lips even closer, his tongue brushing against me as he said the same words, “Tell me I can trust you.”
Ugh!
“Ugh!” I repeat out loud as I explain my frustration to Ellie, “Then he releases me each time, no kiss, no real touching, and leaves before I can say anything back to his singular question. And it’s for the best because we all know he absolutely cannot trust me. Which is, apparently, a prerequisite for sex. Which is why, as I said…”
“You wish you had a vibrator,” Ellie finishes for me, still sounding like she’s in a state of shock.
“Precisely. My wrist is aching, and not from the mat.”
“Oh. Wow. Are you…have you changed your mind?” She asks gently.
I scoff, “To what, stay with him? Be married to Skulls freaking Quinn and have his massive monster babies? No. No, I have not changed my mind. I just really wish we could scratch the itch, so to speak. Doesn’t even have to be sex, I’d settle for a little fondling at this point.”
“Luna!” Ellie laughs.
“Seriously, if he went for so much as a boob graze I think I’d have an orgasm on the spot.”
“What about him? Is he…”
“Also sporting a gimp, overused wrist? I…I don’t know. I think he likes toying with me but I’m not sure if he wants me, physically. I don’t think I’m his type.”
“Pf, Luna,” she snorts, “You’re everyone’s type.”
“I’m not, I’m not curvy, I sure as hell am not sweet. If he does want me, he hides it pretty well. And then he just keeps asking that same question.”
“Huh,” Ellie says slowly.
I agree, “Yeah. It’s weird…it’s like he…”likes me.
I don’t say that part aloud because it’s insane. I’m not nice to him. Never been loving or warm. I’m a testy bitch most of the time.
A bitch who is actively trying to spy on his affairs and turn on him the second I have a good opportunity to do so.
And he’s not a middle school boy wholikessomeone.
