Chapter 16

sixteen

Wrenlee

Now that I’m no longer working at the club, I have so much free time on my hands. Yes, I’ve picked up a few bills for the clinic, but I’m studying more and feeling more refreshed. I suppose that happens to a girl when she gets adequate sleep. I almost forgot what it feels like to wake feeling rested. My focus is sharper, and I’m happier.

I finally feel like I have energy to burn. I finally feel like I can explore this city I was so excited to move to but didn’t have a chance to really see.

I’ve officially been living with Cash for two weeks, and it’s been great. Actually, I hate to admit it, but it’s been better than great.

Dare I say Cash has become my friend?

I know we’re kissing and touching, but that’s all for show. And when it isn’t openly for show, it’s practice for the show—so, essentially, still for show.

Pulling my mass of thick hair into a high, straight ponytail, I stand back to appraise myself in the mirror. I frown.

I guess I’m pretty—ish. It’s not the kind of beautiful that makes people stop and stare, rather, the kind of pretty that hits you by surprise. You know, you spend some time around a person, and you think, wow—I’m attracted. I’ve always known the kind of pretty I am, and never once have I been bothered by it. Never have I felt so inferior.

But Cash is stunning. He’s darkly captivating and cut to perfection. His eyes might not be an electric blue or vibrant green or even the color of whiskey, but they’re beautiful all the same. They are a deep, dark, endless brown that house secrets I want to strip bare. Secrets I don’t have a right to.

Still, next to Cash, I don’t feel up to par.

I haven’t bothered with makeup since I quit at the club. Today, however, I swipe a little mascara on my lashes before adding some blush to my cheeks.

I still feel less, but since I have nothing more, it’ll have to do.

Staring at Cash’s sweater longingly, I decide my thin leather jacket will have to do for just one more morning. It’s one thing to snuggle up in his sweater when he can’t see me. It’s another thing to wear it out and about, even if it is warmer.

The fact my jacket is worn so thin is probably one of the only reasons it hadn’t went missing while living with Cara. I’d had more clothes when I initially moved in with her, but little by little, anything with any real value vanished. Never once did she admit to being the thief, even though both me and Marley knew. Now, I had two pairs of jeans and three pairs of leggings. Three t-shirts, four long-sleeve sweaters, two bras and a handful of panties and socks, and my jacket.

It’s amazing my laptop didn’t grow legs. The fact I took it with me everywhere I went and slept with it next to my head might explain that single good grace.

It’s early Saturday morning, but I want to beat the rush and get myself to the mall. I’ve noticed the dropping temperature every morning, and now that I’m not dropping loads on rent and bills, I have a little money to spare to buy myself a winter jacket and maybe a couple outfits. I won’t go crazy, because I’m definitely putting some green stuff into my rainy-day fund. Heck, it won’t be a rainy day when Cash finally realizes his plan is bananas and kicks me to the curb. It’ll be a cold, dark, blizzardy day. I want to be prepared.

In the kitchen, I hit start on the coffee machine and pull my phone out to search bus routes and times. I’m not expecting Cash to be up so early, because he played a show last night, so when his bedroom door clicks open and he appears wearing nothing but black pyjama pants low on sculpted hips, dark hair messy, and expression rather scowl-ish—I quickly turn my attention back to my phone.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Making coffee,” I say chirpily.

“It’s seven in the morning.”

“Sure is.” I make the mistake of flashing a glance over my shoulder to see—a whole lotta abs. My cheeks burn. “Want a cup?”

He grunts something unintelligible as he prowls around the island to stand close. “Why are you awake?”

“No reason.”

I can feel his eyes burning into my back. “And you’re dressed. Why are you dressed?”

I don’t want to tell him my plans. I don’t want him coming with me as I scope out discount items on sale racks. I doubt Cash has ever had to shop in such a way, and although I’m not ashamed of it, I’d like to do it in peace.

“I just am.”

Cash moves in closer, so close I can feel the heat of his body at my back. My hands begin to tremble as I pour coffee into two mugs, figuring that unintelligible grunt he gave me means he does, in fact, want coffee.

As soon as I put the coffee pot back, I feel a big hand wrap around my ponytail. Cash tugs not quite roughly, but not entirely gentle, either. Suddenly, my back is pressed into his hot, bare chest and my head is angled back into the curve of his shoulder, tipped up for his inspection. His eyes sweep my face, something dangerous flooding his expression. “You wearing makeup?”

Little currents of electricity zap through me. No one has ever held me like this.

I’m breathless. “Just a little.”

His eyes are alert now as they search my face. They narrow. “What are you up to, Kitten?”

Those currents sizzle, erupting. Every part of my body ignites. I’m hot all over.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding me. Maybe it’s the way he’s manhandled my body simply by wrapping a big fist around my hair. Maybe it’s the way his eyes peer into me. I don’t know what it is. All I know is I’m helpless to hold back from him. God, if he kissed me now, there’s no doubt in my mind, I’d melt. Combust. Burn from the inside out.

I admit breathlessly, “I was going to go to the mall.”

He raises one single brow. “The mall?”

I nod. He doesn’t release my ponytail and I feel the tiny nip of pulled hair at the movement. “It’s getting cold out. I need a jacket.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I’ll come.”

“No,” I reject his offer fast. Too fast. His brows slam inward, and he growls a sound that has me quickly explaining, “I like to shop alone.”

He stares at me for a long moment, and then he does what I least expect. He drops his mouth to mine. In every position Cash comes at me with, his body always, always dwarfs mine. This position is no different.

It is, however, far more erotic than all the others. Cash’s hand loosens from my ponytail, moving around my neck. His fingertips press into the underside of my chin, angling for deeper access as his free hand comes around to dip beneath the fabric of my shirt, palming my belly. Warmth zaps through me, his touch like a thousand stings taking my breath away—and yet deliriously good.

I shouldn’t love it the way I do.

“Let me in, Kitten,” Cash encourages against my lips, and my mind pushes back with confusion. In? In where?

His arms are steel bands around my body, caging me to him. Alarm bells sound in the distant recesses of my brain, because I never want to leave this prison. Never really want to know freedom again. It hurts more being free than living in the illusion of being his. At his dark and twisted mercy. Because even though I know this isn’t real, it feels real. Every time he touches me, kisses me, demands something from me, I feel more and more like I’m signing away bits and pieces of my soul. Fragments I’ll never get back even though he promises to return them all, they’ll never quite fit together again. The seams forever jaded by dangerous kisses barbed by promises never made.

This man is going to wreck me.

The hand at my belly turns firm, pressing my body harder against his. I become aware, then, of the hardening of his arousal. He’s so much bigger than me, when he grinds, it’s into my low back. Still, it’s intense. Everything this man does to me is intense, and this is no different.

When I gasp, my lips parting, he takes advantage. His lips part over mine, his tongue moving between mine. Shivers erupt over the entirety of my body. Goosebumps like tiny needles of arousal shooting through my skin to the deep of me. It won’t take long before those pricks touch my heart—and deeper yet—imbedding into my very soul.

It’s too much. He’s too much.

I want more.

“That’s it,” he practically purrs into my mouth, tongue stroking mine. I arch my ass into him, my body seeking something more. Something I sense only he can give me.

Oh God, it almost hurts. This desire. This hot, heady ache he’s building in me. The fire he stokes with every stroke of his expert tongue against mine.

When I think I might die, torn apart, split at the seams of me—he pulls back to murmur against my jaw. “Fuck, you taste good.”

Why do those words make me feel like I’m going to ignite, ripping through the dark night like a show of fireworks?

“Cash,” I moan when he pushes me forward, and my hips connect with the countertop, granite biting sharply into flesh. I’m not sure if I’m protesting this or pleading for more.

He makes my head spin. When I arch my butt back again, he lets out a husky sound that calls an answering moan from my lips.

“Fuck,” he hisses again. Then he slams both hands onto the counter on either side of me, resting his forehead against my shoulder. He’s still behind me, breathing hard. His body isn’t touching mine anymore. The only part of him that connects with me is his forehead against my shoulder. And yet, I feel just as surrounded by him—just as consumed as ever.

My voice rattles, “What’s happening?”

He laughs, but it’s not a sound of humor. It’s something else. Something darker. Something he doesn’t explain to me as he reaches around me to hook the handle of his coffee mug. Then he pushes away, sipping the morning brew with his eyes fixed intensely on me.

Finally, he informs me in a tone that brokers no room for negotiation, “I’m coming with you.”