She nods. “I’m sure.”
Connor glares at me one last time and then he stalks off toward the house.
Ella sighs, blowing a few stray hairs out of her eyes and turns to me. She folds her arms across her oversized orange hoodie, like for hunting or some shit. It doesn’t look like her dark ‘I’m-In-the-Dead-Poet’s-Society’ clothes I first saw her in, but it’s smudged with dirt and probably shit, so I guess that’s why she’s wearing it.
“What do you want, Maverick? You check up on all your one-night stands like this?”
I step closer to her.
She backs into the shed doors, and the Guinea pigs go wild.
I don’t touch her, but I’m nearly close enough to feel her tits against me. Nearly.
“You let all your one-night stands hit you, Ella?” I ask her, my words soft, meant for her alone. But I don’t give a fuck who sees me out here. I don’t care if Connor comes charging at me. I’ll break his neck and feed him to the fucking Guinea pigs in that shed.
Ella bites her lip, her pale face turning pink. I don’t think I’ve seen her blush yet quite like this and it feels…good. I wonder what else would make her blush.
“Come to my house.”
She shakes her head, eyes darting down. “No, I can’t—”
“Your mom isn’t gonna care, Ella.”
Her eyes come to mine, her lips parted as she sucks in a breath. “How do you—”
I nod toward the shed at her back, but don’t explain myself.
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, her expression unreadable.
I lean in close, my mouth against her ear. She smells like Guinea pigs, too, but I don’t fucking care. “I’ll cook for you. I’ll fuck you. You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
She breathes in. Out. I can nearly hear her pulse, this close to her neck.
“I have to finish here—”
“No, you don’t, Ella. You have to do what I say.”
She takes a deep breath. I wonder if she’s going to slap me again.
“Tomorrow,” she says, and it comes out as a throaty whisper. “Tomorrow you’ll take me home.”
“Of course,” I lie.
Chapter Eight
‘Tomorrow’ comes and goes.
Friday night, and I’m still at Maverick’s. He’s spent a lot of time in his office, writing in a journal that he never lets me get close enough to read, and I’ve spent a lot of time eating his food and letting him fuck me. It’s a little strange, wandering the rooms of his enormous house. A little odd that I’ve known him less than a week and yet I flit about his house in his clothes, eating his food, like I own this place.
This is like a movie. I’m just not sure what kind it is yet: Romance? Horror? Thriller?
For all the time I’ve spent here, we haven’t spoken much. He’s taken some calls in his office. Disappeared in rooms I probably haven’t even seen yet.
Now, after eating Chinese, he sits on the edge of his bed and I’m up against the pillows as he flicks through movies on the TV that slid out of the ceiling of his bedroom like a projector. His back it to me, his shirt on.
He glances over his shoulder.
His eyes make my heart flutter as he looks at me. He’s got a sinister edge that makes for a good villain; the one the damsel in distress is tempted by throughout any good story.
The one you almost wish she’d fall for.
“What do you want to watch?”
I shrug, twist my fingers in his borrowed shirt. “Whatever.”
“Don’t be like that. I mean, if I put on porn, would you want to watch that?”
I squirm.
“Opera? Rom com? Horror?”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. It’s something I’ve wanted to know all week. What the fuck is this? What the fuck are we doing? I cross my arms, wrapping them around my body, trying to make myself small. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I don’t have a bra on. That it’s cold, as always, in this house.
For the first time this evening, anger flashes in his eyes. “Do you want me to be mean to you?”
I feel a thrill of something I don’t want to feel rush up and down my spine. Do I want him to be mean? Yes, my lips beg me to form the words. Hurt me, so I know my place. Hurt me, so I know what I’m doing here. What I am to you.
Make me remember it. I don’t want this to turn into something…else. I want it to be clear cut. Sex. I can have sex. I can do that, without the heart stuff. The heavy stuff.
Can’t I?
“I just mean…what are we doing?”
He frowns. “Having sex.” His lips pull up into a smirk. “A lot of it.” He shrugs. “You don’t have a job. I work when I want. I need someone to…fuck. You seem to like it. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is this is all weird.”
He cocks a brow. “Weird?”
I throw up my hands. “I kind of feel like a whore.”
“You want me to pay you so you can really feel like one?”
I mean, it’s not a bad idea but… I shake my head. “No, I just don’t know what we’re doing here.” I’m not by any means in love with him, but I already feel myself becoming attached. It’s part of my problem. It’s why I let Shane fuck me.
It’s why I like when my mom screams at me just as much as I hate it. Lapping up affection. And this, days with this crazy, crazy boy…it’s making me feel a little unstable all over again.
“We’re two adults having good sex.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes.
“Forget it. Maybe you’re too young for this.” He stands to his feet, tosses the remote on the couch across from the bed. I can’t keep my eyes off of his body. The way his anger hardens everything about him. Everything.
He catches me looking and laughs, adjusting himself through his sweats. “Oh, are you worried I’ll get someone else to handle this for me if you don’t?” His voice sounds hoarse, and he doesn’t take his hand off of his erection. “Because I will.” It’s an honest statement, even if he’s trying to bait me.
My chest tightens. I squeeze my eyes closed. “No.” Why did I ask such a stupid question? About what this is?
“Or do you just want my hands on you right now? My mouth?”
I open my eyes. Find he’s standing right in front of me. I hold my breath as I tilt my head up to look at him, into those light blue eyes that make me feel dizzy.
His hands go to my upper arms, easily circling around them. His gaze dips down, and I know he sees my nipples chaffing against his shirt.
I like how he looks at me. I didn’t always. Not from other boys.
My body changed before most girls in my classes did. I grew breasts before anyone else was wearing a bra. For a while, they never stopped growing. For a while, my mother made me hide behind baggy sweatshirts and loose tees. Then she saw her boyfriends looking and thought it might make them stick around a while longer. The clothes she bought me from the thrift shop got tighter.
She regretted that after Shane, I’m sure.