She looked up at him again, licking her lips. “Tell me what you like. What I should do.”
He tanged his fingers in her hair, but he didn’t press her. He knew that although he was receiving pleasure, this was almost more about her than it was about him.
“Take my cock in your hand—at the base—and stroke me. Harder. You won’t break me, don’t worry.”
Rose didn’t break eye contact as she moved her hand up, then down, then up again, in a rhythm that was slow but steady.
“Twist your hand, too,” he said, and when she complied, he groaned. “Yeah, like that. Fuck, Rose, you’re driving me crazy.”
She stroked him until he wanted to beg her to put him into her mouth, but as if sensing his thoughts, she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. It was such a light touch that it only made things worse.
God Almighty, he was going to come from just a quick hand job and nothing else. He’d never done that before, but he’d never been this aroused before, either.
Rose took him into her mouth, taking more of him, as she twisted her hand around his cock as she stroked him. The combination of her tongue and her hand and the look in her eyes—the gleam in them that told him she knew she was driving him crazy—plus the feeling of her silky hair in his hand made it all too much.
With a groan, he lifted her face away right as he started to come. His seed shot out in endless bursts, and he swore the entire time. His knees almost buckled.
“Goddamn, Rose,” he said as he pulled her up. “Goddamn.” He kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth like he wanted to thrust his cock inside her.
She moaned and rubbed against him like a cat in heat. He deepened the kiss until everything else faded but the feel of her soft weight pressing against him.
When he tugged on her hair—a light tug that he barely realized he’d done—she froze. He didn’t realize it for a long moment because she kept kissing him, yet the kiss began to fade away as she began to come back to herself.
“No, stop,” she whispered. “Stop.”
Her voice came to him slowly. It was like hearing someone call out in a tunnel when your eardrums had just been blown out by an explosion. It was rather like when he’d tried to listen for Max’s voice after the IED explosion.
“Stop.” She pushed him.
He let her go, and she stumbled away from him, breathing hard.
“Rose? What is it?”
He was reminded of a wild animal caught in snare right then: with her eyes wide, her breathing fast, her body trembling. He approached her with cautious steps, his hands up.
“Rose,” he said more firmly, “what is it? Are you okay?”
“No, no. I need to go. I need to—what have I done?” She choked back a sob; she slapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, oh my God—”
He tried to get her to stay still, but the second he put his hands on her, she turned wild. She pushed and writhed, her voice shaking, and he’d never been so confused and afraid and hurt as he was right then.
“Talk to me. Baby, talk to me. You’re safe. It’s me—it’s Seth.”
“Nooooo,” she moaned. She clutched her head and collapsed to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees.
He didn’t touch her again. He waited, letting her panic slow down. After what seemed like an eternity, she seemed to return to herself, although she wouldn’t look at him.
“I need to go.” She walked like a zombie to the front door without even looking at him. It was like he didn’t even exist anymore.
His gut twisted. He reached out to touch her, but she wrenched her arm away. At his hurt look, tears filled her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—just, I need to go. Please. Don’t come after me.”
She darted away from him and out the door, and when he heard her front door open and then close, he rubbed a hand over his face.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Twelve
Rose saw Seth and his brothers sit down at a table in the back at The Fainting Goat, and she almost ran into Rebecca when she whirled around.
“Whoa, watch out! I almost dropped my tray.” Rebecca glared as she pushed past her.
Rose took a deep breath and forced her heart to slow. She owed Seth an explanation—and an apology. Again. This seemed to be her lot in life: want Seth, offend Seth, avoid Seth. Rinse, repeat ad infinitum.
“DiMarco, you okay?” Ash Younger asked as he walked past her to Trent’s office. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
She gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine. Sorry, I’ll get back to work.”
She didn’t give a chance for Ash to ask more questions before she hurried into the kitchen, only to realize that there weren’t any orders to pick up. She loitered until the chef told her either to start cooking or go be productive.
She checked on her tables, refilled water glasses, and made absolutely certain to avoid any glares directed her way via Seth Thornton. Considering she refused to look at him, she didn’t know if he was glaring. Maybe he was smiling. Maybe he wasn’t even looking her way at all.
Oh God, what if he’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble? She couldn’t blame him: she kept giving him so many mixed signals she was confused.
As she rose from pouring a glass of water, her gaze collided with Seth’s. It was inevitable, like they were two magnets attracted to each other no matter how far away the other was.
And Seth wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t glaring, either: he seemed speculative. Wary. He raised his glass to her, like an ironic salute.
She gritted her teeth and hurried into the back.
Her dreams had worsened since she’d been with Seth. Not because of what they’d done—which had been beautiful and wonderful and beyond her wildest imaginings—but because the universe seemed bent on not allowing her any respite from Johnny or what he’d done to her. She dreamed of times when she’d considered suicide to escape; she dreamed of when Johnny had toyed with her, acted like he cared about her.
She dreamed of the times when Johnny would pull her hair, and she’d wake up, crying until she fell into an exhausted sleep.
She dreamed that Johnny would have her in the end, no matter what she did.
A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Shivering, despite the warmth of the restaurant, she went to the ladies’ room to put herself back together.
Gazing into the mirror, Rose saw a woman who looked wan and thin, with purple crescents under her eyes. When was the last time she’d felt content? Or safe? She didn’t know. Except when she was with Seth, she realized with a pang in her heart, she was barely holding it together.
She brushed strands of hair from her forehead, and after redoing her lipstick, she exited the ladies’ room. Only to run into Seth, who stood in front of her like some muscular Great Wall of China.
“It’s you,” she said, rather inanely. She felt her cheeks grow hot.
“It’s me. I didn’t think I’d catch you tonight, you know, what with you refusing to even look at me.”
She ducked under his arm. “I need to go back to work.”
“You have a minute to talk.”
She did, but he didn’t need to know that. When she saw the pain in his eyes, though, she paused, her heart twisting. She hated that she’d hurt him. If she could take it back, if she could right the wrong she’d done—