“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t even miss a beat.
“You don’t mean that.”
His nonchalant, fake apology hurts more than the lack of it.
“You said you wanted an apology, not that I should mean it. Besides…” His fingers skim down my throat and to my pulse point before he wraps his hand around my neck. The gesture is gentle, almost caring if it weren’t for the immediate danger of suffocation like the other time. “You wronged me first.”
“What?”
The waitress returns with our orders. She stands a small distance away, watching us with unfazed attention. I scramble away from Aiden’s lap, my cheeks flaring.
Aiden lets me go with a smirk.
For God’s sake, can’t he see we’re in our school uniforms? There’s a rule somewhere about not sullying RES’s top-notch reputation.
After the waitress leaves, I dig into the low carb muffins and tomato omelette.
I’ve been starving since the morning. If he’s buying, I’m eating. Food has nothing to do with my animosity with the devil.
Said devil doesn’t touch his food and watches me silently like a creep.
I lift my head and give him a questioning look.
He removes his jacket, places it on the edge of the chair and rolls the cuffs of his shirt to near his elbows, revealing strong veiny arms and… tattoos.
He has tattoos at the underside of his forearm.
It’s a simple two black arrows pointing in opposing directions. I lean closer to watch the direction of the tattoos.
That’s when I notice it.
Near his elbow, there’s a faded scar at which one of the arrows points.
His movements are meticulous as he cuts his eggs and takes a bite.
I motion at the tattoo. “Is there a meaning?”
His dark eyes meet mine and I’m transfixed by their depth. It’s like someone pushed him into an impenetrable fog and he’s unable to get out. “Some scars are better left hidden.”
“Like what?” I ask slowly.
“Like your scar. You hide it so well, don’t you, Frozen?”
I stab my omelette and cut eye contact.
“Ah. So you like talking about me, but when the subject turns to little miss Frozen, it becomes a red line. Do you realise how double standard that is?”
“Stop twisting everything to fit you.”
“The answer is no.”
“Do you get off on it?”
“On what?”
“On being this infuriatingly in control.”
“Perhaps.”
My lips twist. “Has there ever been something out of your control before?”
“Twice.” He hums. “And you’re the third.”
I pause drinking from my orange juice, my voice slow. “How?”
“Be mine.”
I choke on my juice, droplets splattering from my nose and all over the table.
Aiden chuckles, offering me a napkin. “Jesus. I didn’t ask for your firstborn.”
“This is worse.” I stare at him as I wipe the mess on my face. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Have I ever joked with you?”
“You know that my answer will be no, right?”
“No is a start, sweetheart.”
I gulp.
“Besides…” He places a hand on my thigh, his fingers trailing up. “Your mouth is a liar. I’m taking my answer from something that doesn’t lie.”
Chapter Fourteen
Aiden’s body pushes into mine.
It’s subtle as if he’s just leaning in to tell me a secret, but there’s nothing secretive about the way he’s gripping me.
In a fruitless attempt to get away from him, my back hits the wall. Aiden grabs both my wrists in a death grip against the cold wallpaper. He manoeuvres my legs so they’re lying on his hard thighs.
With this position, it’s impossible to fight him off. Every time I try to squirm free, he digs his fingers into my wrists until I wince in pain. Damn him and his brute strength.
I curse my stupidity for locking myself between him and the wall. Why the hell do I always find myself trapped with him?
He plants his large palm on my thigh in the small space between my skirt and my stockings. A wave of that strange awareness shoots down my spine. My skin heats and prickles with the tension crackling in the air.
My body’s reaction to him isn’t funny anymore. How the hell does he push those buttons?
“Aiden,” I hiss through my teeth.
“Hmm, sweetheart?” His intense eyes never leave my face as his fingers flex on my thigh, teasing, and threatening to go up.
“We’re in public.”
“And Iʼm supposed to care about that?”
Of course, he wouldn’t care.
Blood rushes in my veins at the possibility of being caught while Aiden is touching me. The older man is facing the window and he’s far enough that he can’t hear us, but if he deviates his head, or decides to leave, he’ll see everything.
“Say yes to my offer and I wouldn’t have to search for your body’s yes.”
“I canʼt just be yours.”
“Why not?”
“I hate you, thatʼs why.”
“Hmmm.”
Despite the humming, his tone is flat as he grips my thigh tighter.
“Aiden,” I grind my teeth, my vision bouncing between him and the old man.
“Letʼs play that choice game you love so much.”
“I donʼt love your games.”
He tilts his head to the side, watching me intently as his fingers draw circles on my inner thigh. “I think you do love them, but you just don’t love admitting it.”
I shake my head frantically.
“Be mine or Iʼll finger you so hard, so fast, that man will be calling for help when you come all over my fingers.”
My thighs clench, lips parting open.
My face must be as red as the blood rushing to it, but Aidenʼs expression remains unaffected.
How can he stay like that after the crude words he said? How can he start a riot in my body with mere words?
“Is that a yes, Frozen?”
“No,” The word falls from my lips in a murmur.
“Hmmm.” His fingers slide up my thigh. “I didn’t realise you were an exhibitionist, sweetheart. Does it turn you on to know we can be caught any minute? That man can turn around now.” He strokes my inner thigh, his thumb hovering over the edge of my underwear. “Or now.”
I kick my feet, trying to push him, but he only tightens his grip on me.
I close my eyes against the intrusive sensation. Every fibre of my logic is willing me to hate this, to consider it a violation, but… is it a violation if I want him to reach up? Is it a violation if his dirty words are causing an uncontrollable throb between my legs?
He leans in so his hot breaths brush against my throat. Goosebumps break over my skin as he murmurs in a low, husky voice, “Say yes.”
“Aiden…” I trail off not knowing what I want to tell him. Is it to stop? To keep going?
“That’s not the word. I need you to say yes.”
“Why?” I don’t even recognise my breathy voice.
“Say the word, Elsa.” He’s still speaking against my throat, and I tilt to the side as if giving him better access. To do what, I don’t know.