“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
I stalked into the living room, trying to put distance between us. “I think it’s a horrible idea. If we’re not going to have a relationship, what’s the fucking point?”
“The fucking point is the fucking,” he said. “I like fucking you, and you like being fucked by me, as evidenced by your participation last night.”
“The only reason I let you fuck me last night was because it’d been too long for me. I’ve been too busy at school to get laid. Too busy to hook up with anyone.”
“Aside from your professor,” he said in a snide tone.
“I want you to leave.” I was tired of his mockery, his condescension. Yes, I’d fucked Price last night. Yes, I’d enjoyed myself, but it didn’t mean anything, and it certainly wasn’t a mistake I’d repeat again. “I want you to give me the key you used to get in here, and then I want you to leave.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll leave when I fucking want to leave.”
“I’m not sleeping with you again, ever, so you might as well fuck off.”
“You’re wrong about that, Chere.” He started toward me, force and masculine beauty. “You’re going to sleep with me whenever I fucking want you to.”
I spit out more words, attempting to shield myself from his will. “You can’t make me. You can’t have me if I don’t want to give myself to you. I won’t let you back into my life after the way you left.”
He took my arm and dragged me over to the living room window. He jabbed a finger, pointing across the street. “You see that building? Count up to the sixth floor, the corner window. That’s where I live. That’s where I watch you sometimes with a pair of hunting binoculars because you never shut your drapes. If I want to be in your life, I’ll be in your life.”
The word “hunting binoculars” chilled me. Not just binoculars. Not the ubiquitous telescopes that nosy New Yorkers used to “look at the stars.” He’d used hunting binoculars.
“Are you serious?” I said, pulling my elbow from his grasp. “You’ve been watching me?”
“You didn’t believe me when I told you last night?”
“You said you knew what I’d been doing. You didn’t say you were staring at me through binoculars.”
I took another step back from him, and looked out at his apartment. Sixth floor, corner. Holy shit, all that time I cried for him and missed him, and searched the Internet for blond, sadistic designers to try to find him, he was across the fucking street with his fucking hunting binoculars.
“This is fucked up,” I said. “You can’t—You shouldn’t— People aren’t supposed to act this way! I can’t believe you spied on me.”
“I was trying to protect you,” he snapped. “I wanted to be sure you were okay.”
“How does perving on me from across the street protect me? I think it invades my privacy. I think you’re a psycho creeper.”
He didn’t like that I called him that. His eyes narrowed and his chin tipped up.
“You might show a little more respect,” he said. “I was very generous with you over the course of our association. I gave you some of the best fucking sex of your life.”
“Well, that’s over. We’re over.”
“We’re not over. I still want to see you sometimes. I won’t make a lot of demands on your time.”
He reached to touch my cheek. I pushed his hand away but he only grasped my wrists and overpowered me, trapping me against the couch. As he held me with his body, he ran his fingers down the line of my jaw.
“I’ll make you feel good, Chere. I know how to make you crazy. I know what you need. What you want.”
I shook my head. He was too close. He was too strong and hot and tempting. His eyes met mine as his hand moved down my neck, his thumb resting on my pulse. “I’ll make you hurt and fight and come,” he said in a soft, lurid tone. “I’ll make you tremble and cry, and then I’ll hold you afterward until you feel better.” His other arm slipped around me, a firm band. A prison. “Then, when you’re all better, all exhausted and fucked out, I’ll leave. I won’t interfere with your school, or your work once you graduate.”
Once I graduate? That was months from now. Did he imagine I’d be his eternal fuck buddy, waiting at his beck and call? I started to twist in his embrace.
“Don’t fight me, starshine,” he said. “You know it’ll be good.”
Good luck, starshine…
“No. No, not again. I want you to go,” I said, pushing at his chest.
“I will. Just tell me when I can see you again.”
“Never! You can never see me again.”
I struggled in earnest now, but his arms were longer and stronger. His body was a rock against mine.