“Obviously, I fucking didn’t.” I gawk as he glances around the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“Obviously, I’m cooking,” I snap. “You don’t have to be so rude.”
My anger amuses him. “I like my steak rare.”
“That’s Tyler’s steak.”
“Mine now,” he reaches behind me and pops a cherry tomato in his mouth.
“I’m not cooking a damn thing for you.”
He yanks me to him, and I lose a little bit of breath as he eyes my mouth. “My house, my rules. You cook for one of us. You cook for all of us.”
“Also, Sean’s house, my hands, and my fucking prerogative.”
His smile is cruel. “You like playing house?”
“I’m not playing house. I’m cooking for my—”
“Boyfriend? Cute. You think Sean’s your boyfriend?” He sets me loose, and I pick up the knife between us, tempted to use it as I backtrack. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say he was my boyfriend.”
“You didn’t have to. Word to the unwise, careful about getting attached, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, what do you know?” I snap, slapping the knife on the counter behind me.
He smirks, opening the fridge and grabbing a water bottle. He downs it as my eyes glide over him. His thick onyx tresses are askew, his bare chest covered in a sheen of sweat, droplets trickling down his eight-pack dispersing into a faint happy trail. I dart my eyes away but feel his gaze weighing heavily on me. “He fucks you in the woods, doesn’t he?” My eyes snap to his, but I clamp my mouth closed. “Let me guess. He took you to a pretty waterfall.”
I feel slapped. Worse than that, I feel…played. But I rise to the occasion.
“Actually, no. He fucked me in his Nova first.”
His answering chuckle is infuriating. “Oh yeah, a backseat Betty?”
“What are you, jealous? I don’t see any girl around here clamoring to cook for you. There’s probably not a dumb enough woman alive.”
He steps toward me, placing the drained bottle on the counter behind me, crowding me to the point I’m forced to lift my chin. “Such nasty, hateful words from a filthy, cum-coated mouth.”
I rear back, and in a second flat, he’s controlling the hand meant to slap him to cover the bulge in his shorts. “Careful, violence makes me hard.” He tilts his head and his eyes flare, the sight of them like the glint of a knife. “I’m a psychiatrist’s wet dream.”
I struggle against him as he runs my hand along his dick, which is very, very hard. It also makes it almost impossible not to estimate the size of it. That sick rationalization makes my stomach turn.
“Too bad for them, I’m not weak.”
“I’m not weak.”
Though drenched in sweat, his clean scent invades me. “Do you come when he fucks you against the trees?”
I look past his shoulder, praying for Sean to appear and come up empty.
“Eyes on me, Pup,” he spits with disgust.
“Let me go.”
“I already have, but you’re doing a good job.” It’s then I realize my fingers are running along his dick of their own accord. I jerk my hand away, and his dark chuckle fills the room.
“Why are you acting this way? I’ve done nothing to you.”
“Maybe I just don’t like you.”
“Well then, maybe I just won’t give a fuck.”
He leans in and grips my chin, hard. “But you do.”
I rip my face out of his hold just as the door slams. I’m shaking from head to toe when Sean rounds the corner. One look at my face wipes his greeting smile away.
“Your girl just rubbed on my dick,” Dominic says as if reporting the weather while he snags a beer from Sean’s bag, twists off the cap and flicks it toward the sink. My jaw goes slack and Dominic shrugs, “She likes watching me sleep, too. Thought you should know.”
I shake my head furiously, tears threatening as I look over to Sean. “That’s not true, Sean, that’s not true.”
Setting his bag down, Sean curses and holds up a finger muting my defense before following Dominic up the stairs. Perplexed, I stand in the kitchen while my carefully planned apology dinner goes up in flames.
I’M ALREADY OUT OF THE house and halfway to my car when Sean catches up to me.
“Cecelia.”
“He’s the fucking devil,” I’m feeling guilty, humiliated, and furious.
“Trust me. He’s not.”