51

My eyes were dry, though. I slammed every door I walked through, harder and harder until I was opening doors back up just to slam them closed again, daring the old house to so much as crack beneath my rage.

It consumed me.

Fucking Nic. There was no way Dad had just upped and left his rehab…right? At least, not without his stuff. And sure, he was an addict, but he wasn’t heartless. Surely, he wouldn’t just have left without telling me.

I sat at a random piano I’d uncovered in a large bedroom and pressed one of the yellowed-ivory keys, listening to the high-pitched plink, plink sound. Somehow the pitch suited my mood better than any discordant crash I could evoke by smashing the keys at the other end.

Anger at Nic kept my disappointment in Dad at bay. If I didn’t think too hard about what my father was capable of, I didn’t have to believe he might have left on his own. And I couldn’t believe that anyway. Not until I’d explored and dismissed every other possibility.

Francois had kept me in that old bedroom with no windows. But Dad wouldn’t hold the same use for him that I had. There would be a worse place for my father, and I needed to be out there to get him back.

I sat until the light at the window began to fade, dimming to a haze of vivid streaks of color then purples, and as the door behind me opened then quietly shut, I didn’t turn around.

I didn’t need to.

I could sense Nic’s presence. My body tugged toward him, my blood all seeming to rush to meet him. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on me.

“Did you mean it?” There was a hardness in his voice, despite the quiet gentleness.

My irritation flared to life, and I half turned toward him. “Mean what?”

“Fuck me.”

The breath left my body at his words. So bold, so unsugarcoated. So screamingly naked.

Energy crackled between us, and I drew deeper breaths as his silence seemed to suck all the air from the room. My rage started to slide into something more carnal, more easily sated.

Of course, he hadn’t mistaken my insult for desire, but now he’d turned it into a quiet command, and I wrapped my fingers around the piano bench to prevent me from getting up and flinging myself into his arms as I clawed his clothes off. His shirt already hung open, and I wanted to shove it from his shoulders and lick each line of his tattoo.

I grew wet just trying to resist him and I sighed with relief when he touched my shoulder because he was right there. I hadn’t needed to move at all. I hadn’t needed to step down from my anger. He hadn’t made me do that.

He swept my hair aside, scrunching it roughly in his fist as he tugged my head to one side, arching my neck.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he traced a finger along the resulting curve. “You want me, Leia.”

I shook my head. “No.” The denial was pointless, but I hated that I wanted him so much. All the time. Even when I was angry.

Even when I could claw his eyes out at the same time as removing his clothes.

He bent low, his lips against my ear. “I can smell your arousal.”

I shook my head, just one quick stiff movement.

He chuckled, dark and low. “Your body doesn’t lie to me.”

My anger flared again. Irrational and out of proportion like half of the feelings weren’t even mine. On the verge of uncontrollable. “I should stake your heart.”

He laughed again and yanked my head back so I looked up and met his eyes. “Then you should know my heart is already yours.”

Despite his tender words, his gaze reflected the anger burning through me—an anger quickly spiraling to lust.

He straightened, the evidence of his arousal obvious, and I reached to smooth my hand over the bulge in his pants.

He moved back, denying me access. “Turn around.”

His voice was gruff, raw, and I grew wetter just hearing him speak. As I turned to face him, powerless now to resist his instruction, the sound of a zipper being unzipped filled the room, and Nic took his cock in his fist, stroking it lazily as the last remnants of my anger became fiery lust.

I wanted this man.

I wanted to taste this man and fuck him.

I wanted to hate-fuck him because I hated loving him so much that I still wanted him buried inside me, despite all else. Only Nic could inspire such anger then wipe it all away with one look, one touch.

My mouth dried as I watched him. Then I touched my tongue against my lips and leaned toward him. His movements slowed, and when I pressed my lips to the tip of his cock, he hissed a breath. His hand tangled in my hair again, pulling the strands as he wrapped them around his fingers, and I opened my mouth, using my tongue to swipe up the glistening bead of precum.

“Leia.” He whispered my name, and it was a plea for forgiveness and a request. “Don’t stop.”

His hips rocked forward. Gentle but insistent, nudging forward into my mouth, and I flattened my tongue against his shaft, accepting him as I pushed his pants down his thighs and ran my fingers over his balls, teasing, scraping them lightly with my fingernails, and exploring the delicate skin.

He held my head still and he thrust harder, slowly fucking my mouth, but never too deep, never too far. I glanced upward at his closed eyes and slack jaw, and I wrapped my hand around the base of his shaft to stroke him.