by Jodie Larson
On a deep breath, I close my eyes and fight the urge to lock my lips with his. When I open them up, Myles is staring at me, lust playing heavily on his face. He reaches up, plays with a lock of hair that fell out of my messy bun. Every nerve ending on my body ignites as his finger trails down the side of my face.
“I’ve forgotten,” he says, practically growling out the words.
“What?” I’m breathless and panting and more than a little turned on.
Myles brings his face inches from mine, his warm breath hitting my lips as he stares at me. “How beautiful you are.”
Everything happens in slow motion after that. Myles closes the distance between our lips, sealing them together with mild pressure at first, then growing fiercer, more desperate as we move to a rhythm of our own. I can’t stand not touching him anymore so I wrap my arms around his neck, dragging his body closer to mine.
For years I’ve wondered if I’ve remembered accurately what he tastes like, what it felt like to have his tongue sweep through my mouth. Nothing compares to this. This is what I’ve cried over, worried that I’ve fucked up beyond repair so I’d never feel his lips on mine, his body pressing against me.
Myles reacquaints himself with my curves, his hands traveling over every inch he can find. The towel drops to the floor, my nipples hardening under the assault of the cooler air.
I want him. Now. More than I’ve ever wanted him in my life.
He breaks our kiss, leaning back far enough to get a good look at my naked body.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, lust lacing his voice. “You’ve grown up.”
My chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath, making my breasts swell. “I wasn’t a kid when we were last together.”
“No, you weren’t.” He shakes his head. “But you didn’t look like this.” Trailing his fingers down my stomach, I shiver beneath his touch. “Is it because you’re not mine anymore? Tell me, how many guys have seen you like this?” His fingertips brush down my stomach again, this time going further down to skim the top of my bare pussy. “How many have touched you here?” Light strokes nearly make my head slam against the wall as he pets me. Each pass against my clit has me wanting more. I’m greedy for his touch, needing it everywhere all at once.
“Myles.”
A finger slips inside me and whatever restraint I was holding onto disappears in a heartbeat.
“Should I fuck you like they did? Fuck you until you scream?”
Normally I love his dirty mouth, but something isn’t right. His tone, his touch…it’s off. He’s not talking dirty to me. He’s angry at me. He honestly thinks I’ve slept around since I’ve been away.
As much as I want this, as much as I need this, need him, I can’t. Not like this. Not when he’s accusing me with his words, his eyes. If this is going to happen, I want it to be because he wants me again.
I shove his chest, moving away from him. Grabbing the towel, I wrap it around my body and hold it as tight as I can. Hurt and embarrassment flood me as I stare at the floor. I can’t look at him, can’t see the hate in his eyes that I know is there. If this is what he came here for, to show me that he can still make me want him, well congratulations. Mission accomplished.
“I think you need to go.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I can’t trust it to go any louder than that. A sob threatens to come out, but I choke it back down, locking it away until he’s gone.
Myles tries to step forward, but I swiftly move away, walking as fast as my weak legs can carry me to the door. Each step feels like the weight of the world is resting on my shoulders. When he said he wanted things to be civil between us, I guess that was just an act, something he was forced to say in order to appease me into coming onto the tour.
Well, no more. Myles Donovan doesn’t get to play with my emotions. A wall constructs around my heart, blocking it from any more pain inflicted on it.
“Leave.” My voice is stronger, more determined. And Myles hears it because he doesn’t look up as he walks to the door, but pauses at the threshold.
“This isn’t what I planned on doing when I came here tonight. I just wanted to tell you great job. And then I saw you and…”
“Goodbye, Myles.” The finality in my voice causes him to frown and walk out the door. The latch clicks into place and I crumble to the ground. Tears stream down my face, unable to keep the strong façade in place any longer.
I wanted him and I thought he wanted me. Instead, he wanted to torture me, remind me that I’m weak to him.
And God knows I am, even though I wish I wasn’t.
Tatum hasn’t looked at me once all day. In rehearsals, I got the cold shoulder. Not even a side glance. The other day she was at least smiling at me, pained as it was. But this version of her is darker, more hateful.
What the fuck did I do?
Nothing sticks out. We did the concert, which she completely owned. And I don’t just mean did her set and gracefully stepped off. It was like a whole different side of her I’ve never seen before. She was loose and free, captivating the audience with her voice and guitar skills. I’ve seen her do it many years ago in Kade’s garage, and my bedroom. After the show, the guys wanted to go out for a few. Somewhere along the line I left the bar and headed back to the hotel. I remember walking down the hall and stopping at a room…her room.
Oh shit.
She greeted me at the door in only her towel. How many times has she done that to other guys? That’s when the red seeped in, obscuring my view. Fire and ice mixed in my blood as I stared at her, pissed that she left, pissed that I didn’t get a reason why. Then the thoughts of other guys that have been inside her…I couldn’t handle it.
Fuck. I was an asshole. The things I said, what I did. No wonder she won’t speak or look at me. Hopefully no one told her about the brunette I took back to my room afterward. Fucking trolls were all over the lobby bar. She jumped on me before I could even get the first shot of whiskey down. Her body kept me warm, but she wasn’t who I pictured as I buried deep inside her all night. Blond hair and green eyes kept haunting me, drawing me down the hall with each thrust and moan. At least she was a good sport about it, knew the drill. Which makes me think she’s a professional groupie.
Pax counts us out, starting the song. I’m a measure behind, missing each chord I try plucking. Fuck, get it together. Tatum isn’t mine so it shouldn’t matter if she’s been with anyone since me. Redness creeps into my vision again, my focus becoming localized on her in the chairs. She’s alone, sitting in the third row, typing something into her phone.
How many? How many not me’s has she been with?
“Myles!” Kade glares at me downstage. Shit, I’m screwing everything up. I need to focus, concentrate on tonight’s concert and nothing else.
“Sorry,” I grumble. Paxton starts us again, this time everything goes off without a hitch. All the rage inside me seeps through my fingers, using it to fuel my craft. Don bobs his head to the song, along with Linda and the rest of the roadies. This is why I’m here, why I do what I do. Not Tatum fucking Mitchell.
Civil? Yeah, maybe when pigs fly. For the good of the tour, I’ll fake it if I have to, but until she apologizes for being a bitch, no way.
After rehearsals, most everyone grabs a bite to eat. I’m not in a socializing mood, so I head back to the hotel. Need to burn off some energy in the gym. Something else to get my heart pounding rather than…never mind.
After changing into my workout clothes, I hit the treadmill first. I can feel the vein in my neck pulse as I push myself harder, increasing the speed to the point of exhaustion. Every muscle in my legs burns, my lungs barely able to keep up. It’s cathartic, pushing Tatum almost completely out of my head. For too long I’ve tried to replace her, find someone else to fill the void in my heart. No one has been able to come close. Each woman I bring to my bed only places a Band-Aid on my battered heart.
Why does she constantly plague my thoughts? She should be long gone. But then I see her, looki
ng better than any memory I have. Is she suffering like I am? Torn between screaming at her and kissing her until we fall into our old routine?
The door opens behind me after I hit mile two. Sweat covers my face as I stay focused on the TV in front of me. Catching up on the latest scores for the Royals is my priority at the moment. Something catches my eye; a blond takes the treadmill at the end, leaving an empty one between us. It takes me a second, but my heart rate spikes when I realize who it is.
Fuck, what is she doing here?
Tatum hasn’t noticed me. In fact, she hasn’t noticed anything, keeping her gaze focused on her shoes while humming along to whatever she’s listening to.
She starts at a slow pace, just getting her body warmed up. Those long legs look even longer in her running shorts and…is she wearing only a sports bra? Jesus, she’s trying to kill me. Or make me kill any guy who would look her way.
Focus. I need to focus. Cranking up the speed, I push myself harder. The burn travels all through my body, making the blood rush somewhere other than my dick. It’s getting harder to concentrate on Scott Van Pelt when I can see her breasts bouncing with each stride she takes.
Enough with the treadmill. Maybe some free weights will help ease my tension. And they’re across the room, away from her.
Picking up the weights, I start my usual routine: curls, presses, pulls. I don’t have the normal room that I’m used to, but it’ll have to do. Unfortunately, I can see her in the mirror in front of me. Her tight ass distracting me as one of the weights nearly falls onto my foot.
“Damn.”
I must have said it louder than I thought, because when I look up again, our eyes connect in the mirror. The tension in her shoulders is visible, bringing them practically to her ears. The smile she was sporting moments ago as she mouthed the words to a song disappears, replaced by the scowl I’ve been seeing recently.
Tatum slows to a walk before shutting the machine off. I start my tricep press, trying to stay focused on the task at hand until a shadow’s cast over me. With a squint, I’m greeted to the angriest eyes I’ve seen in a while.
“Why are you staring at me?”
How can her angry voice turn me on? Is it because this is a side of her I haven’t seen before? Or is it the way her nose scrunches up, which in turn makes her lips purse like she wants to kiss something?
“You’re dreaming. I wasn’t staring.”
“Huh, really? Cause that’s not what it looked like to me. You’ve been doing it for the last ten minutes.”
“So you’re saying you’ve been staring at me, too?” I smile, knowing I’ve got her. How else would she know that I’ve been looking at her off and on?
“I…you…no, I was not.” Whatever inch of skin that wasn’t flushed before turns a delectable shade of pink. Fuck she’s adorable when she’s embarrassed. It’s part of the reason why I always teased her growing up. Just so I could see this all the time.
“If you weren’t staring at me, how would you know I was staring at you? Or do you have ESP now? Something you picked up while you were away?”
Ah, that brought back the angry hellcat.
Tatum takes a step closer. A bead of sweat slides down her long neck before getting lost between the valley of her breasts. When she clears her throat, I look up and come face to face with the beast.
“What is your problem? I understand we’re not friends anymore, and that we’re being forced to be civil to each other. I get it. You hate me.”
I take a step closer. “I don’t hate you.”
“Yes, you do. The Myles I remember wasn’t this cruel.” She moves away again. The story of our life: one step forward, two steps back.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had to do some soul searching and realized that whatever I knew before wasn’t real. Hard truths aren’t always easy to swallow.” And there goes my good mood.
She keeps backing up, shaking her head. “You’re wrong.” Her voice is barely a whisper. Something inside me aches, a longing I’ve tried to push away for years, only recently awakened last night. Here again, she’s practically naked, calling me with her siren song.
When her back hits the wall, I make my move. Caging her in with my arms, I have her right where I want her. Maybe this is what we need, time to hash this out. If she can’t run, then she has to listen.
“What am I wrong about? You leaving without an explanation? Or how about the fact that it’s been nine years since you’ve bothered to contact me.”
She shakes her head, her blond ponytail swishing behind her. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right,” I say, dragging a finger down her cheek. “I probably wouldn’t because I thought we were special, that we would last and be the couple everyone was envious of.”
God, she smells good. Sweat mixed with her lingering perfume. A familiar scent. It was always concentrated the most in the crook of her neck. And just like old times, I find my way back there, dragging my nose along her soft skin, inhaling the intoxicating scent that’s more addictive than any drug available on the street.
Goosebumps cover her skin and I know what I’ll find if I look down.
She’s aroused. And so am I.
“We did have something special.” A lonely tear travels down her cheek. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
I’m supposed to be mad at her. She’s supposed to be the person I don’t want to see anymore. Then why can’t I stop thinking about her?
When she opens her mouth, I pounce, taking what I so desperately want. I grab hold of her face and kiss her with every ounce of pent-up frustration and longing inside. What surprises me more is when she kisses me back, running her fingers through my hair.
I press her body against the wall, releasing her face to roam over her hips, her arms, her breasts. Each caress of her skin leaves me more confused, torn somewhere between love and hate. Not that I could ever hate her. Even on the darkest days, the days where I couldn’t make sense of anything, there was never hate in my mind. Deep down, she was still mine. Perhaps a piece of me still believes it. Right now that piece is winning.
Tatum wraps her arms around my neck, practically pinning me to her as our lust comes fully into play. Before I know it, I’m reaching under her sports bra, finding her hardened nipples. If memory serves me right, they were ultra-sensitive during foreplay. Let’s see if that’s changed.
“Oh, God.” She drags the words out in a low, breathy moan. Every available ounce of blood rushes to my cock, leaving me almost lightheaded. She’s still the only woman to ever affect me like this, make me want someone more than the air in my lungs.
“You still like that?” I grind my hips into hers, eliciting another drawn out moan from back in her throat.
Memories come rushing back, every single time we’ve ever had sex playing on a loop in my mind. Her sounds, her smell, what she’d say during and after… the way her eyes lit up with so much love even though she was a little devil in bed. There was no denying that. She was a force to be reckoned with.
I want this moment with Tatum to last longer than what my libido has planned because right now, I’m on the verge of embarrassing myself.
Reluctantly, I back away, breaking our kiss while keeping my hands under her bra. Her eyes, still heavy with lust, bounce back and forth like she’s been drugged. I’ve missed that. Missed the way she’d look at me, how sexy she looks when she’s turned on. I don’t need my answers right now. I just need her.
“Tay, about last night…”
Shit. That was the wrong thing to say. In a flash, her eyes turn from warm to cold, crisping until icicles practically fly out from them.
“Yeah, last night.” She grabs my wrists and removes my hands from her body. Her grip tightens before shoving them away. “Let’s not go back there. In fact, let’s go back to how it was before I stepped into this room.”
What? She can’t be serious. “Just hear me out.”
“No, I don’t want to. You
can take whatever speech you have planned and shove it up your ass. You’re not the guy I knew before. He was never cruel, nor did he pick up random strangers in a bar and bring them back to his room.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. How the fuck did she know about that?
“Tay…how…”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “After you left last night, I couldn’t sleep so I decided to go down to the bar to grab a glass of wine. Imagine my surprise when I see a woman hanging all over you and can only find one of your hands visible above her clothes.” I cringe again. “And because I must be some sort of masochist, I stayed in the corner and watched you take her to the elevator, shoving your tongue so far down her throat that I was certain you knew what her belly-button tasted like. So, no. We’re not going to discuss last night. You made a huge deal about me being with other guys, but it’s perfectly fine for you to fuck anything with two legs and a pussy?” The V between her brows deepens as she seethes. “Screw you, and your double standard.”
The resounding slap echoes in the empty room. I reach up and touch the rapidly warming spot on my cheek. She’s really pissed. And, yet, it’s doing nothing to stop me from being turned on.
“You’re right. I guess if you’ve been able to fuck anything with a dick then it shouldn’t matter that I’ve messed around a time or two. So, there you go. You have my permission to be a whore.”
Hurt, deep and painful, flashes across her face. I think she’s about to slap me again, but when she covers her mouth instead, it makes my heart ache.
“There you have it,” Tatum says after she removes her hand. “Now we know where we stand. You can continue on with your life and I can continue on with mine. We’ll coexist for the tour and when my three months are up, we can go our separate ways.”
Her bottom lip quivers. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to put up a strong front and keep her emotions at bay. The only problem is she can’t. She never could. Tatum was good at many things except hiding her true feelings. Those always played out on her face and in her eyes. It’s why she was a terrible poker player. Everyone has a tell and I knew hers like the back of my hand.