As Long As You Hate Me

by Carrie Aarons

  I choke on the galloping heartbeat in my throat. “You left without saying anything, you pushed me away.”

  “Because you do this!” He motions between us. “You joke or brush it off like I wasn’t inside of you, like you weren’t right there with me.”

  Anger, lust, love, upset … so many emotions swirl in the air between us.

  “Don’t shut me out. Don’t pretend like I don’t care. And don’t pretend like you don’t feel this, too.”

  Dean sets the guitar from his lap next to his body on the couch, his entire chest bare now. Those worn, dark jeans ride low on his hips, and I swallow unsuccessfully, my throat dry looking at the body of a man, not the boy I once knew.

  He stalks me, nothing rushed or animalistic about this, not like the night in his dressing room. I rub my thighs together where I stand, heat pooling low in my stomach. The way he’s looking at me, as if I’m a mirage of water in the desert, has my knees knocking together.

  The minute he touches me, I jump. It doesn’t feel like his hand, and when I look down, I see he’s fingering the guitar pick he must have been playing with mere seconds ago.

  And he’s running it along the skin of my arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Higher and higher his hand climbs, until the pick is at my throat, running along my collar bone in such a way that I’m sucking in a breath and holding it, waiting to see what he’ll do.

  The pick centers on the dip in my throat, Dean uses the fingers of his other hand to tip my chin up, making me look into his eyes.

  When I do, he torturously, painfully moves the dark green triangle down my skin, between my breasts, and into my shirt where it disappears.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kara

  “Looks like I’ll have to go get that.” One of Dean’s eyebrows crooks up.

  I can feel the pick land softly in between the cups of my bra, and as it hits the skin of my cleavage, my nipples instantly go hard. I’d meant to come in here to address the reason we got ourselves to this point, and now we were about to engage in the exact act that had my feeling so mixed up and I was absolutely helpless to stop it.

  Dean rounds on me, backing me into the wall of the doorway. I let my hands go slack at my sides, unable to tell him to stop when everything south of my waist is tingling to start. His big, but nimble, fingers trace the skin on my chest, as if he’s leaving behind tattoos seen only to his eyes. I suck in a breath, trembling at the thought of having to wait for him to undress me.

  It’s pure insanity the way this man can turn me from frigid to scalding in mere seconds flat.

  He doesn’t stick his hand down the front of my blouse the way I thought he might, but instead begins to slowly pull it free from the pencil skirt it’s tucked into.

  “Do you know how much I love this fuck-me doctor look on you? So professional, but with every step I can see the curve of your hip.” The last material of the shirt floats free from my waist.

  Dean starts on the buttons, flicking them effortlessly open one at a time. I have to lick my lips, my mouth completely dry as he works me over. He isn’t even physically touching a part of me, yet I feel him everywhere.

  “There it is.” Dean’s blue eyes tease me, smirking, as the last button of my shirt falls open.

  The material hangs off my shoulders, revealing the white bra encasing my breasts. I don’t move, my stomach dipping with every breath, my eyes glued to his next move. But instead of plucking it out of the middle of my bra, he bends forward, his eyes not leaving mine until he bites down, grabbing the pick in between his teeth.

  It’s then that I reach out, having to steady myself even on bare feet by grabbing Dean’s bare bicep. It flexes at my touch, the skin hot and smattered with masculine hair. Dean’s hand reaches my hip, steadying me but also pulling me away from the wall. Hypnotized, I follow his lead, moving with him as he leads me and pushes me gently down onto the couch.

  My back arches as he plants a knee between my open thighs, my toes curling into the carpet where they plant on the floor.

  “You’re so beautiful.” Dean breathes with the pick still in his mouth, and then he’s sliding the cups of my bra down, a hiss leaving my throat as my nipples hit the air.

  “Oh my God …” I can’t help but moan as the guitar pick traces my peaked bud, Dean’s saliva following and making it slick.

  “It was a mistake to leave without saying anything. But it was an even bigger mistake not laying you down properly, not undressing you and looking at your gorgeous body before I took you for the first time in years.”

  The dirty talk was new, we’d both been too timid and inexperienced as teenagers. But this Dean, the one who was using that hoarse voice of his to say such dirty things, I was totally incapable of doing anything but lying back and arching into his touch.

  He worked my breasts over, using that instrumental tool to make my nipples so hard that I was to the point of orgasm. I didn’t even know that was possible, but apparently, he could bring that out in me. My hands roamed his chest haphazardly, like an afterthought, like something my body wasn’t consciously doing. Touching him was akin to breathing, seeing.

  We were exploring, tasting. My skirt came off, and then his belt. Soon his jeans lay somewhere discarded on the floor, as we stoked the fire in each other. His hands molded my skin, my hips, my breasts, the slick spot between my thighs. He began to play me, tuning my climax like a well-practiced song, an instrument in need of love.

  And when I whimpered into his mouth, the first orgasm wracking my body, he pulled me up and sheathed my core over himself. My legs straddled his without thought, the earthquake shattering me from the inside out as Dean gripped my hair, bouncing me softly up and down on his cock.

  It was an encore, a continuation of one orgasm into the next as he growled into my neck, biting the sensitive skin of my earlobe.

  “No lyric, no spoken word, can ever compare to you like this.”

  At his voice, I meekly picked my head up from where it had lolled as he made love to me. Looking down into his eyes, a bright blue blaze the hottest color of a flame, I knew that we were in trouble.

  I was in trouble.

  Dean Jacobs wasn’t just a high school love. A first-time puppy lust, dream about prom kind of situation. All of those years ago, it had been real. It was still real. I was in love with this man in the deepest way possible. A soul-crushing, axis-tilting kind of love that makes you want to laugh and weep at the same time.

  “Kara …”

  My name is a plea, a promise, a pledge. His hand falls directly over my heart as he pulls me down to his lips, coming undone in the exact moment that our mouths meet.

  After we’re finished, silence pouring over our naked bodies, he scoops me into his arms. There is no discussion as he carries me upstairs, bypassing my room and tucking me under the covers of his own bed.

  For the first time in seven years, I fall asleep in the safest place I’ve ever known. And also, the most dangerous location for my heart.

  Chapter Thirty

  Dean

  Patrick had prepped us all day yesterday for this interview.

  “He’s Miles Hodge, the notorious radio host with a penchant for cursing and dirty talk. He was kicked off regular radio years ago and transitioned to satellite because his show was so vulgar, and with him went his ten million listeners. It’s a huge opportunity, but he’s going to hold your dicks to the fire.”

  Kara snorts, because she thinks that Patrick can be a tad dramatic sometimes.

  “You think I’m kidding? Especially you, missy. He will ask you how Dean gets you off, in what position and how you like it best. He will ask you two about the rumors of a contract engagement, he won’t hold back like the other radio hosts who want Dean to play nice and come back on their show. And he’ll especially ask you about Hannah Lockwood.”

  I reach over and squeeze Kara’s hand, because I can see how red with embarrassment she’s growing. She isn’t used to this, and it’s her first big sit
down interview with me. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there the whole time.”

  Although it feels as though we resolved things last week with our big talk after I came home, and the insane sex that followed, I’m still unsure about Kara’s feelings. She’s still being tight-lipped, even if her body tells me otherwise. But either way, I am trying to prove to her that what I said was true, I’m not backing down from trying to get her back.

  “I can handle it, Patrick. I’m articulate and even though your world might be bolder and less tactful than mine, I’m not going to shrink if someone asks me how many thrusts it takes Dean to make me come.”

  I nearly swallow my tongue right there as my balls grow tight with need. Fuck, I love it when she’s feisty.

  Patrick chuckles. “Well, all right then. I think my work here is done.”

  And so far, we have both done well. Kara successfully sidestepped a question about if she likes to sixty-nine, instead demurely laughing and saying that was the volume of liquid she liked to inject into patient’s lips. I was asked about my past, and kept my choir boy act up by respectfully declining to talk about other women with my future wife in the room.

  My job was to be respectful, something I typically hadn’t done in my past appearances on Miles’ show. And Kara’s was to be the confident bombshell, addressing sexual questions head on and truthfully, as if he had asked her her favorite lemonade recipe instead of if we used vibrators in the bedroom.

  And so far, so good. She’d only slightly, without drawing attention from anyone else in the room, squeezed my hand when Miles had asked if we were in a contract relationship. I’d fielded the question, making a joke from my playboy arsenal, saying that I was Dean Jacobs and if I needed to legally obtain a woman, Kara would be the last one who would agree to something like that.

  I’m not saying it didn’t make my stomach drop thinking that if there was no contract in place, she might not be here.

  “So, let’s get down to brass tacks here. Did you rape the girl?”

  Miles was known for his sassy type of interview, the no holds barred style when it came to sex and smut was what made him so popular with his viewers. But to have to sit here, next to the woman that I cared about, the one who, to the world, wore my ring and seemingly loved me, while he asked if I sexually assaulted another woman … well, that was beyond uncomfortable.

  “Come on, Miles … my girl is right here.”

  I feel Kara touch my arm, snuggling into me on the leather couch they’ve sat us on, all cameras and mics pointed in our direction. “Don’t worry, baby, I got this one. So Miles, let me tell you something that you may not know about my fiancé. I’m not sure if he talks about it a lot, but he didn’t have the best childhood. In layman’s terms, his father was a drunk and an asshole. I’ve seen Dean go through things over the years that most people would never even be able to imagine. I know him better than anyone else, and I can tell you that he one hundred percent did not do this. He would never be able to, and he is the most respectful, loving man I’ve ever met.”

  A knot of emotion forms near my Adam’s apple, and I hope she truly believes that and this isn’t just for show. Because all I’ve ever wanted to do is appear decent in this woman’s eyes, and if she means what she said, then maybe there is hope for us after all.

  “Wow, I didn’t know they still made people like you, Kara. You’ve clearly not been in Hollywood long enough, because I think you actually still know how to tell the truth. So then, if Dean didn’t do this, what do you think this Hannah Lockwood’s agenda is?” Miles leans forward, trying to bait her.

  But she’s smarter than that. “I’m not sure, Miles, as I wouldn’t want to assume anything about Miss Lockwood. However, I do hope she understands what she is doing, and both Dean and I wish her nothing but the best. We as people may never understand the actions of others, but our only option is to swallow any anger or misunderstanding and try to walk a mile in their shoes.”

  Holy fuck, was that politically correct. If my girl was running for president, she would have just sealed her fate in the White House. I can’t help but turn to her and plant a kiss on her forehead, my lips lingering and taking in the spicy jasmine scent she has on today.

  “Well, I think you’ve found yourself a real gem with this one, Dean.” Miles winks at me, and I know he’s imagining my fiancée naked.

  I bite my tongue not to roll my eyes. “I’m a very lucky man that she chose me.”

  “Enough of that sentimental bullshit, not on this show, buddy. Now tell me, are you guys into any kinky stuff? Wax play?”

  Kara snorts before rolling her eyes at him, and I’m glad we’re through the tough part of this interview.

  Her words about my character play over and over in my head, even as I fall asleep that night.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dean

  Usually, I fucking hate going to award shows.

  There are the hours of “getting ready,” and having stylists poke and prod you from head to toe. The bullshit amount of time you need to adhere by to be fashionably late. The ass-kissing, the sitting through hours of other people being recognized for their accomplishments. The shitty new music acts who put on ridiculous performances.

  But tonight, I find that I don’t really mind any of it. Since two o’clock, Kara and I have been getting ready in a private hotel suite just yards from the venue where the Hot 100 Music Awards will be taking place. We’ve joked all day, jamming out to old school favorite jams that we loved in high school, and eating candy paired with the swanky wine that room service sent up. She rolled her eyes multiple time at the beauty crew who acted like an un-tweezed eyebrow was the end of the world, and I got to ogle her for hours upon hours.

  I almost swallowed my tongue when she’d come out of the bathroom in the skin-tight emerald ball gown that the designers had made especially for her. Kara had always been the most beautiful girl I’d ever known, but something about seeing her with all of that flowing hair and the material painted to her body … she was made for a red carpet. And for me.

  For the past week and a half, there had been no snags between us. Each day was like nirvana, a perfectly blissful existence where Kara and I laughed, flirted and enjoyed each other. I started to bring her to spots where I knew the paparazzi wouldn’t be; a little place on the coast where we sat at a picnic table and ate lobster rolls, the old indie movie theater right outside the city, the bowling alley down in the valley that no one spotted us in.

  Our dates, for the first time, were about spending time with each other and not showing off for the cameras. We played tennis on the court in my backyard that I never used, and Kara beat the shit out of me with her racket. I suggested strip tennis, and had gotten a sly look, but I’d seen the sparkle in her eye.

  We were becoming close again, reminiscing on old memories and bringing up inside jokes from our years-long relationship of the past. Kara made me dinner some nights, and I’d begun to bring her flowers. There had been no more talk of turning this façade into something real, but I wasn’t going to push it. Ever since the night I’d come home from Europe, and we’d made love in the house, a shift had occurred between us.

  Between that and the interview where she’d taken up for me, we both knew something was changing. That hate was turning into like, which was in turn transforming into something very much resembling love.

  “Do you see what they’re giving out in these gift bags?” Kara hisses at me as we reach our seats in the overly decorated event center where the awards are taking place.

  She holds up a velvet box containing what looks like diamond earrings, and I can’t help but chuckle. “You can have my pair, too.”

  “I mean, the movie premiere was nice, and that charity event we went to last month was very heartfelt, but this is another level. Did you see all of those people screaming at us from the bleachers?”

  I forget that Kara hasn’t had years of practice at this. She can definitely fake it till she makes it, but tonight I
could feel the tension in her body. It was the biggest carpet we’d attended yet, and the weight of the nominations hanging on my shoulders made me a little giddy too. I’d had to practically maul her ass to get her to relax in our photos and interviews all the way down the long carpet.

  “You did great. And you look amazing.” I let my eyes roam over her face and body.

  “We’re sitting with Jala? Oh my God, I am going to make such a fool of myself.” She checks the name cards of those around us, other musicians nominated in some of the same categories I am.

  “Don’t get too excited yet, it’s a long night. I’m sure you’ll be bored in about an hour.”

  These shows weren’t as glamorous as they appeared on TV. They typically took several hours, with commercial breaks, boring speeches, too much alcohol, and small talk with other celebrities, some of whom I couldn’t stand.

  “Well, I’ll just make up people’s backstories then. Like we used to when we’d sit in the mall, creating stories about people. And in this case, it’s easier, because they already all have rumors swirling about them.” She winks at me.

  “You’re incorrigible.” I shake my head, and pull her chair out.

  An hour later, we’re chatting with the rest of the celebrities at our table and indulging in a little too much alcohol. I tend to load up at these things, because it’s better than making small talk. And Kara seems to be loosening up a bit, or she’s just nervous and keeps sipping. Either way, I can’t help but be drawn to the tipsy flush of her cheeks.

  “Did Lorraine do your ring?” A teeny bopper two chairs down leans over to grab Kara’s hand without permission.

  My fiancée looks at me helplessly. “Um, I have no idea …”

  “I picked out her ring, so she doesn’t know any details.” I cover her other hand with mine, squeezing as the women at the table ogle her ring.