Taunt Me (Rough Love Book 2)

by Annabel Joseph

  “Don’t scream at me.”

  I clasped my hands over my mouth, fighting tears I absolutely would not shed. I stared at the man who’d commandeered so much of my heart, against my will, against my better judgment. He’d consumed so much of my life. I couldn’t let him have any more. Even if, deep down inside, I wanted more.

  “I’m not going to scream at you,” I said from between my fingers. “But I need you to go. I really need you to go.”

  “Okay,” he said, very calmly and very coolly. “But I need you to comprehend something. You and I are not over.” He walked closer to me. I shook my head and scrambled back until I was trapped against the window.

  I stared at his intent expression, his broad shoulders, the ladder of muscles leading up to his chest. I thought of his poetry and the way he’d taken over my body in those hotel rooms. I thought of the pleasure, the longing he planted in me. I thought...maybe...

  But no. No, no, no.

  “You have to leave.” Tears spilled over, panic in liquid form. What if he stood there forever, looking at me like that, making me want him when I didn’t want to want him? “You left me!” I said. “I wish I’d never met you. I wish you’d leave me alone.”

  “Chere—”

  “Go away! And if you spy on me, I swear to God, if you look at me through your binoculars or follow me around, I’ll call the fucking police. I’ll report you. I’ll take out a restraining order.”

  He held up his hands, his strong, powerful fingers spread wide in protest. “Chere,” he said. “Don’t freak out.” He reached to wipe away some of my tears. “Stop crying. Listen to me.”

  I shoved his hand away. “No.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “I want you to go. You’re crazy and scary and controlling.”

  “Yes.” I heard his sharp agreement through the frantic whoosh of blood in my ears. “Yes, I’m controlling, but I would never, ever hurt you.”

  “Really?” I glared at him in disbelief. “You’d never hurt me? You’re a fucking liar. You left me! After everything, after you took over my heart and my life, and twisted up all my feelings, you left me.” I grasped at my chest. “That hurt me so much. It hurt me way more than you can ever understand. I loved you, but now I hate you. You’ve already hurt me as much as anyone could be hurt, and I survived it. Now I just want you to leave me the fuck alone.”

  I stood there clutching my heart, trying to collect myself. I hadn’t meant to reveal so much. I hadn’t meant to give him the pleasure of knowing how deeply he’d injured me. I hadn’t meant to tell him that I loved him. He didn’t deserve to know.

  He watched me a moment, then pursed his lips and turned away. “I’ll go get my shirt.”

  He put it on, buttoned it up and tucked it in like any normal man. He looked normal, but he wasn’t normal. He wanted too much, demanded too much. Stalked me too much and scared me too much. He gave me orgasms that clouded my reason, but I wasn’t going to let that happen again. He put on his socks and his shoes without a word, gave me another taut glance, and walked to the door.

  “Thanks for the fuckfest anyway,” he said. “It was epic.”

  The door shut behind him, and he was gone from my life, forever, for the second time.

  Shit. The key.

  Price

  By the time I got home, her drapes were closed, every one of them. I put the binoculars in one of the guest room closets. I wasn’t going to need them anymore.

  So, Chere wasn’t inclined to welcome me back with open arms? Okay. Understandable. Hell, I shouldn’t have gone back in the first place, I definitely shouldn’t have fucked her, but now that I had, I wasn’t going to deprive myself. Those breathless hours we’d spent through the night, before her angsty emotions caught up with her…

  Well, they were worth it, even if her defensive, distancing words had followed. I wish I’d never met you. I wish you’d leave me alone. You’re crazy and scary and controlling. All the blather about police and restraining orders. I knew she didn’t mean any of it, but she’d been pretty damn angry.

  My little fighter. She’d always had a temper.

  It pleased me that Chere hadn’t lost any of her spirit, that none of her defining qualities had changed. Her hair color had changed, sure, and she’d pretty much lost that whore look she used to have. But God, the splendor in its place... Her curly, dark hair, her bold features, her eyes like liquid toffee. Her freckles. That pert, strong chin.

  I lay back on my bed and undid my pants, took out my cock and stroked it to hardness. I had work to do, a meeting tomorrow, but I had a little sexual tension to take care of first.

  Today sucked, but last night had been amazing, perhaps the most magnificent sexual marathon of my life. The way she resisted at first, the way she fought me and melted into me at the same time. Then...when I pushed inside her... My fucking God.

  I worked my cock slowly, sensually, pulling hard with a firm grip. This is for you, Chere. I took my time, thinking back to the softness of her skin, the cinnamon scent of her hair. I didn’t want to come too quickly. There was so much to remember. So much to look forward to when I won back her trust, which I fully intended to do. I wouldn’t attempt to enslave her as I did in my darkest fantasies, or interfere with anything she was trying to accomplish. I’d just fuck her in that rough, intense way she liked, for our mutual satisfaction.

  After I came like a storm, and cleaned myself up, I sat and scrawled some words on a stark white page. I placed it in an envelope, and wrote her name and address on the front.

  You’re so beautiful.

  It wasn’t enough, and someday I would do better, but for now it was the only poetry I had.

  Chere

  Andrew looked down at the parts and pieces spread out in front of him.

  “Chere, I swear to God we’re doing this wrong.”

  “Read the directions again.”

  He held the flimsy paper up to his face and squinted at the tiny writing. “You read them. I can’t make out a word.”

  “Your eyes are younger than mine.”

  He leaned back against the doorjamb and tossed down the paper with a sigh. “Why are we changing the lock again? If the building manager already changed it?”

  “Because Price used to own this apartment. He might be tight with the manager. He might own this entire building. He might have been the one to send the locksmith.”

  “You sound kind of paranoid,” Andrew said.

  “Of course I’m paranoid. He was stalking me the entire time he was gone. I’m sure he’d love to have another key to my apartment, and if he knows the people who run this building...”

  My friend looked skeptical. “He had a key for two and half years, though, and he never used it.”

  I glared at him. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Your side, darling.”

  “And we can’t really say if he used it or not. Maybe he came in here all the time while I was away.”

  At my quiet huff of outrage, he bent back over the directions. “Okay,” he said with feigned confidence. “We’ll figure this out.”

  I leaned over the directions too, trying to calm down. I shouldn’t have been bitching at Andrew. He’d come over in a flash when I told him I needed him, even though he’d just returned last night from his rent-boy excursion in Vail. He was sun bronzed and wind burned and full of racy tidbits about his time with Mr. Recaro.

  I hadn’t told him as much about my reunion with Price. I left out the night-long carnival of perversity and stuck to the basics: that he’d shown up out of nowhere and let himself into my apartment, and freaked me the fuck out.

  “We need more light to do this,” Andrew said. “Can’t you open the drapes?”

  “No. Remember? Hunting binoculars.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He grimaced and picked up one of the pieces.

  After I’d sent Price away, he’d had a note delivered to my apartment. You’re so beautiful. That’s all it said, You’re so beautifu
l. When I showed it to Andrew, he’d pointed out what I already knew, that it was an echo of something he’d written once on my arm. Look at what you do for me. You’re so beautiful.

  I had done way, way too much for him the other night, not that I admitted that to my friend.

  We turned our attention back to the lock’s pieces, and my metal design background eventually helped me figure out how it went together. My sweet but useless sidekick kept me company while I took out the old lock and installed the new one.

  “Here’s the thing,” Andrew said, holding the lock while I went at the door with a screwdriver. “Mr. Recaro—”

  “Why do you always call him Mr. Recaro? Two weeks in Vail, and you’re not on a first name basis?”

  “His first name is Maximo, but he only lets me call him Mr. Recaro, or Sir.”

  The “Sir” sounded familiar. I sucked in a breath. “How kinky.”

  “Girl, you don’t even know. It’s so sexy, how he knows what he wants, how he demands and takes and uses me for his own fulfillment. It’s the submissive thing. When I’m with him, I feel so grateful to be able to serve him.”

  “You’re a natural submissive. I’m sure he realizes that, and values it.”

  A tinge of pink colored Andrew’s cheeks. “It makes me feel special to serve him. He made me feel special, even though I was the one at his beck and call. Does that make any sense? Why do I enjoy giving myself up completely to someone else? What does that say about me?”

  The lock was in. I clicked the bolt back and forth. “Maybe it’s a thrill-seeking thing,” I said. “Or a way of coping. Sometimes it’s nice to not have to be in charge.”

  “I don’t know.” He watched as I tested the key. “I guess it’s not crucial to understand the reasons. I just know it turns me on. God, it makes me feel high, to be under someone’s control, and to please that person. Is that weird? It’s weird, isn’t it?”

  “No, you’re just kinky. It is what it is.”

  Andrew pushed his curls back, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The way he looked at me after our scenes... I can’t even describe it. The way he kissed me… Pleasing him makes me feel like I’m high on drugs or something. I’m not falling in love,” he said at my exasperated look. “I’m not. But I really respect him. He was good to me and I was good to him. I hope we’ll keep seeing each other.”

  “I’m sure you will. I’m glad you had fun.”

  His smile turned wistful. “I know he’s just a client, and that this is just for now, but I hope I meet someone like Maximo someday and have a real relationship. A real Dom/sub relationship that goes on all the time.”

  “You’ll find your match,” I said, trying to sound like I knew what the fuck I was talking about. “You’re too kind and generous to spend your life alone. Someone is going to appreciate you one day, and give you everything you need, and you’ll live happily ever after.”

  “You think so?”

  “I hope so,” I said, even though I didn’t believe in happily ever after. Now that the lock was in, I took the spare key and handed it to Andrew. “I want you to have this. You’re my best friend in New York. Maybe my best friend anywhere. I’ve always wanted someone to give a spare key to.”

  “Oh gawd.” His smile widened as he took it. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You want something to drink?”

  We sprawled on my couch with a couple of sloppy cocktails. Andrew launched into more Vail stories, apologizing for all the details. I didn’t mind as much as he thought I did. The escorting was obviously working for him right now, and if he was going to be a good friend to me, I had to be a good friend in return. I had to support him to the best of my ability, and keep an eye on him in case things started to go wrong.

  Keep an eye on him, like Price kept an eye on you?

  I frowned and shook my head. Not the same. Andrew’s voice drifted off mid-story as he realized I wasn’t listening. He was so sensitive to my mood swings. If he wasn’t gay, he’d be the perfect boyfriend.

  “Still thinking about him?” he asked in a hopelessly gentle voice. “You were right to tell him to fuck off. But it must have been hard.”

  “Honestly, it wasn’t that hard. He acted like an overbearing, obnoxious prick. I don’t know what I ever saw in him, how I got so emotionally attached. I feel so stupid now.” I leaned back against the cushions and put up my feet. “I romanticized him. It was the poetry, maybe. It made everything seem more romantic and beautiful than it was.”

  “You were a different person back then, weathering a difficult time in your life. Don’t beat yourself up. Hey, at least you know his name now.”

  “I know his first name. That’s all I got.”

  He sat up straighter. “I feel a search engine session coming on. I mean, you’ve looked, right? You’ve searched for designers in Manhattan named Price?”

  “I searched every combination of ‘designer’ and ‘New York’ and ‘Price.’ But when you search ‘designer’ and ‘Price’ you get a bunch of links to online clothing stores.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask his last name?”

  I scowled at Andrew. “I kind of forgot to do that in the middle of all the fighting and stalking revelations and sex.”

  He held up a hand. “Hold. Up. You did not tell me you had sex.”

  I covered my face. Holy shit. I hadn’t just had sex with him. I’d submitted to all his crazy, rough, perverted demands like we’d never been apart, like I was still his prostitute, meeting him for sessions at a luxury hotel.

  “I don’t know how it happened,” I said, looking up again. “We were fighting, and then he was grabbing me and kissing me, and then...” I pointed across the room, at the wall. “We did it there.” I pointed to the floor. “And there. And in the bedroom.”

  “You did it three times?” Andrew gawked at me.

  “After that, he ran out of condoms.”

  “Well.” He looked like a shocked old church lady. “I’m glad to hear you’re having safe sex, but why didn’t you tell me you slept with him? I told you everything about Maximo.”

  “You certainly did.”

  “So why—”

  “Because it’s stupid,” I said, cutting him off. “It was stupid and weak of me to sleep with him and I didn’t want to admit I did it.”

  “No wonder he wants to start things up again. Was the sex hot?”

  “It was so fucking hot, Andrew. I can’t even describe it.”

  “And that’s why you keep zoning out with that tortured look on your face,” said Andrew, shaking his head. “That sucks. It sucks that we always want the things we shouldn’t have. That we want the things we shouldn’t want.”

  Bless him. He always understood. “Why can’t you be straight?” I groused. “You’re fun and sexy, and you get me. Why don’t you straighten the fuck up and be my boyfriend?”

  “Cougar,” he muttered.

  I climbed in his lap and started riding him, which led to uncontrollable laughter and a pillow attack.

  “Stop,” he shrieked, whapping me upside the head. “Consent violation.”

  He tackled me to the couch and pinned me under his body. He wasn’t as big as Price by a long shot, but he was still a man, and bigger than me. We gazed at each other, laughing, and then he leaned down and pasted a messy kiss on my lips.

  “Gross,” I said, sticking out my tongue. “I don’t want your gay cooties.”

  “I don’t want your cougar cooties.” He sat up and helped me right myself. “Forget it, babes. Stop flirting. I’ll never live up to Price’s mystique.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to.” I moved into his arms when he opened them, and rested my head against his chest. “You’re my safe place. He’s my scary place.”

  “Ah, but Chere...” He stroked my hair and wrapped one of my curls around his fingertip. “I think you like to be scared.” He was silent a moment, while I mulled that over. “I’m not saying he’s a good person,” Andrew w
ent on, “or that you belong together, but, honey, let’s be honest about something. You pined over him for two and a half years.”

  “I didn’t ‘pine over him.’”

  “You pined over him,” Andrew repeated. “You gave up on relationships because of him. I think that’s why you’re so upset now, so conflicted and messed up.”

  Ugh, I was definitely conflicted and messed up.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “He’s not relationship material.”

  “Are you sure? Girl, think about it. Think of his actions, his machinations with the apartment, just to be able to look at you after he left. The poetry was only part of it. Think about the planning. The ongoing surveillance.”

  “I have,” I said, burrowing my face into his neck. “That’s why I’m so scared.”

  “He’s scary,” Andrew agreed. “But I’m a little jealous. He watched you for two and a half years.” He made a low sound in his throat. “That’s kind of insane.”

  *** *** ***

  Andrew got busy after that, with Mr. Recaro and a couple other clients. I didn’t see him again until the first morning of our internships, when we met for an early breakfast. My normally unkempt friend looked strange in his white starched shirt and tie, with his curls tamed back in a ponytail. He was going to spend half his internship as assistant to a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the other half working at an up-and-coming gallery in Soho. Norton contacts were a powerful thing, and an aspiring painter needed all the connections he could get.

  My design assignment was more practical: an architectural firm on Park Avenue. Their website was glossy and high tech, and maddeningly devoid of information, aside from a striking portfolio of their projects.

  “Eriksen Architectural Design,” said Andrew, studying the site on my phone. “Hey! They designed that crazy building on Driggs Avenue, and that new skyscraper on Wall Street.” He scrolled a little more. “And the Anand Valley Bridge in Mumbai.” He looked back up at me in puzzlement. “I thought you asked for a jewelry placement.”