by Emelia Blair
I want to consume her.
I want her obsessed with me.
It was always that way. Even when she was working for me. My attraction to her had started as a mere curiosity and grew day by day until it terrified me and I used the boundaries of our contract to keep her at arm's length—not that I didn’t toe the line.
Hanging around her, befriending her: it wasn’t a wise move. I warned myself against that.
When she left me back then, a part of me raged in despair, demanding I drag her back to where she belongs. The sane part of my brain was relieved, knowing that the temptation that was Eve was very conveniently removed.
However, her taste still lingered on my lips for weeks after.
And now.
Now, I want her with a burning desire that I am unable to suppress.
We have a child together: a bond that is as tight as glue.
If I chase after her now, I could keep her.
In the back of my mind, I know that I am making excuses. I know that sinking my teeth into Eve and tying her to me might end up being dangerous and reckless at the same time. But I am tired of trying to hide what I feel for her, this unquenchable thirst.
I have a feeling that Eve is not someone who lets people see her vulnerabilities. She is so used to taking care of people that she forgot that she is someone with needs too. I want to take care of her, to protect her, to be everything she needs me to be.
I don’t know if I am in love with her.
I don’t know if I was in love with her five years ago.
But I do know that I ache for her, a pulsing in my soul that I can’t get rid of, a hole carved so deep with her name that I can’t stop wanting her.
When she was bartending for me, she moved out of her family home. Her family life was complicated from what I managed to glean from her. But she was strong, independent, and wild.
The woman in front of me now is different. She is still strong and independent, but now she looks at the world in a more guarded manner; her eyes hold hints of regret and yet she faces the world head on, refusing to lean on anyone for support.
I want to possess her.
I want her to be so wrapped around me that she doesn’t know where I end and she begins. The violence of my feelings for this unaware woman who is glaring at me both amuses me and makes me cautious.
“Why don’t you go back to your little blondies?” Eve speaks, her tone scathing.
“Brunettes,” I correct with a half-smile. “And I’m looking at the one I want.”
I am not imagining the anger in her eyes. “I’m not some floozy you can just take to bed and toss out in a few days once you’ve had your fun. I’m done with people throwing me away.”
The last sentence is forced from her throat, almost a slip, and a swift rage rises in me on hearing the raw grief in the words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Who dared to hurt her?
She glares at me. “Nothing. I have to go. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
She tries to brush past me, but I grab her wrist, stopping her, forcing her to look at me. “Stop walking away from me every time I try to talk to you.”
“Get your hand off me, Wolfe.” Her words are a hiss.
The way her mouth forms my name, the defiance in her eyes, makes the grip on my leash loosen and I can’t help but want to discipline her.
And so I do.
With a snap of my wrist, I pull her towards me so quickly that she barely has time to react, planting my mouth on hers in a punishing kiss that has her stiffening. The smell of that soft jasmine perfume wafts towards me as I both abuse her mouth and worship it at the same time, teaching her what pain and pleasure are. Despite her anger, her mouth softens under mine; my blood heats up at the way she lets slip that quiet moan of desperation as I use my mouth on her, disciplining her, feeding my hunger for her.
I don’t give her a chance to retaliate though.
Pulling away, my hands go to her neck, holding her in place so that our eyes meet, and I don’t hide the cold fury in my eyes. “You’re the farthest thing from discardable, Eve Taylor.”
Her hands are on my wrists and to my credit, I don’t wince when she digs her nails in. “You have three seconds to let me go before I knee you in the crotch.”
The fact that her breathing is hard and there is a harsh desire in her eyes doesn’t escape my notice.
Eve can deny it all she wants, but she craves my touch.
Just as I do hers.
I release her, but my eyes move over her form, confusion in my mind. She is violent, foul-mouthed, and she makes it clear that she wants nothing to do with me. But the more she fights against me, the more I want her.
I want her under me.
I want her begging me for my cock.
But more than that, I want to dominate her.
There is something so rebellious about Eve that my darker nature craves her. It wants to tame her, make her mine. She always had this ability to soothe the darkness in my soul. I crave the light that she is.
The woman that I remember always had a smile for everyone and a snarky comment to make even the gloomiest of men laugh. A terrifying temper and a kind word, Eve was always a complex woman. You never know what to expect from her.
“Next time you put your mouth where it’s not wanted, I’m shoving my foot up your ass,” she warns me, her twang thick as molasses. She gives me a warning look. “And it’s going to hurt.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I raise a brow, helpless against my vivid imagination of Eve trying to tackle me in an attempt to do so and failing utterly as I overpower her and then drive her half-mad with my hands and mouth.
She scowls at me, and I can see that she is still trying to hold on to her temper and I wonder how far I will have to push for her to let go of this tight grip she has on herself.
She adjusts her purse and then tosses her braid over her shoulder. “I’m not going to play your games. I don’t know what the hell you want, but I’m not crawling into bed with you just to scratch your itch.”
Her words are harsh, her tone flat, and I know I succeeded in angering her at least.
“I don’t just want you in my bed, Eve,” I say, simply. “I want more than that.”
She bats her eyelashes at me, mockingly. “Well, I guess I should thank you for bestowing such an honor on me.”
My lips thin.
This woman takes infuriating to a whole new level.
However, if it comes to a game of waiting, I have patience in spades.
“Forget it.” Her pretty eyes flash at me. “Go get your dick wet elsewhere.”
I wince at the vulgar phrase, but before I can say anything, a car rolls up in the empty parking lot.
A familiar-looking man, with the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up and his cheek smeared with grease exits the car and pulls out a tire from the back. “This what you wanted, boss?”
“Yeah,” I jerk my head towards the car and Rudy gets to work.
From the frown on Eve’s face, she doesn’t seem to like the idea of being forced into accepting my assistance.
My lips curve.
She has to get used to more than that.
I plan to insert myself into her life completely. If I wiggle my way through her defenses to find her weakest spots, I have no qualms about that.
“Uh, boss?”
I look over my shoulder at my mechanic, who looks a little worried. “What?”
“When was the last time this car had a tune up? The battery’s near to dead, and the oil needs to be changed.”
Rudy is leaning into the hood of the car, tinkering around.
The man has a love affair with cars. It isn’t a shocker that he casually just checked the car over.
“I haven’t had time to get it to the garage,” Eve mutters. “It costs money.”
The last part hisses under her breath, but I hear it nonetheless.
Rudy looks over at us. “I can do it for yo
u. I’ll need to take this with me.” He leans back and appraises the battered blue vehicle. “Could do with a wash, a paint job. Some thorough cleaning. I could have the car to you in a week, good as new.”
He gives Eve a hopeful look, and I wonder if I am not giving Rudy enough work to do that he wants to sink his teeth into this old Camaro.
Eve grits her teeth. “I don’t have a spare car just lying around. When I get the time, I’ll get Paul to take a look.”
“Take the car,” I order, looking Eve in the eye.
“Excuse me?” She shoots daggers my way. “That’s not your car that you’re telling him to take.”
I am not going to let her intimidate me, and my voice is calm. “You drive Mila around in that. If it breaks down somewhere, well, I don’t want to take that risk. I can drive you around wherever you need to go till you get this car back.”
Eve tucks her tongue in her cheek. “You’re going to drive me around?” She looks almost scornful. “You’re going to be my chauffeur?”
“I’ll be at your beck and call,” I tell her, amused by the desperate look in her eyes, one that closely resembles that of a cornered animal. “Or do you think if you spend enough time with me, you might start considering my offer?”
She bristles, immediately insulted. “Oh, get off your high horse.”
I give her an innocent smile. “So, it’s not a problem then. Have at it, Rudy.”
Eve glowers at me.
Maybe this is payback, I muse, as I push around the shopping cart for Eve. I usually don’t do the grocery shopping at home, but since Eve decided to make full use of my services, I am now helping her with her shopping.
I watch her pick up a packet of raw chicken from a discount rack, and as she checks the expiration date on the back of the packet, I point towards the meat section. “Wouldn’t getting the chicken from there be better? Seems fresher over there.”
She tosses the packet into the shopping cart. “No. It’s more expensive. This is cheaper, and I can use it quickly.”
Her words strike me that while she is doing well for herself, money might not be as easy as I thought it was. To see her scrimping and saving, picking up items on discount, I feel a hint of discomfort in my stomach, a gnawing that I can’t quite identify and one I find could very likely be guilt.
Misplaced as it may be.
I don’t like it.
When we reach the checkout, I see her discreetly checking through the bills in her wallet to make sure she has enough. Her lips move silently as she counts and recounts the cash as if she doesn’t quite trust her judgment.
I don’t know why that makes me angry and restless.
As soon as the cashier states the amount in a bored voice, I don’t hesitate. Quickly slipping out my wallet, I take out my card and swipe it on the machine.
Eve stares at that, her eyes widening fractionally. “What are you doing?”
I keep my face passive, betraying none of the turmoil and conflicted feelings that roil like a mass of twisted snakes underneath the surface. “Just picking up the check.”
“This isn’t a restaurant,” Eve grits her teeth. “And there is no check. I didn’t ask you to pay for the groceries.”
I wonder if she knows that the calm and cool exterior that she is trying to present to me is cracking as I keep pushing.
I give her a small half smile as I neatly pluck the bill out of the cashier’s hands before she can make a grab for it. “Well, I did.”
Her jaw tightens. “Well, I’ll pay you back then.”
I will be damned if I take her money.
By the time I drop her home in the afternoon, there is a black cloud over Eve’s head. Maybe when I told her I intended to pay for the repairs to the car, that might have made things worse.
“I’ll come by tomorrow with the paperwork,” I tell her, referring to the child support agreement. I want it to be documented and legalized.
She doesn’t move from her seat, staring ahead at her building, a frown on her face.
“Eve?”
She angles her head slightly to look at me.
“I don’t need your money, Zayn,” she says calmly.
She is struggling to sound pragmatic and not sink her nails into my skin.
I am pushing into her space, crowding her with taking control of the small things, things that wouldn’t have mattered in any other situation, but right now, I am throwing her off balance, and she clearly wants to resist my attempts.
“I’m not after your money,” she repeats, evenly. “Child support is Mila’s right. Aside from that, groceries, whatnot, I don’t need you for that.”
“I know you don’t,” I reply, my tone measured, my gaze sweeping over her tight face.
A deliberate pause.
“Does it honestly bother you that much to give up control, even a little bit, on the simplest of things?”
An observation of her life, of the rigidity of her routine, gives away things about her that she covers with an acerbic tongue.
Eve has such tight control over herself and her life that it almost seems like a desperate attempt to protect what she has. I wonder when she adopted such a trait. She was never like this before.
Her head jerks up in shock that she tries to cover, but I see the brief panic in her eyes before she covers it frostily. “We’re not a family unit. Your pitching in isn’t required.”
She opens the car door, not waiting for an answer.
I watch her carry the groceries inside the building, and I know that any attempt to offer her assistance won’t be well received.
I tap my fingers on the edge of the steering wheel, thoughtfully.
The pulsing bass of the club music is muted inside my soundproof office as I blindly stare at the documents in front of me. Mila’s birth certificate, her medical records. Eve’s medical records.
Seven trips to the emergency room.
All dating back to during the time she was pregnant with Mila.
Nearly five months pregnant.
Broken arm, bruised face, injured collarbone, more bruises. Incidents that were termed as accidents, although anybody with a half a brain could see that nobody could fall down the stairs seven times in a row in the span of two months.
The monster inside me rears its ugly head, demands blood and retribution, and I force it down with cold deliberation.
Somebody put their hands on Eve. My Eve.
It is only a matter of time that I find out who it was.
I know without asking her that she will never tell me who it was. She will never let me see her as vulnerable. I feel no guilt peeking into Eve’s life.
I should have.
But what the world taught me is that if I want something, I have to find a way to take it. And the woman I met, who was all fire and scorn, she is different from what I remember. She uses her attitude to hide herself, and I want to rip down her walls to see who she is.
The door opening and the blast of music has me looking up, and my shoulders stiffen. “Elijah.”
Elijah is a tall man; a dark tailor-made suit clings to his body, his brown-grayish hair slicked back, and those cold blue eyes, so like mine, showing faint amusement at my expense. Unlike mine, they have seen more of the world than I have.
He walks inside, relaxed. “It’s been a while.”
I don’t bother getting up, my eyes tracking him as he moves about the room. “What do you want?”
“How are your friends?” Elijah picks up the paperweight from my table, and from here, I can smell his particular cologne. It is a distinct scent from my childhood, one that I abhorred even back then.
“Why do you want to know?”
He moves inside my office, studying the small decorations, the files, the furniture. “I like to take an interest in your life, every now and then.”
“You’re years too late.”
His cultured tones stir my anger, which I leash with great effort.
“I’m well aware,” he replies, not
a hint of guilt in his expression.
“Why are you here, Elijah?”
He sends a glance my way before walking over to the couch and settling on it, his long legs stretched in front of him in a pose that is as elegant as it is casual, one arm flung over the back of the couch. “It’s come to my knowledge that you’ve been using my network and connections.”
Sarah. Charlotte.
I turn over the documents on my desk. “I was in a tight spot.”
“You could have given me a call.”
“I didn’t feel it was necessary. I just needed to put out some feelers.”
Elijah watches me with unnerving stillness, the silver in his hair standing out against the light from the lamp, his pale blue eyes seemingly looking straight through me. “You brought down the Street Serpents.”
My eyes narrow at him. “What of it?”
Elijah sighs. “That was very inconvenient for me. I had some ongoing business dealings with them.”
I bite down on my tongue. “Of course you did. The man running them went after my friends.”
Elijah clucks his tongue. “Seth. I never did like him.” He brushes some lint from his pants. “I found him rather,” a deliberate pause, “distasteful.”
I tap the edge of my pen on the desk, an impatient movement. “Just tell me why you’re here. I have to get back to work.”
“You’re not going to offer me a drink?”
I feel a hint of rebelliousness rise in me at the open disappointment in his voice.
“I heard you’re not allowed to drink anymore,” I eye him. “Something about a near stroke. That’s why you were in Germany, no?”
Elijah studies me, a small smile playing on his lips, and he murmurs, “Well, look at you; keeping tabs on me.”
I take out a file and open it to reveal some documents that need my approval. “Not out of any sort of love, I can assure you.” The pen moves swiftly as I sign my name on the bottom of a document. “If you just came here to bother me, then leave.”
Elijah is silent for a few moments. “Mila Wolfe. That’s why I’m here.”