Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
L iam Neeson pulls his weapon on the TV, eyes cold and steady. When we knocked on Harrison’s and Ryan’s door earlier, they were already ten minutes into Taken.
Amy snuggles closer to me on the couch, and I fight the urge to shrug her off, but she’s like a damn koala bear.
Ever since that night last week, I haven’t felt right. Meals at home are awkward, to say the least. Arkin eats without looking at anyone while I keep stealing glances like a pubescent teenage girl with a crush, which is unsettling as hell.
Our takeaway arrives, and Ryan gets up to answer the door. Minutes later, he returns with stacked pizza boxes, sets them down on the coffee table, and hauls his jeans back up.
The guy needs a belt.
“I’ll grab the beer.”
While he disappears into the kitchen, I use the takeaway as an excuse to disentangle myself. The food smells fantastic, though, and my mouth waters as I open the lids.
“Chicken?” Harrison asks as he reluctantly drags his attention away from the TV. He tries to reach for a slice, but Amy slaps his hand.
“Ladies first.”
Pouting, he glares at me. “Did you have to bring your girl to movie night?”
I almost scoff. Let’s be honest—Amy has a way of inviting herself. I didn’t have a choice. If it were up to me, she wouldn’t be here.
Before I can say anything, Ryan returns with the beers, and we dig into the food. The pizzas are red hot, the cheese threatening to slide off. I catch a piece with my mouth just before it drops.
As I try to focus on the movie, my attention keeps sliding to my phone on the armrest. Mum programmed Arkin’s new number earlier today in case I need to text him about anything.
Apparently, we need to have a way of communicating now that he’s staying with us.
The background music grows more intense as Liam Neeson performs some pretty impressive stunt that makes my enraptured friends lean closer to the TV. I glance at my phone again, jiggling my knee.
Snuggled into my side, Amy rests her head on my shoulder with a content sigh, but I’m barely aware of her as I give in to the urge to pick up my phone.
Swiping the screen, I bring up his number, struck by the intense desire to shrug free of Amy.
What would I even say to Arkin? Would he respond?
These thoughts have my heart thudding harder. No, I won’t message him. I put the phone down.
That done, I focus on the movie again but struggle to concentrate.
When my phone vibrates with an incoming text message, I swipe it up with lightning speed and unlock the screen.
There’s a new message.
And it’s from Arkin.
Fuck.
Suddenly, all I can focus on is his name on the screen, the letters blurring until I’m forced to blink.
Why would he message me? Angling the screen away from Amy, I open the text to find a picture of my unmade bed. Confused, I blink at the crumpled navy sheets. Liam ducks for cover on the TV, and the ‘rat tat tat’ sound of gunshots fills the room.
Pulse thundering in my ear, I type out a response.
Me: ??
Me: Sup?
I delete the last one, my knee jiggling incessantly, questioning why I’m so nervous. Amy shifts beside me, and I quickly place the phone down, smiling weakly. The look on her face is unconvinced, though, and she leans in close to whisper in my ear. “Are you okay, babe?”
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
It’s not that I want to sound defensive, but my nerves are shot. Why would Arkin take a photograph of my bed to send me? What’s the reasoning behind it? Come to think of it, he must have been staring at my pillows and quilt for quite some time. Was he thinking of that night—when he laid on top of me and held a knife to my throat?
At the illicit thought, my hands grow clammy and Amy tries to stroke my cheek, but I flinch.
She studies my face. “Something is off with you.”
Sometimes it really sucks that she’s so perceptive.
“Would you please drop it,” I all but plead.
I had a guy on top of me and liked it.
A hurt look crosses her face, and for a second, I regret snapping at her, but I don’t have it in me to apologize either. As she turns her attention back to the TV, I check my phone.
There’s no response from Arkin.
A sinking feeling weighs me down as I stare at the chat, debating whether to send another text. It’s a bad idea, right?
I toss the phone aside, wondering why he left me on ‘read.’
I fucking hate that.
Amy puts a possessive hand on my jiggling knee. Suddenly nauseous, I fly up from the couch, startling her and the guys. “I need a piss.”
Exchanging confused glances, they stare after me as I leave the room, but I don’t relax again until the door is shut and locked behind me. What the hell is happening to me?
My father’s voice drifts from the kitchen when I return home after dropping Amy off. She tried to stick her hand in my trousers on the drive to her house, but I couldn’t get away fast enough.
Dad smiles at me as I enter the kitchen. “You’re home early.”
I make a non-committal sound and open the fridge. Arkin is up on a ladder, repairing parts of the ceiling while my dad talks him through it.
As I grab a bottle of orange juice, Dad says, “Arkin is a quick learner.”
“That’s great.” I turn and take a long sip.
Arkin’s tight gray T-shirt has ridden up to reveal his ridged stomach and skin that’s covered in a sheen of sweat. I try not to stare at his abs, but it’s difficult not to.
His jeans hang low on his hips—low enough that I can see his defined V, and he’s working hard, screwing or unscrewing something. Fuck if I know since I struggle to look away from the straining muscles in his arms.
I go to take another sip, but the bottle is empty. I discard it in the recycling.
While my dad dishes out instructions, I open the fridge again, acutely aware of Arkin’s presence in the room. He’s everywhere at once, his intense eyes on my father as he tells him what to do next. I’m not hungry, or thirsty, or any-fucking-thing, but I am intrigued.
For a few moments, I watch him discreetly before reaching for a bottle of sparkling water and unscrewing the cap.
Arkin’s jeans are shredded halfway up his left thigh, and I stare at a patch of olive skin while guzzling the water. When I raise my gaze, I get caught in those intense blue eyes that seem to stare into my soul.
Arkin rests his elbows on the top of the ladder, his veiny big hands distracting me from his intense eyes. My dad keeps talking, and I wish he would shut up for once.
We keep watching each other until my father hands Arkin another tool. He straightens up and then refocuses on the ceiling.
My dad smiles at me over his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”
“Negative.” With one final glance at Arkin, I spin around and head upstairs to shower.
After shutting my bedroom door, I lean against it and let out a defeated curse. This needs to stop. I can’t let myself feel like this around a guy. If my friends find out… If my parents…
No. Hell no.
I push off the door and pull my T-shirt over my head. The sweet, almost sickly scent of Amy’s perfume clings to my clothes, and while I usually like her feminine scent, it makes me nauseous tonight.
Discarding the top in the laundry hamper, I head to the bathroom and switch on the shower. Steam rises, fogging up the mirror as I peel off my clothes. I try not to think so hard, but the doubts creep in anyway.
The hot water pours over my head as I step beneath the spray to wash Amy’s scent off me, scrubbing my hair vigorously before dragging my fingers down my face and spitting out water. Images of Arkin on the ladder play unbidden beneath my eyelids—the way the muscles strained in his arms… and those fucking eyes.
With a curse, I rest my hand on the tiled wall as water pours from my nose in a steady stream, my cock at full mast and hard as fuck.
“Shit…” I reach down to wrap my fingers around my throbbing length, and a tingle of pleasure threatens to buckle my knees.
Holy fuck.
I groan out loud. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I was this pent-up.
“Dammit.”
Another hot surge of hot pleasure tingles my balls as I glide my hand over my cock and squeeze a bead of pre-cum from the weeping head.
The wave crests and I begin to pant as I stroke in long pulls, imagining it’s Arkin’s fingers instead of mine—imagining how amazing it would feel to have him touch me instead.
My heart pounds as I fuck my hand. It won’t take much at all to come. Not tonight. Not when it feels this damn good.
I suck in a breath, and my hips stutter. But then I become aware of a shadow behind the shower curtain and stop.
What the fuck? Is someone in here?
My cock pulses painfully as I whip the curtain open. Arkin stares back at me, leaning casually against the wall.
I swallow, aware of how hard my cock is in my hand, and when his darkening eyes fall down my naked body, my length twitches in my grip. Arkin remains silent as a wave of anger rises inside me.
“You like to watch?” I spit while jerking myself almost aggressively.
If he wants to be a fucking creep and watch, I’ll give him a show.
I pick up the pace, shamefully aroused, and Arkin watches me fuck myself like I would if I was alone. I don’t hold back for once because what’s the point? He has already seen me.
Arkin hardly even blinks. What’s going through his mind?
I was aroused before, but it doesn’t compare to how turned on I am jerking off with him there. I keep going, stroking, pulling, and tugging.
“You like what you see?” I taunt. “Huh? Does this get you off?”
Arkin meets my gaze, and a grunt rips from my lips. It pisses me off how good it feels. Let’s face it: my hand never feels this amazing when I’m alone.
“Shit,” I groan, dropping my chin to my chest as ropes of cum erupt. “Fuck.”
A shudder runs through me while I milk the last of my release. That was beyond intense. Scary intense.
I keep stroking until my balls are empty and my heart has finally returned to a normal rhythm. When I look up, Arkin is gone.
There’s no reason for me to feel this bothered. I taunted him on purpose, after all, because I was angry and defiant. But now my chest tightens with shame as I turn off the shower and ram my fist into the tiles. Water drips from my nose, and I drag my fingers through my soaked hair. Fuck it all to hell.