Chapter Five #2
Me: No, you did my dad a favor by agreeing to interview me. I EARNED my job. And I increased profit margins by twenty percent in the two years I worked there. I don't owe you anything, and I damn sure won't lie to your wife about you being a creep. I respect her. But you can go to hell.
Me: Do not contact me again, or the next place I go with your messages is to my dad and then to the cops.
I don't give him a chance to respond before I block the number, my heart hammering.
"What an asshole!" I growl.
Thanos pauses mid-sniff to glance up at me…which means he doesn't see the cat scurrying down the side of the tree, as if I startled it out of the branches. But he does hear it as soon as it lands in the bushes behind him. They rattle and snap as the cat rushes off to safety.
Thanos jumps, yelping like the cat is trying to murder him. Before I even have a chance to react, he's running just like the cat, racing across the park like his life is in imminent danger. And the leash is still looped around my waist.
He practically drags me, my feet skidding across the grass and over roots.
"Thanos!" I shout. "Thanos, stop!"
He doesn't hear me, or if he does, he doesn't listen. He's in full panic mode. The leash cuts into my wrist. My shoulder throbs.
"Thanos!" I cry again, desperate to get him to stop before he yanks my arm from the socket or breaks my wrist.
I'm not sure if the pain in my voice is what breaks through his panic or if he just decides that he's no longer in immediate danger, because he stops running. Literally just…stops.
I stumble, my ankle twisting before I land on my ass in the dirt. For long moments, I just sit there, groaning. Trying to catch my breath. My ankle twinges. My arm hurts. And dammit all, maybe Trystan was right.
I am going home demoralized and defeated.
From the looks of it, so is Thanos.
"Come here, buddy," I whisper softly, calling him over to me.
He skulks toward me with his head hanging low and his tail between his legs before he crawls into my lap. His tongue licks all the way up the side of my face in a silent apology.
"It's okay," I murmur, burying my face in his fur. "It's okay, big guy."
He huffs quietly as if to say it's far from okay. And he isn't wrong. But that isn't his fault. He's just a dog, a frightened, anxious dog who spent too much time in a warzone and still hasn't figured out that he never has to go back again.
"What the fuck?" Trystan growls as soon as I limp into the kitchen. He immediately tosses his dish towel, hurrying toward me. Two plates rest on the kitchen table, his laptop nowhere in sight. The whole house smells like bacon. "What happened?"
"Cat in the park," I grumble.
"Jesus, baby. Did you get into a fight with it?" he asks, scooping me up to carry me to the table.
"What? No, of course not. It scared Thanos, and he took off running. He ended up dragging me. I twisted my ankle." I glance down at the dog, who is curled up on his bed, his head on his front paws. "My shoulder hurts too. But it's not his fault."
Trystan sighs softly, easing me down into a chair before kneeling in front of me. His fingers close around my ankle, lifting it onto his knee to examine it. I fight the urge to shiver as he traces a fingertip across my bare skin. "How bad does it hurt?"
"Not bad," I mutter. "It's definitely not broken." It's not even really swollen. It just aches a little. I'm sure it'll be fine in a few hours.
"You should get it checked out anyway."
"It's fine, Trystan. I just need to rest it for a few hours. Same for the shoulder." I shift my gaze from my ankle to my wrist. There's a very obvious leash-burn around it. "My wrist probably needs cleaning up, though."
Trystan's lips purse when he sees it. He immediately hops up, striding toward the sink to grab the first aid kit Wyatt keeps tucked beneath it. "You aren't walking him at the park alone anymore, princess."
"Obviously," I grumble. "I didn't think I was going to get him stopped for a minute there. Poor guy freaked out. Honestly, it was Donny's fault."
Trystan drops to his knees beside me, meeting my gaze. "What happened?"
"He texted me." I scowl at the reminder. "Can you believe he actually offered to give me back my job if I lied to his wife and told her that I made it all up?"
"What the fuck?" Trystan's expression goes stony. "Why isn't he blocked?"
"He is!" I cry, instantly annoyed at the assumption. "I blocked him right after he sent me those messages." I glare at Trystan as he dabs ointment on my wrist. "And even if I hadn't, that doesn't make it my fault he's harassing me."
"I never said that."
"You sure? Because that's what it sounded like to me. I know damn well that you were taught better than to victim-blame. I know your parents." Uncle Eli would crawl all over his ass for something like that.
"What the fuck? That's not what I was doing, baby.
Of course, it isn't your fault. It never even crossed my mind to blame you.
The only one responsible is the fucking asshole who decided being your boss gave him a free pass to try to get in your pants.
He deserves to have his balls ripped out through his throat for even thinking the shit he sent you. "
"You asked why I hadn't blocked him."
"It wasn't meant to be an accusation," he says softly. "I was just asking how he was contacting you because you shouldn't have to deal with that shit."
"Oh," I say, slightly mollified. "He used a different number. Probably a text app, which is honestly gross in and of itself." I pause. "I'm not lying for him."
"Hell no, you aren't," Trystan growls.
"I have to tell my dad." It's the only option I have at this point.
As much as I don't want to risk him murdering Donny, if I don't tell him now, it'll only be worse when he does find out.
And since Donny clearly isn't willing to let it go, now that I've told his wife, my dad is going to find out what really happened sooner or later.
Honestly, I'm not sure why I ever thought I could keep it from him in the first place.
"Yeah, princess, I think you do," Trystan murmurs softly, gently massaging my wrist.
"I'm worried."
"Hey." He tips my chin up with his free hand, forcing me to look at him. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, you know that, right?"
I nod silently, my eyes locked on his face. One thing I've never doubted over the years is his willingness to protect me. Even when I didn't want it, I had his protection. Even when I resented it, I had it. I'm not worried about me. I know Donny can't hurt me, especially with Trystan here.
My former boss is a non-factor in my life at this point. I'm annoyed he's bugging me, sure, but I'm not afraid of him.
But I don't want anyone I care about to go to jail because he's an asshole, though. And judging by the look in Trystan's eyes, I don't think my dad is the only one I need to worry about here. He looks a tad homicidal, too.
"Promise me something," I whisper.
"Anything," he says without hesitation.
"Promise me that you won't do something stupid to punish him."
His lips compress into a grim line, and I know that's precisely what he's thinking about doing. The truth is right there in his eyes. Trystan would risk jail for me.
"Please," I whisper, not above begging if that's what it takes to earn his promise.
"You don't need to worry about me, Chloe."
"I am worried about you!" I cry. "I've always worried about you. God, Trystan, don't you get it? I can't lose you because of him. I won't. Not now. Not when…" I choke on the words, not even sure what I'm trying to say.
"Not when what?" he asks, his voice a scrap of sound.
"Not when I know you heard me last night. I know you were outside of my door, listening to me moan for you the same damn way I always do when I touch myself."
"Jesus," he rasps, eyes locked on my face like not even the combined might of heaven or hell could force him to look away right now.
"You think you're the only one with fantasies? Well, you aren't," I cry. "It's always been you. And I won't let my asshole of an ex-boss be the thing that takes you from me when I finally feel like maybe there's hope for us."
He groans softly, wordlessly, his eyes still locked on my face. He's so still, like he's frozen in place. I'm not even sure he's breathing at this point.
"Fuck it," he growls suddenly, lifting me out of my chair into his arms.
We tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs, with me sprawled on top of him. Before I can even adjust to this new reality—the chair knocked on its side, his hard body beneath mine—his lips are on mine.
I gasp into his mouth, and then we're rolling. I'm no longer sprawled across his chest. I'm pinned beneath him, his strong arms the only thing keeping me off the cool tiles. His mouth moves over mine, his lips soft and demanding at the same time.
He kisses me as if I'm his biggest fantasy and favorite reward simultaneously. One moment, he's wild, his tongue stroking against mine in a way that leaves me breathless and dizzy. The next, he's soft and sweet, nibbling at my lips as if he wants to memorize every single gasp and whimper.
My hands slide up his back before plunging into his hair, trying to hold him right there so he can't ever stop kissing me.
I've wanted this for so damn long. I don't even care that we're on the kitchen floor.
I don't care that my dress is covered in dirt.
I care about the way he growls and licks into my mouth again and again, annihilating every fantasy I've ever had.
This reality outstrips all of them by miles because it's real. It's me and him—his body over mine, his hands on me, his taste on my tongue real.
"Christ, Coco," he growls, dragging my bottom lip between his teeth as I lock my legs around his waist, trying to keep him right there. Except for right there shifts as soon as I do. It places his very obvious erection right up against my sex.
I throw my head back, choking on his name.
"Yeah, you feel that, don't you?" he asks, burying his face against my throat. His teeth sink into my skin in a tiny bite. "You feel exactly what you do to me."
"Yes. God, yes." My nails dig into his arms as I rock beneath him, desperate and needy…aching in a way only he's ever made me ache. The hard ridge of his erection rides against my clit every time I move, sending waves of pleasure pinging through my body.
I'm right there—literally right freaking there—when he stops suddenly, jerking his hips away from me like I burned him.
I cry out at the loss, not sure if I want to beg or commit murder. Both sound like good options right now.
"No, princess," he rasps, pressing his lips against mine in a hard kiss. "I'm not fucking you for the first time on the goddamn kitchen floor. You aren't coming for me on the tiles."
"I don't care where we are!" I cry.
"Too bad." He bites my neck again, hauling me up into his arms. "Because I care, Chloe. You deserve more than a quick fuck on the kitchen floor."
He's not going to give me what I want. Even after everything, he's shutting me down, pulling back. He still can't color outside the damn lines for me.
My heart screams in protest, threatening to shatter.
I open my mouth to tell him to let me go or to go to hell, I'm not sure which.
"The first time I'm in you, it'll be in the bed where you were touching yourself last night," he rasps before I can say anything.
I blink. And then blink again.
"W-what?"
"You heard me." He hauls me closer, rising to his knees above me.
Pulling me up with him. His eyes lock with mine, burning with intensity and intent.
"The first time I'm in you, it'll be in the bed where you got yourself off moaning my name last night.
The next time you have that perfect little hand between your legs, you'll smell me on your sheets.
I want you drowning in me and memories of what we did while you're making yourself come next time. "
Oh.
Oh. My. God.
Hope blooms where desolation just tried to take root, his words ripping through me with the force of a bomb. And I don't have a single thing to say in response as he tucks me against his chest and storms out of the kitchen, breakfast forgotten on the table.