Chapter 11 #2
“You could have killed him,” I said quietly. “He could have died.”
He leaned in that tiny bit closer. “Is it me, sweetheart, or do you sound a tiny bit excited about the idea of him dying?”
I was certain my cheeks were turning red and I prayed he didn’t notice. “Of course not. I’m not like you.”
“Maybe you haven’t changed as much as I thought you had,” he said. “Maybe you’re still into that, huh?”
His words had me fidgeting against him. Why was I still so close to him? Why was I letting him touch me?
“Into what?” I asked.
“You used to like watching me beat guys up. I remember. I remember how big your eyes always got and how you’d bite your lip and get all red in the cheeks…
” Eyes darkening, he leaned in closer. Just an inch, letting his breath ghost over my neck.
“You used to pounce on me the second I got you alone.”
He wasn’t lying about that. Bridger had very much been that street tough rascal who could throw the hardest of punches and take them too.
There had been more than one occasion where Bridger bruised his fists for me.
Some guy shouting out something a little too crass at me as we walked down the street.
A prim and proper boy at my fancy school who couldn’t quite understand why I was being picked up by a guy in a busted up car and tattoos.
Bridger’s knuckles connecting with jaws was a familiar noise. There was an allure to it I hadn’t ever been able to fight off. Him all dark eyed, tussled hair, rough voice going into outright, unhinged protective mode always made me weak in the knees.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I forced out.
“Don’t try and rewrite history, Juliette,” he said, chuckling deep and low.
“I remember. That look in your eyes. Your red cheeks. The way you’d kiss me like I’d just done something no one else had ever done for you.
You’d kiss me so hard. Like you needed it more than anything.
Like you needed me. Like I had just won, and that was my victory: you all over me.
” His eyes lowered slowly before flicking back up to mine. “Me inside you.”
Warm. I was too warm. It was creeping up my neck more and more, and I still couldn’t bring myself to pull away from him.
“I never asked you to do any of that,” I said.
“No, but you sure as hell liked watching me do it. You liked seeing what I could do for you. What I was capable of.” Amusement was bright in his eyes as he ran his tongue over his top teeth.
“Not like your husband. I had him begging for his life. Crying. Do you know how fucking good that made me feel?”
My hands landed on his broad chest, shoving him back. “You nearly killed him.”
“I should have killed him the second he put that fucking ugly ring on your finger,” he bit out. “What the fuck were you thinking saying yes to something like that?”
Arms crossing over my chest, I arched an eyebrow at him. “Am I ever getting that back?”
“No.”
“What are you planning on doing with it? You going to propose to your girlfriend with it or something? Is that what’s going to happen?”
Head shaking, he let out a low laugh. “I’m not taken, princess.”
The tiniest bit of relief washed over me, because I didn’t want to imagine Bridger being as close to another woman as he was to me in that moment.
“I wonder why,” I said.
“Did you come over here to ask me about that?” he asked, head tilting slightly. “Hm? You wanna know what I’ve been up to since you? You wanna know if you’ve still got a chance with me or something?”
I scoffed. “I do not want a chance with you. I’m married, remember?”
“I could have turned you into a widow the other night,” he said, eyes running from my face and down past my chest before they finally settled on my hips. “Maybe next time.”
“You could kill every man on the planet and I would still want nothing to do with you, Bridger. Keep the ring. Give it to whatever girl you manage to con into falling in love with you. At least you can give her something nice.”
The corner of his lips twitched into a smile that screamed complete and utter delight. “Nah,” he said, “it’s long gone.”
“Where is it?”
“Garbage disposal. Trash belongs in the trash, princess. Besides… I’m not planning on getting married anytime soon. And if I was, I’d get something a lot fucking classier than that thing.”
“I’m shocked no one wants to put up with you.”
“You used to.”
“You were a lot easier to tolerate back then.”
“Yeah, you too. You gonna tell on me? Hm? You gonna run to the cops and tell ‘em what I did to your precious little husband?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“There’s a phone on the desk.” He nodded behind us. “But you said it yourself… You don’t want me to go back to prison. Did you miss me while I was gone?”
Face all hot, I shook my head, trying to convince myself of what I was about to say next. “No. You know I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I already knew that.
Life must have been so fucking hard for you, princess.
Stuck in that ivory tower of yours while all I got was forty square feet of fucking nothing,” he said, teeth grinding together.
“Didn’t even get a window in that cell. Did you know that?
It was so nice knowing that you cared so much, though. I mean, not even one visit.”
“Oh, please, you wanted nothing to do with me after that night,” I snapped. “You said it yourself. You said you never loved me.”
Something flashed behind his eyes. Something darker than anger. “When the fuck did I ever say that?”
I scoffed. “You must have loved tearing my heart apart after you ruined my painting.”
“I didn’t touch your painting,” he said, leaning his face in close to mine. “I’ve already explained that to you.”
“You’re not as trustworthy as you want people to believe. I was dumb for falling for you. I was dumb for not listening to my parents.”
A loud, sarcastic laugh left Bridger’s lips as he looked over to the side for a second. “The parents who hated me? Those ones?”
“The ones who were right about you. But there I was: dumb, idiotic, eighteen-year-old who thought I knew everything about the world, and I let you into my life and let you break my heart.”
He blinked at me, his breathing shallow. “I broke your heart, huh?”
“More than once,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That letter you sent me—”
“The one where I poured my heart out to you?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “That one? What, that wasn’t good enough for you?”
“Poured your heart out?” I asked with a laugh. “It’s crazy how you can just lie straight to my face. Actually, it’s not, because that’s the person you’ve always been. I see nothing’s changed whatsoever, except now you’re even worse, because these days you just go around attacking people!”
“You shouldn’t be mad, you know? I was doing you a favor. Thought you’d be a bit more appreciative of my act of kindness.”
“A favor?” My eyes narrowed. “I got a call that my husband had been attacked and I had to rush to the ER. You call that doing me a favor? You did it just to punish me.”
“I did it to fucking punish him and I’ll do it again if given the opportunity,” he gritted out.
“Why would you want to punish him? What’s he done to you?”
“It’s what he did to you that made me wanna punish him.”
That made my heart stop. Did he know? He couldn’t know. There was no way. I kept all my bruises and cuts perfectly concealed, all those signs of Gordon’s anger hidden away from any and all eyes. Maybe I hadn’t been as careful as I thought I had been.
My mouth went dry. “And what did he do exactly?”
“I didn’t like the way he talked to you the other night,” he said, voice all casual.
Frowning, I tried to remember what he was talking about. The other night had been such an upside-down dizzying mess that I couldn’t even remember most of the conversations that had taken place.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Bridger shrugged. “He should have kept his mouth shut if he didn’t want me hitting him.”
“What? What are you talking about?” I snapped. “And it doesn’t matter what he said to me—”
He cut me off. “Yes, it fucking does.”
“You shouldn’t have attacked him!”
I wondered if I even sounded convincing.
I didn’t care. Not that much. Not at all, actually, but I was doing my best to force on a tone of anger, because what else was I supposed to do?
Say thank you for beating up my husband that I hated?
The one who choked me and slapped me and pulled my hair and left me with bruises?
Bridger didn’t deserve a thank you from me.
He deserved anger, and I was trying so hard to force it.
“Well, it’s too late to take things back, huh?” he drawled. “What’s done is done, sweetheart. Tell him I said hi.”
Head shaking slightly, I smiled at him. “You’re jealous.”
“Of him? No.”
“There’s no other reason for you to do something like that. You’re jealous of him. You want to be in his position, is that it?”
“Yes, Juliette. I wanna be popping pills every night just so I can knock my wife up. What a fucking exciting, luxurious life that must be.”
I rolled my eyes. “Would you stop bringing that up?”
“Guess he won’t be able to take you to that fertility clinic, huh?” he asked. “Guess that old fuck won’t really have a chance to shoot any more blanks, too.”
“So that’s what this was about!” I threw my hands up. “You saw that letter and freaked out and attacked him. Okay. Great. Marvelous work, Bridger. You sure have grown up since the last time we were together.”
He took a calculatingly slow step towards me, and I hesitated to take one back. I moved, and he followed me, not stopping until my back was to the wall.
“I just think it’s funny he can’t get the job done,” he said lowly, eyes trailing up my body again: along my hips and past my waist and then they stayed on my chest for a lot longer than they should have.
Finally, our eyes met again. “If you need someone to fill in the role, I’d be happy to lend you a hand. ”
I hated him. I hated him for what he was making me feel. That I was dying to get some space between us but dying even more to feel him again. That I wanted to feel his familiar hands on my hips and waist. That I wanted his grunts and moans. His lips. The way he used to make me feel.
“Do you need that, princess?” he murmured, letting a hand rest against the wall right by my head.
“Do you need someone to do what he can’t?
The other things too, because there’s no way he makes you feel as good as I used to.
I remember all those sweet spots of yours.
All those places you loved getting touched.
I remember how to make you feel good. Does he make you feel good? ”
“Bridger.”
“Does he make you feel as good as I used to?”
He already knew the answer to that. He must have. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction and answer him, though.
“I bet he doesn’t,” he said. “I bet he doesn’t know how to touch you. Not like me. His hands aren’t as good as mine. And I used to make you feel so, so good, didn’t I?”
My eyes fluttered shut and I knew the breath I let out was shaky. He knew what he was doing and I was letting him do it. I wanted him to do it. Of course I remembered everything. The rushed kisses, his heavy hands, his skilled fingers and lips and mouth and everything.
“I don’t…” I managed to open my eyes back up, but my voice was faltering right there in front of him. “I don’t remember any of that.”
“Yeah?” He laughed. Deep, low, dark. Like he knew everything I was saying was a lie.
He moved in closer, claiming even more of that space between us.
“Want me to jog your memory? I remember… sneaking into your bedroom late, late at night and bending you over that big old bed and filling you up with my cock. And you’d get so fucking loud, wouldn’t you?
Remember how I used to have to cover your mouth with my hand while I gave you every inch of me?
” He leaned in closer, his breath warm and enticing on my neck, that inviting scent of his right there in the air.
His chest pressed to mine, our bodies cushioned together.
“Remember how you’d come around me with that tight perfect pussy?
And what a tight pussy it was. Got so wet too.
Would fucking drip all over me. Tasted so damn sweet.
Fuck, I remember how you tasted. I used to love licking that little pussy while you had to keep your voice down so your daddy wouldn’t hear.
Remember that, princess? Does that ring a bell? ”
“No,” I let out, breathing a little heavy.
“Do you miss my cock?”
“No.”
“Do you miss feeling a cock that actually works?”
It was when his lips touched my neck for a fraction of a second that I finally pushed him away from me. Cheeks and chest and everything burning with desire and need and hunger, I moved, almost stumbling in my stupid heels as I made my escape.
“You don’t remember that?” he asked. “I remember, princess. We had some good times together, didn’t we?”
“Stay… Stay away from my husband,” I said, walking backwards towards the door.
“What about you? Do you want me to stay away from you?” he asked.
I hated myself for saying nothing in response.
The answer should have been obvious: leave me the hell alone and never let me see your face again, but my lips stayed tightly pressed together.
There was heat between my thighs. Too much of it.
The same way it always used to be with him.
I spun around and pushed open the door, letting the cold night air hit my skin, but I still felt his presence.
His breath on my neck. His scent. His voice.
I hated Bridger Underwood so goddamn much.