Chapter 19 Marnie #2
“Good. So am I.” He stands, and suddenly we’re very close. His good hand slides into my hair, tilting my face up. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”
“How much you enjoy torturing me?”
“That too.” His thumb brushes my lower lip. “But mostly I’ve been thinking about the sounds you’re going to make tomorrow. How you’re going to look when you finally break. How it’s going to feel when your body figures out that it doesn’t need to fight this anymore.”
I’m shaking. Actually shaking.
“I hate you.”
“You keep saying that.” He kisses me—soft and brief and nothing like what I need. “Go pack. We fly out early.”
“What about your shoulder?”
“I’ve been trained well by an excellent PT.” He smirks. “She’s terrifying and beautiful and extremely bossy. I do whatever she tells me.”
“Roman—”
“One more night, Moxie. Then you’re mine.”
The team bus back to the hotel is mostly empty. Everyone else took Ubers or caught the first bus. It’s just me, Roman, Jake, and a few rookies who are already passed out in the back.
I’m sitting three rows ahead of Roman, trying to read, trying to focus on the words in front of me, even knowing he’s back there watching me.
My phone buzzes.
Roman
Come here
I look back. He’s in the last row, sprawled out, looking completely relaxed.
No
Roman
That wasn’t a question
We’re on a bus
Roman
Everyone’s asleep. Come here. Now.
My heart is pounding. I glance around—the rookies are definitely out. Jake has headphones in, watching something on his tablet. The bus driver’s focused on the road.
I grab my bag and slide into the seat next to Roman.
“Hi,” he says, like this is casual. Like I didn’t just cross the bus because he told me to. “You look exhausted.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Mine.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “And it’s about to get worse.”
“I honestly don’t think it can get worse.”
“Straddle me.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” His voice is low, commanding. “Climb on my lap. The seat backs are high enough that no one will see. And I want you on me.”
“This is insane—”
“Marnie.” He leans forward slightly. “You have two choices. You can sit next to me for the rest of this drive and be good. Or you can climb on my lap and I’ll give you a preview of tomorrow. Your choice.”
It’s not a choice. We both know it’s not a choice.
I swing my leg over his lap carefully, settling against him. His hands immediately find my hips, pulling me down harder.
“There,” he says. “Much better.”
I can feel him through his sweats. Can feel exactly how much this has been affecting him even though he’s been acting like it hasn’t.
“See?” I manage. “You’re not as controlled as you pretend.”
“Never said I was controlled.” His hands slide under my shirt, thumbs brushing bare skin. “I said I have more patience than you. There’s a difference.”
“Semantics.”
“Move,” he instructs. “Slowly. Like you’re just shifting to get comfortable.”
I roll my hips experimentally and the friction makes us both suck in a breath.
“Again.”
I do it again, grinding against him this time. His fingers dig into my hips.
“That’s it. Just like that. Nice and slow.”
We find a rhythm—careful, controlled, nothing that would look suspicious to anyone who glanced over. But the pressure builds anyway. My body responding to his through layers of clothing, every nerve ending on fire.
“You feel that?” he murmurs against my neck. “That’s three days of wanting. Three days of your body learning to be desperate for me.”
“Please—”
“Please what? Please let you come right here on this bus where anyone could wake up and see?” His teeth graze my earlobe. “As much as I’d love that, no. Not yet.”
“You’re cruel.”
One hand slides up my back, into my hair. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“Say it.”
“I want to come,” I breathe. “I want you to stop teasing me and just let me—”
“Tomorrow.” His hand tightens in my hair, holding me still. “You’ll be so desperate for me, Moxie baby, that you won’t even remember your name.”
I’m shaking. Literally shaking against him.
“But tonight?” He pulls back enough to look at me.
“Tonight you’re going to go to your room and lie in bed and be good.
You’re not going to touch yourself. You’re going to feel every ache, every throb, every desperate need.
And you’re going to remember that I’m the one who gets to fix it. Not you. Me.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes you can.” He tilts my head up so I’m looking at him. “Because you trust me now. Even if you’re furious with me. Even if you want to kill me. You trust that this is going to work.”
He’s right. Somewhere in the last three days I’ve stopped fighting him.
“One more night,” I whisper.
“One more night.” His hands slide down to my thighs. “And then you’re going to understand why I made you wait.”
The bus pulls into the hotel and I’m shaking so badly I can barely stand.
“Go,” he says quietly. “Pack. Try to sleep.”
“Sleep?” I actually laugh. “Are you kidding?”
“Fine. Don’t sleep. Lie awake thinking about tomorrow. Thinking about how good it’s going to feel when I finally let you fall.” He leans back, looking completely satisfied. “Either way, I want you ruined by the time I see you tomorrow night.”
I climb off his lap on unsteady legs. Jake’s still got his headphones in. The rookies are still sleeping. No one saw anything.
Roman watches me gather my bag, and there’s something predatory in his expression. Like he’s already planning exactly how tomorrow night is going to go.
“Tomorrow,” I manage.
“Tomorrow.” He smiles. “Sleep well, Moxie.”
I flip him off as I head to my hotel room.
His quiet laugh follows me off the bus.
In my hotel room, I try to sleep. Can’t.
Try to read. Can’t focus.
Try to work on reports and give up after reading the same paragraph four times.
He texts me at 2 AM.
Roman
Still awake?
Obviously.
Roman
Good.
How is this good?
Roman
Trust your body
My body is going to murder you.
Roman
Just one more night. Then I’ll make it worth it. Promise.
What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just... broken?
Roman
You’re not broken. You’re just used to being with people who didn’t give a shit about your pleasure. That changes tomorrow.
I’m caught between frustration and hope.
Okay.
Roman
Okay?
Okay. I trust you.
Roman
Good. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be intense.
Promise?
Roman
Count on it.
I finally close my eyes.
Tomorrow we go home.
Tomorrow this ends—one way or another.
And for the first time in three days, I actually fall asleep.