Zander #3
“You better drink that wine faster; you’re overstaying your welcome.
” She says the cold words with a hot fury as she unwinds her arms from the protective stance along her waist and paces down the length of the island before returning with a look of righteous indignation animating her striking features.
My Wildcat is still in there, vicious and beautiful, willing to claw and fight, to challenge me like the valkyrie she could so easily be.
“You think you can waltz into my home, demanding to know about me and my life after five years?” She laughs bitterly before returning her fiery gaze to me.
“You discarded me like a used cum towel. Why now? Why couldn’t you have cared back then, when it actually mattered? ”
“You knew what you were getting into when you boarded that jet. I laid it out clear as day, and you agreed. It was just an all-expenses-paid vacation where we would fuck like bunnies and have a really good time in paradise. It would be over when we got back. I never lied to you or told you I would be good relationship material. I’m not. ”
I’m standing and moving toward her as my words froth at our feet, white-capped waves rushing onto a desolate shore and leaving the foam of memories behind.
I don't intend to touch her, but suddenly, I have her in my arms, her hands on my chest and face tipped up to meet my eyes, a look of surprise widening her gaze.
“What are you doing?” she asks hotly, her furious breaths pressing her chest against mine, fingers unconsciously curling into my shirt like she wants to keep me close. Do it, little Wildcat. Claw me, bite me, fuck me up and keep me here.
My hands roam along the too-familiar planes of her body, one coming to rest at the small of her back, just above the swell of her amazing ass, the other tangling in her hair at the nape of her neck and pulling until I get a sound from her I’m sure she doesn't want me to hear. It feels so natural. So right.
Fuck, what am I doing? I shake my head slowly. I can only answer her honestly, no matter how convoluted it is.
“Reminding you of what we enjoyed, as per our agreement,” I growl, my eyes trained on her lips.
My body moves unhurriedly into hers as my brain disengages from rational thought.
She makes no move to step away, her body warm and pliable against mine, eyelashes fluttering.
I kiss the surprised O of her mouth before I can stop myself.
It’s a brush of lips, butterfly soft, that has hers parting against mine.
I sweep my tongue against hers, still soft, still tentative.
She tastes like red wine, dark chocolate, and something drugging that is altogether her that I will never be able to get enough of.
My fingers clench, tugging her hair, and a little whimper rises in her throat.
I keep the kiss gentle when I want to haul her up onto the counter and pillage her lips.
I take my fill of her mouth slowly. The intoxicating taste of her that hasn’t changed in five years sends my head buzzing with adrenaline, my veins pulsing with the rush I crave so badly.
Mine. Mine. Mine. I move my lips to flutter along her jaw, feeling her neck roll to give me access, and am seconds from biting just under her earlobe where I know she’s sensitive when she freezes in my arms.
Cold clarity washes over me. I remove my lips from her skin and my hand from her hair, pulling back immediately.
But I can’t bring myself to let go of her hip, where my fingers dig into the plush softness like I need an anchor to keep myself attached to her.
The steel rod of my cock is pressed tightly against her hips and has a mind of its own that very much wants this to continue.
I shouldn’t have done that, and I damn sure shouldn’t have come here tonight.
This was a mistake I couldn't stop myself from making. My thoughts refocus, disengaging from the very physical reaction I have to her. I have to stop this, stop thinking it’s okay to touch her now, when I know better.
I have to kill this piece of me that wants anything more than I should.
“We had a physical connection. You weren’t offered a place in my life other than for the duration of a trip.” The words ground me in reality, not the fantasy land I thought I could get away with exploring again, even just for a few minutes.
She untangles herself from my grasping hands and puts more space between us, her molten chocolate eyes flashing.
“What the fuck is this?” she hisses. “Are you trying to rub my face in how I misjudged you? Why would you kiss me like you want me, while telling me I mean nothing to you and you never offered me more than what I got? Just to, what, make me even more aware of what wasn’t on the table to begin with? ”
I rake a hand through my hair and look around, not sure why I’m acting without thinking, doing the exact opposite of what I know I should.
I shouldn’t even be here. I should have told my brothers my suspicions and let them subpoena a paternity test and kept out of a fifty-mile radius from the gravitational pull she has on me.
Where’s the fucking restraint I usually have in spades?
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.” My voice is gritty with self-loathing. I hate not knowing the motivations that push me to be so fucking impulsive, to overstep boundaries I put in place for this very reason. How could I lapse like this?
It’s Harlowe. She’s the antithesis of my rules, and everything my desires want, but my self-preservation knows isn’t good for me.
“It was a mistake to let you in tonight, and it was a mistake to get mixed up with you in the first place.” She’s backing away from me, her eyes narrowing. The fury of her words feels like a punch to the gut, my lungs constricting with the reality that I brought this on myself.
“You’re willing to call your child a mistake to bite back when you feel insecure about misreading what was offered?” The words are meant to cut her back, but I instantly hate myself for saying them when I catch the flicker of hurt cross her face that is quickly replaced by resolute indignation.
“How can you be such a shallow asshole?” She holds up a hand to keep me from responding to the rhetorical question.
“No, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s just in your selfish nature.
You didn’t give a shit about me before you saw a headline that was enticing enough clickbait to get you interested for some reason.
Please, just go back to forgetting I existed. It was easier that way.”
“I can't fucking forget about you,” I say, my words coming out harsh, yet the most honest of anything I could have said tonight.
I run my hand against my stubble in irritation, frustrated that this went ass up when I had every intention of being civil.
She pushes my buttons so easily. Instead of remaining in control, I slip into bad habits and strike first before anyone can get the upper hand on me.
Only, this isn’t the place or the time to be acting on those well-honed skills.
“This isn't what I wanted when I came here. I had no intention of fucking up your night or fighting with you.”
She’s backed away from me as far as she can, her arms returned to the defensive position across her chest as she stares me down. “I’ve spent years getting past the blip in my timeline where you reside and I don’t owe you space or my time now.” Her voice is brittle.
The brokenness in the words tells me just how hard she’s worked to put me behind her. I should have stayed there and let her have her peace. I don't deserve to be in her present or her future after how I fucked up her past.
“Should have quit while I was ahead.” I reach for the full wine glass across the island and set it in the sink next to hers, wishing this had gone differently and I could have sipped it while talking to her like a reasonable man.
I don’t wait for a reply as I cross the kitchen and see myself out as she remains frozen in place.
This is exactly why I don’t do repeats or attachments.
There’s not a chance of the vacillating drama to contend with if you just steer clear of seeing the person you fucked ever again.
And hell, why would you care what happens in their life after?
Feeling something other than intense pleasure or sexual satisfaction is overrated.
Why did I decide to follow through with the urge to contact her, to see how she had changed over the years, or if I could still fit into her life with the kid that could possibly be mine?
It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter.
Back to not caring, removing attachments, and continuing on with what I do best.
I slam my car and pull up Instagram, opening my DMs, and furiously scrolling through the messages from countless beautiful women.
I settle on a gorgeous model in town for a shoot who messaged me this morning, and send her a casual Are you up before continuing my scrolling.
It takes less than a minute to get a reply with an invite to a party she’s at full of heart emojis. Bingo.
I’ll fuck my way past this sudden attack of conscious and the shitty masochistic walk down memory lane I took myself on. I’ll be back to myself tomorrow and Harlowe will be firmly removed to the past where she belongs, kid or not.