35. Aspen
ASPEN
We grabbed some food from the kitchen after we’d returned from our walk, and now we’re back in my room, and I want to be anywhere else.
“So, what are your plans?” Tobias asks, throwing himself onto his back on my bed. He slings his arm over the top of his head.
I sit on the bed next to him. “I’m not sure yet. Blake said I could stay as long as I wanted, so I’m just going to help him with the renovations for the time being, work on my art, stuff like that.”
I’ve discovered I’m pretty good at the renovation stuff.
Maybe it’s because I’m artistic and have an eye for details, but I can tell I’m doing decent work restoring the ceiling cornices.
Blake keeps telling me what a good job I’m doing, which always warms me inside.
It feels good to have someone say something positive to me for once.
“But what are you going to do about your future, Aspen? You’re going to need to learn to stand on your own two feet.”
My jaw drops at his audacity. “What are you talking about? You live in your parents’ pool house. It’s not like you’re out fending for yourself either.”
“No, but I have a job, which is more than you have.”
“My dad only just died. My job had been caring for him. Excuse me if I take a little time to get over his loss and figure out what I want to do with my life.”
He props himself up on his elbow. “I just don’t want you to get too comfortable, that’s all.”
I want to punch him. “Yeah, God forbid I have a little comfort in my life. That would be a terrible thing to happen.”
“We don’t push ourselves when we’re too comfortable.” He shrugs. “That’s all I’m saying.”
I think of all the hours he’s spent lying on his bed, gaming, and how he’s never made any comment about wanting to move out of his parents’ pool house or wanting to switch jobs.
Seems like it’s fine for him to live his life as he wants, but the thought of me getting to live in this huge hotel, spending my days on my art, is too much for him.
I’ll admit that not all of his life has been easy, either.
While his parents might let him live in the pool house, it’s not as though they’re even nice to him.
They’ve locked him out of the house for six months while they’re in Europe, and I’m not sure they’ve even bothered to check in with him.
I’d always gotten the impression they’d never really wanted to have a child, that he’d only ever been an inconvenience, and they’d breathed a sigh of relief the moment he’d gotten old enough for them to take off without him.
I close my eyes briefly and try to control my emotions. He’s come all this way, and I don’t want to spend our time together fighting. But my heart is pounding and adrenaline makes the blood surge through my ears.
Seemingly unaware of my fury, Tobias leans to one side and picks up the little stick doll from my nightstand.
“What’s this?” he asks, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger.
I turn my attention to the doll. “Just something I found.”
“It’s creepy as fuck. You should get rid of it.”
I snatch it out of his hand. “No, it’s mine. I like it.”
He shudders. “It’s like it’s a voodoo doll or something.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s clever. Besides, this is my room and my stuff. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t keep.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine, keep your creepy little doll.”
I don’t know why I’ve grown attached to it. Other times when I’ve found one of these dolls, it’s been when I’ve been frightened, but not this one. Something occurs to me. I thought the other dolls had been left to scare me, but perhaps they’d been left to comfort me.
Tobias pats the empty spot on the mattress beside him. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
“It’s still early.” I’m trying to delay the inevitable.
“Yeah, but I had a long drive and I’m tired.” He stretches and yawns as though trying to punctuate his point.
“Okay, sure. Let’s get some sleep.” I try to emphasize the word ‘sleep.’
“Let’s snuggle first.”
Something about the way he says ‘snuggle’ gives me the ick. He’s trying to be cute, but that’s really not what I want.
I know he wants us to have sex, but I just don’t feel comfortable.
Honestly, I don’t even want him sleeping in the same bed as me.
I’m not sure I even want him in the same room.
I wish Blake had stepped in and made Tobias sleep somewhere else.
I’d wanted Blake to be jealous. If he’d shown even a hint of jealousy, it would make me think there might be something more between us.
But he’d practically welcomed Tobias into his home like Tobias was some long-lost son.
This is my fault.
If I’d said anything, he’d have thrown Tobias out in a second, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it. I’d felt guilty about walking out on him the day of my father’s funeral.
Blake had promised to treat me like an adult, which he’s done, and now I’m going to be stuck with Tobias’ hand sneaking around my waist while he pushes his erection into the small of my back.
A part of me wonders if I should keep my mouth shut and get it over with. I can close my eyes and pretend it’s another man’s cock ramming into me—a man like Blake or even Levi.
I shake my head at myself.
No, I do not want to fuck Levi. The guy is an even bigger asshole than Tobias.
But I have thought about it, haven’t I? When Levi has been close to me, whispering filthy thoughts into my ear, my body has reacted.
I don’t like Levi, and I’m starting to wonder if I even like Tobias, so perhaps Levi would be the perfect person to fantasize about while Tobias is fucking me.
Heat coils between my thighs, but I’m not getting turned on at the thought of having sex with Tobias. No, it’s Levi who’s revving my engine.
Tobias is already stripping, tossing his clothes onto the floor so he’s left in only his boxer shorts.
Delaying the moment I have to join him, I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.
I change into the biggest, fluffiest pair of pajamas I own, hoping he’ll get the message.
I leave the bathroom and climb into bed.
Why do I feel like I owe him sex simply because he made the effort to come and see me?
I turn my back to him, but he takes it as an invitation to spoon me, wrapping his arms around me and hooking his calf over the top of my legs.
I wriggle away, trying to create space between us, but he shifts his position again.
He pulls my hair to one side and kisses the side of my neck in a way he knows I like.
Normally, it would get me going, but right now it’s making my skin crawl.
His hand moves around my body to slip up under my pajama top and cup my breast. I wish I’d kept my bra on, but it wouldn’t exactly be comfortable to sleep in—not that Tobias seems keen on getting much sleep. He tweaks my nipple, and I wince.
“Tobes, stop. That hurt.”
He kisses my neck again and grinds his erection in my ass just as I’d known he would. “You like it when I get a little rough, don’t you? You’ve asked for it often enough.”
Tobias’s idea of rough is slapping my ass once as he’s about to come.
“Not like that, no.”
“What about like this?” He yanks down the back of my pants and shoves his hand between my thighs.
I squirm, and it’s not with pleasure. “Tobias, stop it.”
But he doesn’t listen. He penetrates me roughly with his fingers, and it hurts, and I cry out. The invasion feels wrong in every way. Then a mere second later, he’s got his cock in his hand and he’s trying to push it in.
“Please…” I say, and I realize it sounds more like I’m begging for it than I’m wanting him to stop.
A part of me wants to close my eyes and let him get it over with. It feels like it would be easier than saying no. But everything about him is turning me off right now, and the thought of him pumping into me from behind while I just lie there turns my stomach.
His breath is hot in my ear, and he’s panting hard as he continues to try to shove his cock inside me. But I keep my thighs clamped shut. I don’t want this. I don’t want him.
“I said no!”
“Come on, baby, let me in.” He rams his hips forward, doing his best to penetrate me with his dick.
I drive my elbow backward, catching him in the ribs.
Then I donkey kick my foot back and give him a solid shove.
I hadn’t realized how close to the edge of the bed he is, and my attack sends him rearing back.
He topples off the side, and a loud crack signals his head meeting the corner of my nightstand.
He lets out a cry of surprise and pain. “What the fuck, Aspen!”
I twist around to find him on the floor, clutching the back of his head. His boxer shorts are still halfway down his thighs, and his erection juts out. Even me pushing him off the bed doesn’t seem to have wilted it.
Tobias pulls his hand away from the back of his head, his fingers tipped with red. Shit, is that blood?
Guilt swaps over me. “Sorry, but I did say to stop.”
“You didn’t need to push me off the fucking bed.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
He stares at the blood on his fingers. “Jesus Christ. You practically cracked my skull open.”
“Technically, that was the corner of the nightstand, not me.”
He glares at me.
“Why are you being such a bitch?”
I’m sick of him acting like he’s the one going through hard times, and I explode with anger. “I haven’t seen you since the day of my father’s funeral, which you never even made the effort to come to, and you think you can just drive up here and I’ll spread my legs for you?”
“Jesus, there’s no need to get so emotional about it.”
“My dad died! It’s kind of a fucking emotional thing, you dipshit.”
He gets to his feet and goes to the bathroom to get a washcloth for his bloodied head.
When he returns, he grabs one of the blankets off the bed.
“I don’t need this shit,” he grumbles. “I came up here trying to do something nice, and this is how I get treated. I’ll sleep on the fucking floor.”
His head is still bleeding, and he might have a concussion, but suddenly I don’t care.
Any feelings I might have once had for him solidify into a cold rock in my chest. He still hasn’t apologized for a single thing.
I’m supposed to take whatever he wants to throw at me without complaint, and the moment I fight back, I’m the bitch.
He can sleep on the goddamned floor.
“Fine,” I say, tears springing to my eyes.
My mouth is dry from the adrenaline, and I take a long drink from my water glass before tucking myself back into bed.
He grabs a pillow, too, and makes a big show about setting himself up a bed on the floor, punching the pillow and huffing and muttering. I turn my back on him, happy to have him away from me. I sniffle and try to hold back my sobs. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of hearing me cry.
I don’t love him, I realize, and he doesn’t love me.
It shouldn’t really be a surprise. It’s not like he’d ever said those words to me. I’d somehow convinced myself that he didn’t need to say ‘I love you’ out loud for it to be true—I could tell by the way he looked at me—but I’d been lying to myself all that time.
I take myself back to the night I spent with Blake’s arms around me, how solid he felt, how secure and safe he made me feel. I remember what I did when he was asleep, and that familiar tingling heat condenses between my thighs. That is how a man is supposed to make me feel.
Not repulsed. Not angry. Not bitter.
Blake had made me feel loved.