Chapter 11 #2
If I wanted to sabotage him, I wouldn’t be telling him about anything. I’d just let it happen, but what can I expect from a man who has fewer communication skills than the animals on his ranch?
“You’re an asshole, Gage Hollis,” I tell him, and he laughs once, stepping up to me. His chest presses against mine, challenging me, but just because he’s taller doesn’t mean I will back down from him now.
“You want to say that again, little miss?”
I clench my jaw. “You. Are. An. Asshole,” I reply, slower and more defined, so he knows he didn’t mishear me this time.
“You sit on your high horse, but you’re so willfully blind that not even glasses could make you see clearer right now.” I pause and watch as he visibly tenses.
“Watch what you say next.”
“You’re not the boss of me, and you never will be,” I reply, and before I know it, he’s gripping my hips and pressing me against an empty stall with no warning.
I don’t tell him to stop. I don’t pull away.
The slight pressure stings, but not enough to cause me pain.
He corners me, and the way he glares at me says all it needs to without words.
He’s angry, and he wants to be angry at someone, but I’m the only one here, and I’m the only one willing to dish it back.
“You can hate me all you want, but you know the truth. You know I’m right,” I say anyway.
“You don’t know anything.” He leans closer to me, like a magnet is forcing us closer. His body is shaking with the pent-up rage. Am I really going to do this again?
“I know you’re fighting every urge not to take me against this stall,” I reply, and I stare up, meeting his gray eyes, reminiscent of the impending storm from those nights ago. “The question is, why are you holding back?”
He claims my mouth with a hunger unlike anything I’ve felt from him, not even the first night with him. He grips my hips, and my arms circle around his neck, fingers threading in his hair.
His solid body presses against mine, and it’s painful as the splintered wood pieces poke into my back. I groan into his mouth as he pulls away, descending along my neck, nipping at the skin. If he leaves a mark, I’m going to kill him.
His fingertips press into my hips, sliding under my button-down shirt, and I shiver as his calloused hands run along my skin, warming me.
This foreplay doesn’t last long as one hand circles to the front of my jean shorts, snapping them open with precision and tugging them off. My hands find his belt buckle and quickly work his pants down to his ankles.
He picks me up, pressing me against the stall again as my legs circle his waist. I claim his mouth again, just as he fills me. I groan into his mouth, meeting his thrusts with force. Behind each of them isn’t urgency; it is purely strength, and Gage has a lot of it.
I grip his jaw with one of my hands, pulling his mouth away from mine. “You sure don’t feel like you hate me,” I taunt, knowing it’ll urge him on. He lets out what may as well be a growl, and presses me harder against the stall so much that I thought for a moment it’d give way.
His hands grip my backside tightly, and soon his thrusts get harder and faster with intent. I hiss as he hits the spot I desire most, and my head falls back against the wall. “Gage, yes!” I moan, and it entices him to keep going.
“I’ll show you how much I can’t stand you,” he tells me, keeping his movements controlled despite knowing his anger has shifted, especially after what I said to him. He drives deeper into me, and I feel the pulsing need for release.
His pace doesn’t quit, and even as I feel myself growing closer, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow; instead, he pushes further, speeding up deliberately. He’s close, too. I feel his hips go still, and he curses into my neck, and it isn’t long until I’m stumbling over the edge along with him.
I cling to him as I get through the aftershocks. Every emotion before this seems meaningless. It’s like all the anger has left his and my body, and we’re just weak.
I sigh softly as he places me on the ground. He steps back, pulling his pants back up to his waist and fastening his belt buckle back in place.
He stares at me for a split second—like leaving costs him something.
Or maybe I just want to believe it does.
Then he walks out of the barn, leaving me bare from the waist down and stunned. It’s the most disgusting I’ve felt in my entire life so far.
There is no reason to leave anyone like this, without a word. The word used doesn’t even begin to describe it, but that’s the only word that comes to mind.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew where this was leading to, but every time we’ve done this, he at least had the decency to cover me up, but to just leave? That hurts. He could have slapped me, and it would have hurt less than this.
I quickly gather my underwear and my shorts, putting them on before anyone can see me like this. A tear drops on my hand as I finish up, and it’s in that moment that I realize I’m even crying at all. I can’t believe I’m letting him get to me so much, but is it really him, or is it what he did?
Maybe it’s a little bit of both.
I never thought, despite how much he hates me, he’d be capable of doing something like this. He only affirmed what kind of man he is. He’s a horrible excuse of one, and the cowboy code of being chivalrous.
It’s all bullshit when it comes to Gage Hollis. He doesn’t know manners if they bit him in the ass, so screw him.
Screw Gage Hollis.
I’m done with him.