Chapter 9 #4
I startle, I do need to do that quickly if I don’t want the police at my door. I go inside, take the most unflattering selfie ever, and send it to Dennis along with a message that I’m home safe and everything’s fine. By the time the message is sent, Andreas is standing next to me in the kitchen.
“Well, you’ve given yourself a good excuse to come inside,” I say grumpily.
My emotions are so volatile. I hate him, and I want him. My brain is taking a dip in the alcohol and leaving me hopelessly stranded. I sigh, feeling utterly confused.
He tilts my chin up and locks eyes with me. “I’ll leave immediately, if that’s what you want. All you have to do is ask.”
His confident demeanor, after everything he’s done to me, makes my anger flare up again with full force.
I hate that he’s so sure of himself and that he assumes I’ll just do what he wants.
And I hate even more that he’s right. I don’t send him away.
I feel like a puppet in his hands. He gets away with too much because he’s just so smooth and sexy, and I hate myself even more for not being able to resist him.
I feel exhausted. Why can’t I put up more of a fight? He’s a jerk, after all. I think.
“Andreas, you can’t just pluck me off the dance floor, come in here, and act normal after what you did to me yesterday.
” I’m almost shouting. “You left me alone, half-naked, without a word! How could you do that?” Now I’m really yelling.
“Did that whole night really mean nothing to you? Are you that cold, Andreas?” This time, I can’t hold back the tears. “I’m so mad at you!”
I hit his chest with my fists, but he takes it without flinching.
I’m so frustrated, and the sting from my own fists against his steel chest is painful.
He lets me go on, but then suddenly grips my wrists firmly.
His hold is strong, surprising, but it brings a strange calm over me.
I take a deep, shuddering breath and then slowly let all the air out of my lungs.
My fists relax, and before I know it, the palms of my hands are pressed against his chest. His skin burns through his T-shirt.
He rests his forehead against mine and murmurs his apologies again.
“I panicked and ran away. I’m sorry.”
I feel the sincerity in his words, though they still don’t make sense to me.
“Why, Andreas?”
He takes another step closer, closing the distance between us completely, and nuzzles his nose into my hair.
“You smell so good, Nora,” he whispers softly.
“Why?” My voice cracks.
I grab his T-shirt. I need something to hold onto. He says nothing. His hands release my wrists and glide over my arms and shoulders, all the way to my neck. He massages my tense muscles.
“You can’t seduce me like this, Andreas, it’s not fair.”
“I thought it was the other way around,” he whispers in my ear.
His comment makes me burn, but I don’t forget.
“You’re dodging my questions again,” I say, almost desperately.
“I know,” he admits, his voice low and sincere.
We’re tangled together, the tension unbearable. I know he’s not going to answer, that it’s up to me to make a choice. My hands move from his chest to his back. I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Are you going to run away again tonight?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“No,” he says. I exhale.
“I want you, Andreas.”
Decision made.
He heard what he wanted to hear, and without moving, he slowly unzips my dress. His fingers trace down my back, sending shivers down my spine as the fabric slips to the floor. I’m not wearing a bra, and the cold air sends a wave of goosebumps over me. My nipples tighten with desire.
“Damn it, Nora!” he growls in frustration.
“What?” I ask, startled.
“What did I tell you about those panties?” he exclaims.
Oh. Shit.
“I wasn’t exactly expecting you tonight,” I bite back in defense.
He leans over and, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, grabs something behind me on the kitchen counter. Before I realize what he’s planning, he’s standing in front of me with a steak knife.
“I hope this was your last pair,” he says sternly.
I have at least two more.
He grabs the side of my way-too-high panties and cuts them open.
I send up a silent prayer for my remaining underwear.
Before the fabric even has a chance to fall, he takes hold of the other side and does the same.
Then, with one swift motion, he tosses the scraps aside.
The knife disappears into the sink. Once again, I’m completely naked, and he’s still fully dressed.
I feel the wetness between my thighs. Every inch of my skin tingles, screaming for his touch.
His eyes roam over me, from head to toe.
His gaze darkens, and the warm brown of his irises shrinks to the thinnest slivers.
As if whatever restraint he had left vanishes entirely, he lunges at me with ferocious intent.
Grabbing the inside of my knee, he lifts my leg and, without warning, slides a finger inside me.
I cry out, clutching at his neck with one hand while the other grips the edge of the kitchen counter for dear life.
Drunk, balancing on one leg, and pulsing around his deliciously moving finger, I fight to stay upright, but deep down, I know he won’t let me fall.
He kisses my neck passionately, and then a second finger joins the first, expertly finding that sweet spot inside me.
My response is instant, I dig my nails into his neck, hard enough to leave marks.
Tomorrow, he’ll have five little crescent moons as souvenirs.
I moan, my body taut and trembling. He lets go of my leg, but it hooks instinctively around his hip.
His free hand cups my breast, squeezing it firmly.
Animal.
“Andreas, I can’t take it anymore,” I moan desperately.
“Just a little longer, sweetheart, you’ll come when I tell you to.” I don’t doubt it for a second.
I’m dancing on the edge of release. His hand shifts from one breast to the other, then glides down my stomach, teasing my belly button and the soft patch of hair below.
Yet, he never falters, never breaks the rhythm of his fingers inside me.
His thumb finally finds my clit. And just as he begins to rub firmly, he whispers in my ear: “Come for me, Nora. Now.”
I explode on command, screaming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last spasm until I’m spent.
Then he carefully withdraws his fingers and pulls me into his arms. I cling to him, trying to steady my breathing and find the strength in my legs again.
I feel his hardness pressing against me, and I instinctively push my hips forward.
“I want all of you, Andreas,” I whisper.
“That’s not going to happen.”
I startle, afraid to wake up from this blissful dream.
“What? W-W-Why not?”
Fear grips me—fear that he’ll leave again, just like before, and I’ll be left naked and vulnerable for the second time in two days. Andreas sees the panic in my eyes, cups my face, and kisses me. His gaze locks on mine, steady and sincere.
“You’re drunk, Nora, I don’t want to do anything you might regret tomorrow. If I have you, it’ll be with your full, sober consent.”
Relief washes over me—he’s not planning to leave—but frustration simmers beneath it. Why won’t he take me now?
“Damn it, I shouldn’t even have done this,” he curses. Wait, what? “I’m sorry, Nora, when I’m with you, I can’t control myself.”
“I’m not sorry. Why would you be sorry?” I ask, bewildered by the gap between his words and his actions.
“You’re shivering. Let me take you to bed. Is it up those stairs?”
I nod. I am indeed cold. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
I crawl into bed naked. Andreas tucks me in, and for a moment I fear he’s going to leave.
Thankfully he doesn’t. Relief floods me as I watch him kick off his shoes and strip down to his boxers.
He slides into bed beside me and wraps me in his arms. The room is dark, and the warmth under the covers is intoxicating.
We lie spooned together. Andreas is the first man to share this bed since I moved in—or since David, for that matter.
I can’t describe how good it feels to be in his arms. I also can’t describe how scared I am to wake up tomorrow and find him gone again.
“Why would you regret this, Andreas?” I ask softly.
“I can’t control myself around you, and I should be able to. I’m selfish. I take you because I want to, but I can’t give you what you want.”
“You’ve already given me exactly what I want.” And it was amazing. I wiggle my backside against him for emphasis.
“I mean it, Nora. I’m bad for you, believe me. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll do it anyway.”
“Why would you think you’re bad for me? Why are you so hard on yourself?”
He’s silent for a moment, then says, “Just trust me on this one.”
“Does this have anything to do with your brother who died?”
I feel his entire body tense, and I know I’m treading on thin ice.
“What do you know about my brother? Did Isabella say something?” he asks quickly. Too quickly.
“Isabella?” What does she have to do with this? “No, I googled you and found something about it. He died six months ago, if I’m not mistaken?”
I hold my breath. I know I’m digging into Andreas’s emotional baggage, and he doesn’t like that. But I need to understand him—why he is the way he is.
“Yeah, Max died six months ago,” he says calmly.
I stay quiet, hoping he’ll tell me more.
I tighten my grip on his arms and wait patiently.
“I still miss him every day. He meant so much to me. I was his big brother, and I should have taken better care of him.” His hands grip my arms tightly—too tightly—but I don’t think he realizes it.
“I’ve been trying to focus on work and nothing else. I lost control completely, and I never want to feel that way again. It was working perfectly until…”
He stops mid-sentence, and I can feel the tension radiating from him. Wriggling free from his hold, I turn to face him. His eyes are cast downward, staring at nothing.
“Until what?”
“Until I met you.” He closes his eyes as if it hurts to say it.
“Until you met me? I don’t understand?” Am I making him lose control?
His eyes snap open, meeting mine. Even in the darkness, I can see the struggle etched across his face.
“I don’t understand it either. But before I met you, I was fine. I was balanced. And now I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Andreas has never been this open with me before. I’m glad to see his walls come down, but I never expected to have such an impact on him—or his emotions. I don’t know what this means. Am I good for him? Or bad?
“Maybe this is a good kind of crazy?” I suggest, gently cupping his face and stroking the stubble on his jaw. I love how rough it feels against my palm.
“I know what you’re hoping for, Nora, but I can’t give you that. I don’t believe in it. I can’t do it, and I don’t deserve it,” he says, his voice full of pain.
I swallow hard, processing his words. He’s harsh—on me, on himself—but also honest. That’s something I’ve come to expect from him. He’s probably right. I deserve more than one night of passion. But if that’s all he can offer, I’ll take it. For now. Because he drives me a little crazy, too.
“We have tonight,” I whisper, still stroking his stubbled cheek.
I don’t want him to sabotage himself, but I also don’t want to scare him off by digging deeper. I don’t want to make it harder than it needs to be. I don’t want to hope too much, but I’m also not ready to admit that he’ll inevitably hurt me. I want tonight.
“We have tonight,” he repeats, his beautiful, brown, irresistible eyes looking at me with relief.
“I’m completely sober,” I say with a shy smile. It’s not entirely true, but sober enough to know what I want.
“Is that so?” His signature smirk returns.
“Hmmm,” I hum, pressing myself closer to him.