Chapter 8
MIA
Swayze hasn’t said a single word since we got home. We both parked, he unlocked the front door, motioned for me to walk in ahead of him, then disappeared into his room.
Not gonna lie, now the tables have turned, I feel a little shitty. I know I shouldn’t have sprung the boyfriend thing on him with no warning, but then again, he did fuck me letting me assume he was a stranger.
He’s not entirely without fault, let’s not forget that little truth nugget.
Real talk, though—the way he went all alpha wolf tonight was pretty fucking hot. He was protective and possessive over me, which is something I’ve never had before, and I didn’t hate it.
Buuut we’re not gonna talk about that right now. He played the part well, that’s all I’m saying.
So now what?
This wasn’t really my most thought-out plan. I didn’t wake up today and slap myself on the head saying, duh, you know what… Swayze would make an excellent fake boyfriend.
Nope.
I panicked when I got to my parents. Walking into the dining room, I was caught totally unawares and initially thought those randoms were a couple.
Well, until the guy started undressing me with his eyes. The dude literally made my skin crawl, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it—so unless they were into swinging and looking for a third... well, you catch my drift.
There was no way I could’ve dealt with that through the entire meal. Less than five minutes in, my skin itched from hard ick. By the end of family dinner, I’d have channeled my inner Butcher and Blackbird and stabbed his eyeballs out with a steak knife.
Thanks, Haven, for that particular book rec.
I just can’t believe my mom didn’t listen to me again. Although, why am I even surprised?
It’s the story of my life.
At this point I’ve got every right to be offended by her picks for me. Where's she finding these guys?
Bargain basement?
Even if I was desperate for a man—which I categorically am not—I wouldn’t go near that dude. He’s got more red flags than a Taylor Swift breakup album.
But Swayze…
I’ve dragged him into my mess, which I’m sure Deputy Heartthrob is none too thrilled about.
Yep. I did mention his unofficial nickname around Sweet Haven, right?
Now he’s pissed—probably because this’ll mess with his little badge bunny routine. I mean, let’s face it, we both know his so-called sex ban was a total lie—I’ve still got thigh bruises to prove it.
Well, where do I go now?
Best case scenario, I get him to agree to fake date me long enough to get the wedding over with, which would honestly solve everything.
Well, all my problems anyway. I’m not sure it does shit for him.
Tugging open the kitchen drawer, I grab the stack of Post-its and scrawl onto one.
On a scale of 1 to 10 how pissed at me are you? M
I crouch down and slide it under his door, but before I even stand up—I’m thirty now, creaky joints—the door swings open, and Swayze leans against the doorframe barefoot in nothing but soft, worn-looking vintage wash jeans.
Sweet baby Jesus, his pants are so low, I can see the happy trail disappearing between his abs to frame his… package.
Let’s be real here—if they drop a millimeter more, I’ll see dick cleavage. Yep, that’s a thing.
And did I mention his tattoos? He has a huge lion across half of his chest and a wolf down one arm, with ink swirling around and decorating the bulging muscles, of which there are many.
Many, many mouthwatering muscles.
Oooook I might have accidentally channeled Homer Simpson seeing donuts—minus the grabby hands.
I risk a quick glance down. Mine are present and correct, gripping my thighs and not trying to grab sexy abs.
Thank god for small mercies.
“Are you done?” Swayze grinds out, clearly still pissed at me.
Damn.
“Umm, done with what?”
“Checking me out like I’m your next meal.”
Eeeeex-cuse me.
“As if. I was not. I’d rather eat dirt.” I spit out with a glare, scrambling to my feet. I’m still over a foot shorter than him, but I don’t need to be kneeling at his feet like he’s some kinda sex god.
Don’t think about sex and Swayze in the same sentence. That’s one thing you know he does well, you idiot.
Okay, FINE.
He probably was some pagan sex god or some bullshit in a past life, but he doesn’t need to know I think that. Jeez.
He squats to pick up my Post-it, those rippling abs giving me some very funny feelings. How have we lived together so long and this is the first time I’ve seen him shirtless?
I guess I did spend a huge part of the last year mostly in my room or staying out to avoid hanging out with him alone.
But still, I have eyes.
Missing that view is a solid crime against humanity.
Jesus, what am I doing?
We aren’t supposed to be writing a gushing article on his attributes for god’s sake.
Although it’s just observational.
Brows furrowed, Swayze looks up at me.
“I’m not pissed at you, Mia.”
Wait, what?
“You’re not?” I chew my lip, my stomach flipping at the sight of him still crouched on the floor.
Fire warms the icy steel of his eyes as our gazes lock. He stands with the grace of a lion—damn, it’s giving me ideas.
Mia Georgiou. Get your mind out of the gutter and back to the more pressing problem.
“But I thought—”
“I know what you thought.” The muscle in his jaw ticks in warning, tension rolling off him as his eyes spark and drop to my lips.
I don’t like this look. Not one bit.
He stalks closer, his broad chest forcing me to back up.
“But—”
He closes my mouth with one finger and takes another step forward, crowding me against the hallway wall.
Ohhhh shit. Mayday, mayday.
“You thought you could use me because you knew I was so damn sorry about Halloween.”
“That’s not how it—”
Fuck, his body presses against me now.
The whole thing. I’m literally pinned against the wall… and I like it.
Goddammit.
Since when do I get a major lady boner for this man trapping me in small spaces?
“Don’t lie to me, Mia. That’s exactly how it was. It’s ok. I don’t blame you. What I did was wrong, I take full responsibility for Halloween.” He pauses, hurt flashing in his eyes.
“But you wouldn’t give me the chance to do that. To apologize. Instead, you not only lied to me, you’ve lied to our whole family. They think we’re in a fucking relationship now.”
Fuck.
He sends my pulse thundering when his hand skates down the length of my body, before his fingers skim the front of my thigh.
“They think you're mine, Mia.” His hand caresses my pussy. “That this is mine.”
Up and down.
Those thick fingers make me forget how to breathe, my hips thrusting forward of their own accord.
A wicked grin spreads across his face, his brow arching while he tilts his head, not breaking eye contact for a second.
“Looks like something wants to be mine. That pretty pussy can’t stop grinding against my fingers. She’s not a liar. She wants me to sink my fingers into her, and fuck her until she breaks apart, doesn’t she?”
Apparently, this pretty pussy has taken control of my mouth and I only let out an undignified mewl in response.
He presses two fingers at my entrance, grinding the denim against me.
Oh god.
If he tells me to strip and let him fuck me against this wall, I’ll drop my pants faster than Sonic can run.
My heart hammers in my ears while his fingers continue their assault, focusing on my clit.
Fuck.
He’s gonna make me come without even undoing my fucking jeans.
My head falls back against the wall and I hear a low growl of satisfaction. He slips his fingers to press on my entrance again, harder this time, making me gasp.
Then…
Nothing…
NOTHING…
His hand falls away and he steps back, crossing his arms with a smirk while he leans against the wall opposite me.
“Swayze, what the fuck?”
“What’s up, Angel?” He looks at me blankly and shrugs.
Oh my god, I want to smack that smirk right off his face.
“Fuck you. Don’t toy with me.”
“Aren’t you toying with me?” Smirk still firmly in place, he cocks an eyebrow at me.
“No! How the hell am I toying with you?” I sputter out in outrage, horniness and frustration fueling my anger.
His expression hardens when he glares at me, looking equal parts sinfully hot and dangerous.
“You would see it that way,” he pushes off the wall and walks into the kitchen without a second glance.
“Swayze, we need to talk about this.”
I scramble after him and find him opening two beers before handing me one.
“No shit, we definitely need to talk.”