Chapter 15
Tracy
Blake reaches for my hand, but I yank it out of his grasp at the last second. He looks at me, his face grim, then takes off down the street. I silently follow, even though I’d rather call an Uber. But it will only piss him off again, so I follow like a total pushover.
I was feeling good and tipsy earlier at the bar, but that buzz quickly started to wear off when Blake tackled Dustin. Now I just feel frustrated, angry, and want to go to bed.
I guess my plan to rattle Blake worked. Too well.
I had no idea he was such a hothead. He’s been nothing but cool and indifferent to me this last week—if not a little rude—and he seems like the type of person who’s always in complete control. The kind of person who never gets worked up. At least not to that extent.
It was obvious I could get under his skin with a little teasing, but I didn’t think he’d snap the way he did, and now I don’t know where things stand.
Everything has gotten weird, and I don’t know how to act around him.
It’s like he hates me, but can’t stand the idea of anyone else wanting me. It doesn’t make sense.
Blake takes a right, heading toward the waterfront. He’s moving too fast for me in my heels and I have to work to keep up with him.
“Will you slow down a bit?” I ask, a few steps behind.
He stops, and I almost collide with him as he turns to look at my feet. There’s a spark in his eyes, just momentarily, when he notices I’m wearing the heels he bought me.
“And where’s your car?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. “You said you’d drive me home, not make me walk a mile in these shoes.” I reach down to pull one of the heels off.
Ahhh, sweet relief.
Blake looks down at my bare foot. “You’re not walking barefoot on these streets. Put your shoe back on.”
“But my feet hurt,” I complain.
“My place is right there.” He angles his head toward a tall building facing the Potomac River just ahead. “You can make it another block.”
“You live there?” Holy crap. That place must have cost a fortune. “And I didn’t agree to go to your place. I agreed to let you drive me home.”
“Jesus Christ.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “To drive you home, I need my truck. And my truck is at my place. So, yes, we’re going to my place.”
Okay, I guess that makes sense.
“Fine.” I put my shoe back on and brush past him. “But no funny business.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, and the low timbre of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
He lets me set the pace this time and leads me to his building. I’m expecting him to ignore my wishes and take me inside, so I’m surprised when he cuts straight to the parking garage below and to his truck.
“Really? You’re not even going to try to take me home?” I stare at him incredulously.
Why the hell am I asking him that? And why am I disappointed?
He smiles sarcastically at me across the truck bed. “I thought you said no funny business?”
“I did.” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I just didn’t think you’d listen.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” I open the passenger door and climb in.
Blake climbs into the driver’s seat, but doesn’t start the truck. “Were you hoping I’d take you home?” he asks, and he sounds genuinely curious.
My chest squeezes, forgetting my frustration and anger toward him. Yes. Yes. Yes. I want to go home with him. I want to feel his hands on me again. I want to feel his lips on me again. I want to feel his breath against my skin as he whispers dirty words into my ear again.
But we shouldn’t.
We can’t.
He stares straight ahead, waiting for my response. The cuts on his brow and lip have crusted over, and his eye is starting to bruise, but it does nothing to detract from how gorgeous he is. If anything, it makes him sexier.
He fought someone.
He fought someone because of me.
Guilt over the way I toyed with him tonight washes over me. “I’m sorry,” I say, reaching over and gently running my fingers over the side of his face. “I didn’t mean for things to go that far.”
He turns toward me and captures my hand in his. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” I confess, my heart starting to thunder at the look on his face. His presence is suffocating, his hard body an immovable force threatening to devour me at the first sign of weakness. “I shouldn’t have sent that picture then let you think I was into someone else.”
“So, you’re saying you’re into me?” he asks, his voice rough.
Yes. “No.”
“But you weren’t into Dustin.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I admit. “I wasn’t going to do anything with him.”
“And what about with me?” he murmurs.
My breath catches. “What about with you?”
He folds the center console up and tugs me across the seat toward him. “Were you going to do anything with me? Or did you just send that picture to torture me?”
Before I can respond, he grips my hips and pulls me onto his lap, so I’m straddling him. His hands skim my sides, trailing lazily up and down.
My skin heats beneath my dress, as though I can feel his hands through the fabric. When his hands get to my waist again, he tugs me closer, forcing my dress up my thighs. My chest is so close to his, every breath causes my breasts to graze against him.
“Blake, what are you doing?” I whisper, my stomach fluttering in anticipation.
God, I want this. I want him. But I don’t know if this is him wanting me in return, or him trying to make the next move in our game. I don’t know if this is just another attempt at rattling me again—his way of getting back at me for barging into his life.
Whatever it is, it’s working.
I have to fight my hips not to start grinding against him.
His scent consumes me, drowning me in his masculine essence.
His eyes rove over my body, greedily taking in every inch.
His hands… ohhh, his hands. I don’t know how it’s possible for them to have this effect on me.
He’s not even touching skin, and all I can think about are those strong hands running along every inch of my body.
“Do you have any friends?” he asks out of the blue.
“Yes?” Why is he asking me this? And right now, of all times. Can’t he see I’m basically a puddle in his lap?
“Hmmm,” he hums. “That’s surprising.”
I pull back as much as I can with his hands still on my sides, holding me in place. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re annoying as hell,” he murmurs. His voice is dark, silky, like pure sin. But his words… the prick.
I push against him, sliding back on his lap as far as I can before the steering wheel hits my back.
“You know,” I tell him, my fingers tapping against his firm chest. “I’ve been spending this last week trying to figure out if you’re constantly insulting me or trying to flirt with me, and I think I’ve finally figured it out. ”
He gives me a questioning look.
That’s right, Blake. This isn’t a game I’m losing.
“You’re flirting,” I conclude. “Because if you were trying to insult me, smart man that you are, you would have learned by now that it doesn’t work.”
“And if I am? Flirting?” He tugs me in to him again, and I let him, my hands gripping his shoulders.
“Then it’s not working. You’re actually pretty terrible at it.” His eyes narrow at me, and his hands stop running up and down my sides. “But lucky for you, I accept, anyway.”
“Accept.”
“Your advances.” It’s his turn to be put on the spot, because I will not bend to him. No matter how good his hands and lips feel on me.
His hand comes to the back of my neck, squeezing. “They’re not advances.”
“No? This sure feels like you making a move on me,” I say.
I make a slow circle with my hips, grinding into his lap. I can feel the hard length of him in his jeans beneath me, and I know I have him. I’ve called his bluff. I’ve won the battle in this twisted game we’re playing.
Or so I think, until he says, “This isn’t me making a move, sweetheart. This is you making up for your behavior tonight.”
Oh, shit.
My hips still. His hand on the back of my neck tightens until I wince from the sting of his fingers digging into my skin.
He tugs me into him by the back of my neck until his mouth is by my ear. “Show me that you’re sorry,” he murmurs. His hand drifts up from my neck to the back of my head. He fists my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth trails down my neck.
My hips roll against him and a low moan gets lodged in my throat as he nips at my collarbone.
“Blake,” I all but groan as his lips trail back up my neck to my ear, the stubble on his jaw creating a delicious burn on my sensitive flesh.
“Grind that sweet pussy against me,” he says as he nibbles on my ear. “Show me that no one else matters.”
My face heats, my hips picking up speed as I grind against him, just like he said to.
Screw the battle between us. Having him is more important than winning at the moment. I’m sure I’ll regret it later, but right now, my pride and dignity have fled—leaving me with a deep need for him and damp panties.
His hands run up my thighs, pushing my dress up until my thong is exposed to him. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths as he looks down at the small black triangle of fabric between my legs.
I roll my hips, my pussy grinding over his dick, and he groans, his hands moving to my ass and gripping me impossibly closer. He squeezes my ass as his hips start to move and meet my own.
My breathing gets ragged, the air in the truck thick and heavy with lust, and then his lips are finding mine. It’s tentative at first, his mouth moving gently over mine—tasting, testing. But when I part my lips, he dives in, his tongue making long, sensuous sweeps into my mouth.
Blake kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before—with such passion, with such intensity, I can’t help but moan into his mouth. He claims me, devours me, takes my mouth like a starving man, and my blood heats in response. My very being melts at the raw hunger of it.