Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Promise
I clean Angel’s cuts and then he loads me in his car, driving me back to his loft.
I have no idea where we stand. A few scrapes on his knuckles and a little first aid does not bridge the giant gap between us.
I know that.
Just like I know that however much I would like it not to be true, Angel is allied with my father far more than he is with me, no matter how much he likes looking at me naked.
The car moves smoothly into traffic, his hands on the steering wheel as he weaves through the streets of New York.
We pull into the garage of the loft, the silence reasonably amicable considering I found a hooker in the lap of the man who is both about to be my husband and, by virtue of his alliance with my father, my enemy.
He slides out of the driver’s seat and comes around the car to open my door. It’s not chivalry, I see that now. It’s his way of insuring I don’t escape.
I get out and start for the elevator, Angel at my side. He opens up the metal gate of the elevator and I step inside, him just behind.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs as he closes the gate and presses the button to start the elevator up.
I quirk my brows. I don’t talk. I’m always quiet.
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a phone. “It’s a burner. It’ll work for what you need.”
I haven’t had a phone in a while. I brush my finger over the keypad and then open the phone, seeing Angel’s name in my list of contacts. I close it down again.
“Don’t want to text me something?”
My brows lift higher.
“I’d take ‘you’re a fucking asshole’ at this point.”
I open the phone again and choose texts as the elevator opens. But I pause before I get out, texting him:
You’re a fucking asshole.
He pulls out his phone, quirking a half smile, before his hand comes to my back. I stiffen away and start out of the elevator myself.
“I don’t get to touch you?”
I shake my head.
“I want to hear you say yes, but I’d settle for another no.”
I glare, my arms crossing as he opens the door to the loft. He sighs. “You’re angry with me over Chastity?”
I pull out the phone again.
That’s the least of it.
“About your father?”
I sigh. Haven’t we covered this already? And why does he care? He’s been clear. He’s not a good man, he doesn’t have feelings for me.
“You going to run tonight, Goldilocks?”
I frown before I pull out the phone again.
Goldilocks wasn’t the brightest, but if there was one thing she wasn’t, it was a runner.
He grunts, his lips curling into a small smile. “True. But why? Why haven’t you tried to escape?”
Why is he asking me this now? We’re texting. These messages are public in their own way.
I don’t want to escape.
His brows furrow in confusion. “Why not?”
It’s none of his business. He’s not my confidant, and I’m not arming him with any of my intentions. I shrug and then start for the guest room. Tomorrow I’m getting married. I need my beauty sleep.
I hear Angel following and I pick up the pace.
I ought to know better. I’m only encouraging him to chase, and we both know that Angel likes a challenge.
He moves faster too, and I trot down the hall, my short skirt swishing around my thighs as I go.
I just need to make it to the door and then…
His arm lashes around my waist, my back crushed to his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I swat at his arm, making it clear his touch is not welcome. But he doesn’t let go. Instead, he buries his nose in my hair.
The yo-yo treatment is getting old and I shove at his arm, demanding that he release me, but he still doesn’t listen. “I told you in the club, I want to hear you cum.”
I smack harder.
That’s when he lifts me off my feet, carrying me into the bedroom.
I twist and squirm, trying to get out of his grip, but he only rumbles into my ear, “I like it when you rub all over me like that.”
I go limp in his arms. He only drops me on the bed, his front coming to my back as nuzzles my ear. “I’m going to touch you until you beg me to make you cum.”
I shake my head, my face rubbing into the blankets. He’s probably right. I can already feel my resolve weakening as the bulge of his erection presses into me. He feels so good.
But something about feeling good makes the words well up into my mouth, struggling to get out. I don’t want to loosen anything. Because the more words that escape, the closer to the surface the feelings come.
He pushes my hair up off my neck and kisses along my spine, his weight holding me down.
His lips tickle and I feel the goose pimples rise.
“Stop.” The single word is out before I can hold it in.
He pauses then. “I told you, I want to hear yes from your lips.”
I look back at him, the accusation in my eyes. He doesn’t deserve a yes.
“Go ahead, Promise. Tell me to fuck off.”
I shake my head, my lip trembling as my gaze holds his. But for the first time in a year, speaking seems more significant than silence. “Yes requires trust. We don’t have any.”
His jaw flexes, his eyes shuttering. And then he’s up, off of me, and striding toward the door. I roll over, watching him go.