Boyfriend Bargain by Ilsa Madden-Mills
41
Sugar
The porch pulses as he stalks toward me, his shoulders tense and bunched. He’s whipped off his jacket somewhere in the process of getting here, and the sleeves of his button-up are rolled to his elbows. My eyes are hungry.
“Nothing is as bad as that,” I say, swallowing. “Seeing you with someone.”
He paces in front of me, his lips in a hard, yet sensuous line.
I look away.
He strides closer, getting in my personal space, and I smell him, my lips parting slightly. He puts his hands on the wall behind me, one on either side of my head, and his chest hitches.
I close my eyes as he leans in and runs his nose up my collarbone to the hollows of my neck. His shoulders shift closer to me, puffs of air mingling with the touch of his beard against my skin.
Shivers break out over my body. I can’t…God…
He’s spicy and male with a hint of pine, and I put up a fortress around me, trying to keep my heart safe.
His finger tilts my face up.
I think of the girl downstairs.
“Fuck you,” I say, barely pushing the words out, but there’s no mistaking the ache wrapped around the syllables. I jerk my chin from his grasp.
He closes his eyes, a muscle flexing in his jaw. Finally, he just breathes, just fucking breathes in front of me, emotions warring across his face.
He opens his eyes and looks up at the sky, as if he’s done, as if he’s given up.
And I can’t resist.
Maybe I just want to piss him off.
Maybe I just want him to stay.
“You lied to me,” I say.
In two seconds he’s back in my space. “You didn’t give it a chance. Was it lack of faith, Sugar? Or just an excuse for you to give up before it got hard? Because you know what? I am hard.”
I try to brush past him, but his hand reaches out and grabs mine, lacing our fingers together. It’s such a simple touch, but it’s his little thing, all him, and I whimper.
“Wait, shit, wait,” he says.
Something in his voice stops me and we stare at each other, the air crackling.
His other hand trails up my skin, skimming my upper arm, drifting to my neck where his fingers curl around my nape. “Always you.”
He pushes his fingers into my hair and kisses me hard and it only takes a few seconds—I kiss him back, nipping at his lips and…yes, yes, yes…this is what I need, what I want.
His tongue strokes against mine, demanding and assertive, and my body lights up. His lips know how to play me, hitting the perfect notes. I’ve craved the taste of him, the feel of his shoulders under my hands for weeks. His lips wreak havoc on my neck, kissing and nipping, and my fingers dig into his scalp, tugging on his hair. I commit the kiss to memory so I can replay it a million times in my head.
Trying to catch my breath, I pull away, and his thumb tugs at my bottom lip. “Did you come here to see me?” It’s not a cocky comment; it’s layered with hope, and I’m falling down that hole again. He’s the one pushing and there’s nothing there to catch me.
I inhale, gathering myself. “Did you kiss me because I look like Willow?”
He closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Don’t do that. Don’t put her here. This is about me and you.”
Tears push at my eyelids as I remember that letter, his words—words he never said to me. “Maybe I did run off, but here I am now, Z. Tell me everything. Tell me how you feel.” All I need from him is just an inkling…
His face pales in the moonlight. “I can’t, Sugar. Not yet. Just give me time.”
Time to sit at fountains with girls named Lola. Time to walk into the Kappa party with another girl.
There’s a distance on his face as he looks at me, a pulling away, and I blink rapidly, trying, trying—shit, trying to hold myself together and not cry in front of him. The tears fall anyway and I can’t stop them. He’s not who I thought he was at all. I knew I was going to get burned by him, and here’s the proof.
So, I do what I always do.
I untangle myself from him and walk away.
