"I don’t care! And that’s just one example of a thousand others."
"Well," he drew in a deep breath, as if it was hard for him to say it. "I’m sorry."
I laughed in his face. "No, you don’t get to do that."
"What? I said I was sorry. If I really caused you that much pain, I’m truly sorry."
I stopped, my rage still frothing. But he had thrown me off balance. He actually looked sincere, as if he were really just a clueless idiot that didn’t know any better and felt bad about it now. Hell no, I wasn’t letting him off that easy.
I tried to stoke my anger, to get back on track with my rant. "You don’t get to be a jerk your whole life and just say sorry and everything is better. That’s not how it works, James. You can’t just randomly be nice and think everything is perfect. You can’t just..."
I felt his warm hand on my cheek. He turned my face towards his and he silenced me with his lips.
I pushed him off of me and slapped his face. "What the fuck! You can’t..."
He took my face in both his hands again. Leaving no room for argument or escape this time, he crushed my mouth under his.
I gave in, more than willing to melt in his hands as his tongue dipped into my mouth, tasting and teasing mine. I kissed him back, stronger, fiercer, until my lips hurt from being pressed so hard against his. He bit at them playfully, moved his wet lips hungrily across my jaw line, down my neck and back up to kiss and lick my mouth again. I felt the intensity of his need and wanted desperately to reach down and feel for it in those tight blue jeans of his. My pussy throbbed, liking the idea of squeezing that big cock. I was practically humping the air in between us when he finally, unexpectedly, broke the kiss.
I panted, staring at him, feeling my lips swollen, my nipples peaking so hard they hurt, my belly aching with a horrible empty feeling. I wanted him inside of me. But I didn’t want to make love or have sex. I wanted him to fuck me, to feel the weight of his hard body against mine, to feel his marvelous cock thrusting deep into me with his violent desire until he came inside of me again and again.
I squirmed on my seat, waiting for him to grab hold of me, desperate to feel the heat of his touch again.
He stared back, his breath just as short as mine.
"We better get home," he said, finally, his eyes not letting mine go.
I nodded, nervous and scared but still shaking with lust. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
He turned away and put the car in drive, then pulled back onto the road. I sat back straight in my chair, fixing my skirt, trying not to think too directly about anything, trying not to think how wet the leather seat underneath of me was going to be when I got up.
When we got home we went to our separate rooms without a word.
I didn’t bother to get out of my dress before crawling into my bed. I was so exhausted, but it still took hours to fall asleep.
Chapter Six
When I woke up in the morning my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. My body ached everywhere, but the constant pounding headache behind my eyes was the worst of it. The cheap beer at the Statesman did awful things to the human body. I wished now that I would have just stayed home. But of course, that had nothing to do with the beer or my hangover.
It felt like a dream, but it was no dream. I touched my lips. They felt puffy and sore from James’s hard kisses, but under my fingers they seemed normal enough. Normal but changed. It seemed impossible for me to get out of my bed, to dress and go downstairs. Life as a normal girl was impossible for me now. He was my brother.
I pulled my sheets up over my head, not wanting to face the day or the black twisted thoughts that were clouding the air and choking me. Waves of contradicting emotions ran over me—the intoxicating joy of knowing he wanted me, if
only for a minute in his car last night. The gut-tearing nausea of knowing I could never have him, that it was impossible, that it was wrong.
I rolled over, smothering my face in my pillow until I drifted back asleep.
When I finally did manage to get myself out of bed, I avoided James. He must have had the same idea because we only crossed paths at dinner and on Christmas morning when we had breakfast and exchanged gifts—just clothes and DVDs and simple little things, like every year.
After that, it was even easier to avoid him. Because he left.
I came downstairs after a nap—the day was dark and it was snowing pretty heavily—and Nancy told me he was gone. Apparently he had business things to take care of. "He wouldn’t even let me drive him to the airport," she complained.
So, he didn’t even bother to say goodbye.
Good. It was better that way.
We could avoid each other until next year and by then everything would have been forgotten. Right?