The glass clanked on the counter as I placed it down. The vodka settled into a warm ball in my lower stomach. Shit, shit, shit. Fucking shit!
I kicked the cupboard shut and looked at the clock for the first time since leaving the studio. At least I lasted most of the shoot. That was better than running at the first glance.
Ha. Running. I’m good at running. So much so that I should live in my fucking sneakers.
I poured another drink and drunk it as quickly as the last. Shit. What if I am falling in love? What kind of fucked-up bullshit would that make our relationship? It certainly wouldn’t be a fairytale.
It would be nothing close to a fairytale. Not even good ol’ Walt could spin it into a Disney-esque happy ending.
Another clank of the glass against the side and I stormed into the bathroom. I turned the shower on—full heat and full power—and stripped off. I stepped beneath the burning flow of water and let it wash over me as it almost scalded my skin.
Like it could wash away what I felt inside, on the outside.
Like the red-hot sting could seep into my skin and burn through the clusterfuck of emotion I didn’t want to feel.
Because, god fuckin’ dammit, I didn’t want to fall in love with him. I dodn’t want to feel the way I did because of real emotion. Unmanageable feelings.
But I did. I wanted this sickening feeling in my stomach to be because I was falling for my twat, as he calls himself. I wanted it to be because my heart and soul were in agreement and there was nothing they wanted more than him.
Just him.
Mostly, I wished I didn’t feel a thing.
Love or addiction, it didn’t matter. It still fucking hurt.
I killed the water without washing my hair or soaping my body and wrapped myself in a towel. Feeling no calmer than before, I walked into my room and pulled on some underwear and some shorts. Then I roughly tugged a tank over my head.
My temples were throbbing. Pounding. It was almost painful, and I rubbed the towel across it. I grabbed my brush and yanked it through my hair. Every movement showed the unending conflict and pain inside me.
I threw the towel to the floor and walked out into the front room. Angus was whining at the door, so I opened it and let him out. He’ll just jump out the open window in the lobby.
The door slammed too harshly, but no sooner had I closed it than it opened again.
I spinned at the same time that I’m grabbed and slammed into the door. Lips cover mine harshly, the feel of fingers digging into my biceps painful and sweet at the same time.
The material of Ivan’s shirt curled beneath my hands as I fisted it. I pulled him closer. His tongue swept through my mouth, battling against mine. His teeth nipped my bottom lip and he gently sucked after each bite, soothing the sting, but I didn’t care.
I wanted the sting. I wanted the physical to overpower the mental. I wanted him to tear off my clothes, pin me against this wall, and fuck me so hard that I couldn’t feel anything but him moving inside me.
He dived his hand into my hair and tugged. Hard. I whimpered into his mouth as the jolt of pain registered through my nerves. And despite what my body was screaming for, my mind was yelling that it was the worst thing I should be doing.
I shouldn’t be surrendering to him this way. I should be fighting him.
I should be pushing him away from me because sex won’t solve it.
With one final deep kiss, I released his shirt, flattened my hands against his shoulders, and shoved hard. He stepped back, letting me go. I shook my head and moved around him. Away from him.
“What the fucking hell was that, Brenda?” he said between clenched teeth.
I ran my fingers through my wet hair to untangle it. “I used the door. Just like you told me to, remember?”
“I didn’t mean use it halfway through the bloody shoot and fuck me up for the rest of it!”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry if needing to get the hell out of there before I murdered your model was a burden to you!” My voice echoed around my apartment.
He took a deep breath. His nostrils flared, his chest heaved, and his eyes pinned mine with an intensity I felt blood rushing through every single one of my veins.
“Explain. Now.” Not a question. A demand. A harsh, final demand.
I stormed past him and stopped in the middle of the room. “That. Her. I couldn’t watch it! The way she was throwing herself at you. She wasn’t even playing the camera. She was playing you!” My gut wrenched with the thought.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m a model. I know how it works. She wasn’t interested in anything except what’s in your fucking pants!” I wrapped my arms around me like a safety net, turning. “I couldn’t fucking watch her sitting there drooling over you and shoving what are probably fake tits toward you, knowing you were looking at her. Knowing you were watching her every goddamn move!”
“I’m not interested in her!” He stepped forward. “Fuck. All I see is you, Brenda. Every time, it’s you!”
“That doesn’t matter!” Tears really did burn my eyes. “You were watching her. Her…” My voice trailed off on the last word.
Ivan walked towards me, and I backed up until I hit the wall. With nowhere for me to run, he laid a hand on either side of my face. Leaning in, breathing harshly, each one seemingly pained, he consumed me.
“Stop,” he whispered. “Please, baby girl. Stop. Stop these stupid, irrational thoughts.”
“I’m not irrational. My addiction is irrational. My need for you, my crazy, overwhelming need for you, is irrational. But I am not.”
“You don’t think I feel the same? You don’t think I don’t bloody well need you either?” He wiped his thumbs beneath my eyes.
I looked at him. Shook my head. How can he need me the way I need him?
“I do.” He stepped closer, his body flat against mine. “It took everything I had to not follow you out that damn door. To stay and take pictures of that woman.”
“I would have gone,” I whispered. “If it were the other way around, I wouldn’t have been able to stay.”
“I stayed because I was made to.” He finished his words with a firm kiss. The warmth from his mouth seeped through me from my lips to my toes. Every part of my body felt it.
“You don’t get it, do you?” I looked up, my eyes wet. I could feel the sting every time I blinked.
“Yes, I do. I get it.”
I wrapped my arms around his wrists and pulled them down. “No, you don’t. What if I get like this every time you shoot another woman? That happens, what, four times a week, at least? It’s been five days and I’m already falling apart over it. This isn’t normal.”
“And when you go for the Balfour shoot in two weeks? Then what, Brenda? I know the guy shooting it. How do you think I’ll feel knowing you, my bitch, my girlfriend, my Brenda, is on a beach in front of some other knobhead while he takes her picture?”
“I’m not shooting in two weeks.” His lips curled up. “Yes, you are. Modester just didn’t call you yet. You got the campaign. And while you’re on a beach in fucking Mexico in a fucking bikini in front of some fucking knob, I’m stuck here, waiting for you to get back.” I couldn't even be happy. I couldn’t be thrilled about getting the campaign. All I could hear was the thickness in his voice. The one he was trying to hide. “You are mine, Brenda. Don’t ever doubt that. Every part of you is mine. And I’m yours. Every part of me is yours. Don’t doubt that either.” I buried my face into his chest. He was right. We belonged to each other, even if it was in the most fucked-up way. In a way that made no sense at all. “I don’t doubt it,” I whispered into him. “I never doubt it. Not when I feel this way. I can’t. It’s impossible, Ivan. I can’t not believe it.” “Then listen to it. Please, baby girl. Please just fucking listen to it when I make you
“Or else I’ll smack your arse so hard you’ll feel my hand there for a week.” “Tempting.” I caught the thong and tucked it into my palm. “I happen to be fond of your spankings… And your hands.” I laughed and ran out of my room. Ivan’s own quiet laugh followed me, and I flicked the kettle to boiling. Brits and their fucking tea. He wrapped his arms around me from behind and buzzed his lips down my neck. “You’re a dirty, rotten tease, bitch.” “And you’re awfully demanding.” I smiled and threw a teabag into a mug for him. I spooned coffee into the second. “It’s hard not to be when you give in to every single one… Especially if handcuffs are involved.” “Or ties. Or scarfs. Or maybe chains,” I teased. “Chains, hmm?” “Are you getting ideas now?” He reached out and grabbed his tea. He curled his fingers around the mug handle. “Brenda,” he breathed close to my mouth. “All you have to do is exist and I get ideas. About yo
I hid my smile and took my phone. “Seriously. Is she pregnant?”He shook his head. “After the last few days, thank god she isn’t. The day she does get pregnant, I’m going on a nine-month-long vacation. Now, before she marches over here and strings my balls from the pier, go to fucking Starbucks. I’m going to get Tylenol and a nap.”I got in my car, laughing loudly, and waved to him. I think I wanted to feel sorry for him, but he can be just as bad.When I arrived at Starbucks, and she gets in my car before I can even cut the engine.“Drive. Now. To your apartment,” she demanded, clicking her belt into place.“I thought—”“I need a tequila shot and a bottle of wine—something Starbucks can’t provide me. Foot down, Brenda.”She was lucky I always had tequila and wine
I swallowed and opened the drawer. My words were caught in my throat, but I got the feeling that he didn’t want me to talk. He just wanted me to do.The bed creaked as I perched on the end of it and rolled the silky stockings up my legs.“Good girl. Leave your hair down. You have two minutes to get some shoes on and meet me outside.”The line cut out with those words, and my eyes widened. Two minutes?“Way to give a girl some warning, asshole,” I muttered, simultaneously brushing my hair and sliding my feet into some heels.I ran another layer of pink gloss across my lips, and after double-checking that my MIA cat had food in his bowl, I locked the apartment. Damn cat had been out somewhere for three days, probably humping a bunch of lady-cats in a desperate attempt for baby Anguses. Unfortunately for him, his balls were as
"I’m the only one on my floor. It’s…convenient.” His lips curled at the corners.“Very much so.” Another sip. “And you have quite the uninterrupted view over Elliot Bay. Another convenience?”“I enjoy waking up to nature on a morning. It’s very pleasurable.” The inflection on the last word reached out and grabbed hold of me.“I’d imagine it is.”I sat back while the waiter removed our plates and offered us the dessert menu. Ivan politely declined, instead requesting the bill.“Tell me.” I leaned onto the table. “What else do you find pleasurable?”His jaw ticked, and he reached out to cup mine. “Beautiful blond women who wear lacy, navy lingerie and do as they’re told.”“How convenient,” I murmured, turning into his hand.
I dropped my purse and slowly walked to him. My heels clicked against the marble kitchen floor, each clack strengthening my resolve.I stopped an inch away from him and looked up at him. The shadows play across his face, making the intensity of his expression scary and alluring at the same time.Slowly, I reached down to the hemline of my dress, and crossing my arms, I pulled it up and over my head.His eyes never left mine. Through every one of my movements, they were fixated wholly on my gaze.I reached forward and undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. I teased the material until it was completely free from his pants and stepped back, bringing him with me.“You,” I answered, opening the balcony doors with one hand. “I want you, Ivan. Every second of every day. If you knew how much, if you could see into the insanity inside my mind, you might have a
“No, I’m an expert lock picker. Of course he did.” The door slamming followed her words. “What are you doing anyway? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”“I’m not alone,” he said flatly.“You’re not—oh! Oh, bollocks!”Oh, bollocks indeed. I was apparently about to meet Ivan’s sister and the only clean item of clothing I had was panties.Fanfuckingtastic.“Mm,” Ivan said. “Give me a minute.” He walked back through the door and closed it behind him. He leaned against it and covered his eyes with his hand. “Shit. I am so sorry. I swear she said Sunday.”“It’s okay,” I squeaked out.No. It’s not. It’s not fucking okay. Not at all. I am not ready to meet any of his family I didn’t already know.
I could tell by his sigh that he waz rolling his eyes.“Jesus, Siz. I thought you said Sunday. Ever heard of calling ahead to confirm?”“In my defense, bro, you don’t usually have company the next morning.”Ivan stopped, rested a hand against the countertop, and rubbed his forehead.Mish snapped her head toward me with wide eyes. “No offense. Crap. I think I’m jet-lagged. I’m sorry.”“No worries,” I offered.“Okay.” Ivan turned and handed her a cup of tea. “You drink this, replace your brain-to-mouth filter, then for the love of my sanity, and go to fucking bed. The spare room is made up for you. I’ll take you out for dinner tonight.”“Okay.” Mish meekly took the tea. “Really, I’m sorry.”“It’s okay, honestly.”