Jumping in the shower, washing, and jumping back out took me less than two minutes. My hands were shaking a bit, and I was blinking a lot—something I do when I’m trying not to think. I dressed in black lace panties and a pale pink vintage satin bra. Actually, it was only a bra in the sense that it covered my br**sts, but there was no support. It was loose like a slip that had been cut off right under the boob area.
Madoc was going to love it. Not only was it sexy, but it was user-friendly lingerie. He didn’t need to remove it to get his hands where he wanted them.
Letting my hair out of the ponytail, I fluffed it, leaving it a little tangled—Madoc seemed to like it that way—and applied a little mascara and color to my lips. Before heading to the door, I snatched my black-framed glasses off the bedside table. The hall was dark as I jogged the few feet across the hall to Madoc’s room. Slipping inside, I heard the water in his shower running, and smiled as I headed to his bed.
Good. I wanted to be here before he got out. For once, I wanted to surprise him.
I sat on the end, clenching my teeth to keep my smile from escaping. Heat raced through my veins, and my toes curled into the beige carpet as I put both of my palms down on the bed next to my hips.
How should I do this? I bent my legs a number of different ways, tried a slew of different poses, but everything felt unnatural. Legs spread, not spread. Leaning back on my hands, lying down on my side. It was all stupid. Madoc was going to laugh.
Okay, maybe not, but still . . .
Everything tonight was my way, I reminded myself. I didn’t want to let him dominate me.
I decided to leave my feet flat on the ground, legs together, with my hands folded in my lap.
The water shut off, and I tried to force my heartbeat into a calmer pace.
Madoc walked out, black towel around his waist, and immediately locked eyes with me.
His eyes went round, and his mouth snapped shut. He looked intense and a little angry.
I was afraid for a moment, afraid I’d overstepped my bounds by coming in here after him even though he’d invaded my space numerous times, but then I looked down. The bulge under his towel was growing. I fisted my fingers and tried not to feel pride, but it was impossible.
My confidence boosted me up like a pair of six-inch heels.
“You’re mad,” I taunted, leaning back on my hands. “I changed the game.”
He inched closer to me, his steps like a beast of prey. “Not mad, really. Just surprised.”
“But you’ve had other girls in this bed, haven’t you?” I asked. “Why not me?”
I hadn’t really thought about it until the moment I asked the question, but it was true. Madoc had slept with other girls in this bed, in this room. Probably.
But never me.
“Is that what you want?” His voice, sultry and sexy, played with me.
But I faltered.
Did I want that?
“You didn’t love girls in this bed,” I assumed. “You f**ked them.”
They were in, and then they were out, only to be replaced with another one.
I could talk myself up one hill only to find that I was still at the foot of mountain.
I did not want to be used, forgotten, and nameless.
He was right. What the hell am I doing? I looked everywhere but at his eyes, not sure where the answers were or even what the hell my questions were anymore.
Madoc and I could screw tonight. I could walk out of here instead of being kicked out . . . but what would Madoc have really lost?
Nothing. Having sex with him and then taking it away didn’t hurt him at all.
I blinked long and hard, finally seeing how stupid I’d been. So I stood up, tears stinging my eyes, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “No, I guess I don’t want that after all,” I whispered and walked past him out the door.
“Fallon?” I heard him call, confusion lacing his voice
But I was gone.
Running across the darkened hallway, I dove in my own room, slammed my door shut, and locked it. I collapsed against the door, breathing hard, and closing my eyes so the tears wouldn’t come.
I hadn’t cried in years. I was always able to stop it, to swallow it.
You can do this, I told myself. Just do it. Before you do anything else stupid.
My phone sat on my bedside table, and I opened my last text.
Will post when you’re ready.
That text was three days ago when I arrived. My weak fingers tapped out my response.
“Fallon?” Madoc knocked on the door, and I stopped typing.
“Just leave me alone,” I ordered, talking to the closed door.
“No.”
Excuse me? I raised my voice to respond to him. “You told me to lock the door to keep you out, dickhead. That’s what I’m doing.”
“I came up with that line when I was sixteen and had toothpicks for arms!” His muffled voice got louder. “I have muscles now,” he continued, “and this door is going to be firewood in five seconds if you don’t open up!”
I raced over and yanked the door open. “Don’t you dare!”
“What’s your problem?” He pushed past me into the room, turning around to face me. “We had a fun day. And I had an even better night planned, beginning with the Jacuzzi.”
Of course he did.
I slammed the door shut behind him, shaking my head and letting out a bitter laugh. “I told you to leave me alone. Why can’t you just do that?” My tone stayed flat, but the muscles in my arms and legs were rigid as I walked past him.
He hooked my elbow, bringing us face-to-face.
“You come into my room, dressed like that.” He gestured up and down my body. “And then you run out, expecting me to not wonder what the hell is going through your head?”
“What does it matter? You don’t care. Not about anyone but yourself, anyway.”
I pulled my arm away and walked over to the side of the bed, putting a safer distance between us.
His eyebrows were pinched together in confusion, like he didn’t understand what I was getting at. Why would he? I’d done a complete about-face from earlier, letting him seduce me, and then I’d changed the game and tried to seduce him to prove that I could. Crashed and burned at that—and now I was pushing him away. He was confused, and he should be. I sure was. I had thought I knew exactly what I wanted to have happen when I came back here.
“Where the hell is this coming from? Is this about the other-girls-in-my-bed question?” he asked, inching toward me.
A small, quiet sigh escaped me, and with it, my plan. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I could ask you about other guys, but I don’t.” His expression was angry. “You want to know why? Because I would care. Do you really want to know how many girls I’ve had in my bed? How many girls I’ve slept with?”
He would care?
“No, I don’t want to know. We’re not in a relationship,” I bit back.