Chapter 46

I sit waiting with bated breath for what feels like an eternity, extreme anxiety coursing through me. Finally, the door opens, and voices come into the apartment. There seem to be two or three, and I can’t tell if any are Jake. I wait and listen. A male laugh that sounds like Daniel, and possibly Arrick too, and then I hear Jake’s voice, low and husky, and my heart constricts with relief.

The bedroom door opens almost instantly, and he sticks his head around sheepishly, his brows furrowed as he locks eyes with me like a child about to meet the principal. There’s no evidence of any fighting on him at all, no messy face or mussed hair, no torn clothing. I look away from him, conflicting emotions rising in my throat, relief and anger. I want to cry suddenly now that he’s finally here and safe.

He walks toward me. As he gets closer, I can smell the outside air from his clothes and the faint smells of nightclubs and a lot of alcohol.

“You still mad at me, bambina?” he asks. He has my coat and bag in hand and throws them onto the chair in the corner. He slides across the bed and gently pulls my legs out from under me so he can lay me flat. I ignore him, looking away still as my body starts to slide down with his maneuvering. “Don’t do that, dolcezza.” He removes my hand from my hair, followed by a tug on my chin to make me stop chewing my lip. He’s being gentle and cautious, with wariness in his voice. He slides over me, resting a knee between my legs, his weight on his arms so he’s above me and looking down.

I stay steady with my head turned to one side, fighting the urge to cry, fighting the urge to curl up into his body. I want to search his face and body for signs of injury. Still, overwhelming emotions bubbling chaotically inside make me stone cold like old Emma would be, leaving a blank expression and icy demeanor.

“I see through this, you know,” he breathes, leaning in to touch his lips against my cheek, his nose tracing gently across my skin, igniting familiar flutterings and crazy tingles. I close my eyes so he doesn’t see any hint of a response. “The silent treatment, huh?” He kisses my neck gently, trailing down to the collar of my shirt. One of his hands slides up under the hem, skin-on-skin, across my abdomen, and up to my breast, slowly and surely. I hold my breath, biting my inner lip to quell any noise that may come out involuntarily. I can’t just give in to him and let him think his behavior is acceptable.

“I can make you respond, Emma… I know you better than you think,” he whispers, with still a drunken slur to his voice and the overwhelming fumes of alcohol seeping from him. He starts gently sucking my ear lobe, his hand still moving over my breast; his fingers stop over my hardening nipple as he smiles against my ear, “Doesn’t take much.” He leans against me, lifting my shirt and putting his mouth there instead. I flinch as desire courses through me, my body dying to turn and wrap around him.

I hold myself steady, trying to find that anger and hold onto it, angry at myself for being so weak when it comes to him and mad at him for thinking all it takes is a slow seduction, and I’m won over. His hand moves and trails down toward my underwear, skimming the waistline suggestively before sliding inside, his fingertips moving to my core slowly and finding it more than willing.

“See.” He stops his assault on my nipples and concentrates on the apex of my thighs instead. I bite my lip hard to kill the moan that threatens to erupt; his teasing is working, but I’m not ready to back down yet.

I can do this: I can fight Carrero’s charm.

He leans down low to my navel and licks my abdomen suggestively. My pulse quickens, desire coursing, and I hope his mouth moves further south, hating my weakness against his advances, but he stops suddenly and jumps up from the bed, walking off.

Turning at the door, he says, “I’m not going to rape my girlfriend, Emma. Come find me when you get over it.” With a smirk, he pulls the door shut, walking off toward the low hum of male voices in the living room. It’s like a slap, and my rage reignites fully. Grabbing the nearest thing to me, I throw it hard at the door with a vengeance. The hardback book Jake’s been reading hits it with a loud thump before dropping to the floor amid a flutter of pages in a dramatic fashion.

I jump out of bed, storm to the bathroom, holding back the tears, and slam the door shut, locking it tight before sitting down on the fluffy bathmat and crying my eyes out.

I’ve no idea what the hell is wrong with me, this overwhelming need to be angry at him, to punish him, and now this broken heart because he refused to play my game.

I’m a crazy bundle of emotions that don’t relate to one another, probably still more drunk than I realize, with an overwhelming need to hit something hard. The bathroom door handle moves a little, startling me, then stops, then again as he tests that I have locked it before it stills, his footsteps moving away. I wait and watch, unsure if I want to see him, but then that rage erupts again because he didn’t even try to coax me out to talk to him.

Jake always pursues and wins me around; it’s one of his most infuriating qualities. He never lets things lie and always pushes me to open up. So why not tonight? Why is he being an asshole and acting like I don’t matter?

Wiping my face dry with rage, I get up, unlatch the door, and storm into the bedroom surprised to see him standing there waiting for me with folded arms. His eyes meet mine with a hint of triumph, which only annoys me further.

Damn him for always anticipating my next move.

“So, she’s in a temper tonight. Drunk, horny, and angry. Interesting combo for my beautiful little hellcat.” He tilts his head, watching me. “Poor book didn’t much like meeting the door, though.” He shrugs in amusement.

I glare at him frostily, tilting my chin up, and march toward the bed to make a show of how pissed I am. He catches my arm, tugging me to him abruptly. Putting both hands around my upper arms, he leans down to kiss me, his mouth finding mine soft, betraying my weakness. My senses snap back into focus, and I viciously bite him on the lower lip. He moves back in surprise, his hand coming to his mouth for a second, a frown enveloping his face, and then he tightens his hold on my arms, tugging me toward him and kissing me again. This time it’s harder; I respond greedily and bite him again as fury surges in front of lust. This time it’s done with more intent as I feel a rush of something inside me; he clutches me tightly and tosses me back on the bed.

For a moment, I think he’s going to storm out, but he doesn’t; he follows me slowly, climbing on top of me, catching my hands and pinning them by my head, and staring at me in a calculated way. I struggle and fight him off, unable to tear my eyes away from his gaze. His pupils widen with lust and something terrifying, a look he’s never given me. I’m not sure if he wants to kiss me or hit me. I struggle weakly, but he has me expertly pinned down.

His lip is red where I bit him, and the urge to soothe it comes from nowhere. I reach my head up mid-fight and suck it, gaining a groan from him, pushing me further. With confusion ripping through my mind at my inability to pick a mood and stick with it and angry at myself for being weak, I bite him again. He pulls back harshly and aggressively forces my arms above my head so I can no longer move my upper body. I bring my knee up impulsively, but his leg pins me down swiftly, anticipating it.

“So, she wants to fuck, but she also wants to fight, huh?” he growls, gazing at me wolfishly, a smirk moving across his face. “If you want angry sex, baby, all you need to do is ask… I’m all yours.” He moves down, nibbling my neck, aware that I can’t fight him off.

All I can do is glare at him.

Do I want him to have sex with me while feeling this way? Yes. The desire building within me threatens to explode if he doesn’t take me like he can’t control it. This is what I need, an extreme reaction from him, to take me as though he’s in no control anymore, even if I’m fighting him. Heal the wounds his fighting over Marissa has left me with.

It’s what I want. It shocks me that after everything in my life, every man who ever tried to force himself on me, I want him to do this to me. He’s right, though; the thrill of what he’s suggesting has me writhing and arching my body in wanton desire, almost begging him to take me with force. I’ve so much anger and aggression within me tonight, and it needs release. This endless need to have Jake forcefully take me must have deeper emotional roots, but I don’t care.

Whatever messed-up part of me switches this on is beyond my comprehension, and I don’t want to begin analyzing it. Letting go of me suddenly, he sits up, releasing my legs and arms and moving away from me, giving me space.

His eyes meet mine.

“One little word, Emma, and I quit, okay? Just say stop, and I’ll leave you alone.” He looks at me differently, apprehension in his eyes for a moment, his voice unsure.

I steel my gaze, lift my hands, and shove him hard, so he falls onto his back beside me. Swiftly moving to straddle him, I yank up his shirt, exposing flawless perfection, and rake my nails down his chest with every ounce of venom I can muster. Releasing my anger in a very satisfying way, I watch him flinch and bite his lip at the pain.

This is what I need.

A grin breaks across his face; he grabs me by the hips and throws me back down on the bed, jumping over me once more into a dominant position.

“Game on, baby,” he mutters, coming in for a crushing kiss, starting something he excels at. Games are Jake’s forte and his weakness when it comes to sex; he can flip it like a switch.

I fight, I bite, and I even attempt to slap him. But he’s fast with quick reflexes and grabs and pins down every one of my moves on the mattress. Something ignites between us so hot we’re almost engulfed in flames, releasing teen Emma and her pent-up fury. I yank his shirt over his head; he follows suit, yanking mine off and ripping my underwear free. I must sink my teeth into my bottom lip to quell the urge to moan.

He flips me over on the bed, grabbing my wrists and splaying me out star-shaped beneath him, my face buried in the pillows as his weight moves up behind me. His pants grinding against my ass heavily, he bites and kisses my exposed shoulders roughly, holding me down. Using his foot to kick my legs apart, he nestles between them. I can feel every part of him against my ass, and the effect causes a rush of warmth and excitement to surge through me. I fight and squirm, but I’m so powerfully held that I can do nothing but lie flat.

“I’m going to fuck you anyway I want, baby,” his hoarse growl is nothing like any Jake I’ve ever known, and it sends a thrill through me. I can barely breathe, held this way, my legs forced open by his body, his weight crushing me and his grip merciless on my wrists. All I have is extreme desire and hunger, an overpowering ache, but I won’t succumb.

I want this. Some crazy internal need to be forced.

Old Chicago Emma is being allowed freedom for the first time without consequence, a part of me I never wanted him to see, and he’s almost goading her out to meet him. I try to buck him off, but he pushes me down, a hand coming to my neck and holding me from behind, fingers firm and constricting. He grinds into me some more, increasing the force with every one of my muffled cries into the pillows. My rage is pulsing from me, but it only serves to increase how turned on I am. Jake has never been this way with me; even when consumed by lust, there’s always an element of gentleness, a feeling that I’m always safe with him. Tonight, it’s gone. He’s primal and aggressive, and it pushes me beyond control. He’s drunk and wired from fighting, pushed on by my mood, and I want this more than anything I have ever needed. I need this release.

He lets go of my hand and neck, his body moving back off me a little. I can feel him maneuvering his pants off, wriggling about behind me. His face is still close to the back of my head, so I reach back with one free hand and tug his hair. Catching all I can, I struggle to tangle my fingers in its shortness but manage enough. I pull at it again, satisfied as he comes down to bite me on the shoulder, not enough to draw blood but enough to sting. I buck and lift my legs to kick, but it’s futile. It just enrages me.

Moving back, he yanks his hair away and smacks me hard on my bare ass, causing a sting and then a wave of heated warmth. I yelp in surprise; my first instinct is to feel outraged, maybe even upset by his ruthlessly hitting me. I bite down the reaction and push my butt back hard so I collide with his now naked groin, eliciting a satisfactory grunt from him. His hand grips my hips hard, fingers biting into my skin, pulling me back to him with a thrust. I can feel all of him; he’s fully aroused, and the tension only seems to be getting thicker around us.

Bent over like this, resting on my elbows, my face still in the pillows, I feel vulnerable. I’ve gotten myself into a position where he can do anything to me, and I can’t do anything in defense. He seems to realize this too; his hands come to my waist and pull me back further so my knees are bent below me. He enters me roughly, with no foreplay and soft touches, only the wetness of my earlier arousal from what we’ve been doing to ease his entry. He isn’t gentle; he thrusts in hard, and I yelp again in surprise at the movement. My head jerks further into the cushions, and I claw at his hands.

Yessss!

I start moaning out as he begins thrusting hard into me. I want to fight, but I also want to grind into him, making his penetration harder. He feels better than good, and the tiny stars going off inside of me already are a sign of just how turned on I am. I’m practically unraveling without any effort from him. He grabs my hair, yanking my head back so my chin lifts from the pillows, his other hand pressing between my shoulders, holding me down to the bed so I can’t raise up from my chest. He’s got me under complete control, and even though the waves of pleasure are already coursing through me, that inner instinct to fight back surges out, and I start to resist him.

Using my hands to reach back and try to grab his arm and hand on my back, I claw at him, hitching onto anything to give me a fighting chance. I’m struggling and twisting as his thrusts get harder and more relentless. He grunts and groans in a way he never has before, and I moan out too. His heavy weight crushes me, his hold biting into my skin and his grip tightening cruelly, but I want it harder. Unable to control the first waves of orgasm, my body starts to tighten. He bends forward over me to put more pressure on me, changing his angle and pushing into me further. I cry out, giving up the fight, my fingers clutching the sheets below me instead while I pant in ecstasy.

I can’t let go and lose control and let him win easily. I need more.

I bite down hard on my lip and push back with all my might, using my hands as leverage on the mattress, and somehow, we both end up falling backward, his arms coming around my waist, taking me with him. We’re too close to the edge of the bed and fall with a thud to the floor, landing together rather dramatically with him on his back, still inside of me.

A wave of satisfaction widens my smile now that I’m on top and back in control. I begin moving in rhythm, too horny not to want it. His body goes from tense to relaxed as a soft sigh leaves his lips, his hands unwrapping from around me and moving to my hips instead. He tries to slow me to a steady and intense grinding, moving me to ride him.

I don’t think so, Carrero. I’m not ready to switch to sensual lovemaking just yet.