Officer Walsh takes a large step forward, coming close enough to startle me. Staring into my eyes as my lungs are paralyzed, he lowers his voice and says, “I can help you, Bethany. All you have to do is tell me that’s what you want.”
Thump. Thump.
Staring into his light blue eyes, feeling the authority that comes off him in waves, I can’t speak. I only know when I do say something, no matter what I say, there’s a very large probability that I’m going to regret the words that come out of my mouth.
Jase
The door opens before the knuckles of my loosely curled fist can even hit the hard wood. The bite of the cold night nips at my neck at the same time the warmth of Beth’s home welcomes me into 34 Holley Drive.
I’m only slightly aware of either, and neither could beckon me inside the way Bethany’s eyes do. Wide and cautious, but curious more than anything. In this split second, the way she’s breathing, heavy with anticipation—nothing’s ever made me so fucking excited.
“Jase.” She murmurs my name, but not in a greeting. It’s more like an omen.
As I take a step inside, dropping the duffle bag just inside the foyer, she takes a step back, releasing the door and allowing me to close it. It’s quiet; the only sound is the foreboding click of the door shutting.
Bethany nervously picks under her nails as she waits silently.
“You scared?” I ask her and she responds with a huff of a sarcastic laugh and the faintest hint of a smile that comes and goes.
“Is that your question?” she asks me and it’s then that I catch something’s off. Something happened. Squaring my shoulders, I peek behind her. The front hall leads to the kitchen in the back, with the living room to the left and the dining room to the right. It’s all quiet, all dark with the exception being the living room.
“If it’s my turn to ask a question … who do I remind you of?”
My gaze returns slowly to her. I let it travel down her body, noting that she’s in sweats and a baggy t-shirt that reads, Coffee Solves Everything.
“No questions yet,” I answer her and then brush her thick locks of gently curled hair behind her back. “You need to see what I want from you first.”
She leans her weight onto her left heel, tilting her stance and the nervousness wanes some. That’s better.
“I think I got a good idea of that last night,” she says and tries to hide the breathiness that came with “last night” and the rosy blush that slowly rises to her cheeks.
My smirk kicks up, and a warmth flows through me. I knew she needed it. I knew she’d love to be played with.
Lowering my lips to hers, but just barely keeping our mouths from touching, I look her in the eyes and tell her, “That was hardly a nibble of what’s to come.”
Instead of stepping back slightly as I expect her to do so I’m not in her space, she stands her ground and shrugs as she replies, “No need to hold back tonight.” Her words caress my face, causing a longing desire to travel down my body, all the way to my cock.
Keeping my gaze pinned on her, I stand up straighter and gesture to the living room. “After you then,” I offer.
“Not in the bedroom?” she comments under her breath as she walks ahead of me, and I don’t hesitate to grab her hip in my left hand and pull her back into my chest. Her yelp of surprise only makes me harder.
With my lips at her ear, I whisper, “The bedroom is reserved for the nights you beg me the second I walk in to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours.”
The second the words are spoken, I let her go and she falls forward slightly. Barely catching herself although she plays it off, just like she tried to hide her lust for me as she walks ahead of me. I watch her wide hips sway and grab the black duffle bag I’d dropped by the door.
“What’s that?” she asks when she sees it, taking a seat on the sofa easily. As if she’s not nervous at all, and that moment a few seconds ago never happened. It’s cute that she thinks she’s playing hard to get when she’s nothing but eager.
“Rope, for starters.” Her eyes flash, but she says nothing more.
The bag drops with a thud and as the sound of the zipper opening fills the room, she leans closer, attempting to peek inside.
“Ethanol?” she questions with a hint of hesitancy as I pull out several feet of thin nylon rope.
“I’m not sure we’ll need that tonight,” I tell her absently as I let the rope fall to a puddle on the floor and move the coffee table out of the middle of the room. It drags along the floor, and in true Beth fashion she focuses on the bag, walking to it and taking into account everything inside.