Cruel Beloved

He deserves this.

No, he deserves more.

Plus, everything is replaceable to him.

He has the money to buy whatever he likes.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I turn to find him in the doorway, his body’s straight, and the look of anger is more than evident on his face.

Turning away from him, I continue to pull down his shit because I don’t give a shit. “Redecorating,” I reply with my back to him.

Hands wrap around my waist and they lift.

“Put me down.” I slap at his hands as he throws me onto the bed and I bounce. It’s the only place where I haven’t made a complete mess. I start laughing, and soon he’s standing right next to me.

“You’re fucking crazy! You know that, right?” His eyes pin me. “You just destroyed thousands of dollars’ worth of my things.” He climbs on the bed, and my laughter stops instantly as his body hovers over me, and those whiskey-colored eyes lock onto mine. “Do you want attention, rich girl? Is that why you’re doing this?”

Looking up at him, my eyes narrow. “Get off.”

“You came in here first, rich girl. I didn’t come to you.”

“I can smell her on you.”

Whiskey licks his lips. “My tongue is sore, and yet, I still want to kiss you. Do I take the risk?” he teases, leaning in close. His lips pause at mine. “Or, perhaps I could destroy your things as well.” He pushes off me and reaches for the scissors and starts heading toward my room. It takes only a second to click as to what he’s said, and I jump from the bed to see him already in my room, tearing at my things.

I reach for him, but he shrugs me off.

“Oh my God, that’s vintage. Put that down,” I scream at him.

“These?” He holds them up, and with a snip of the scissors I used to tear to pieces all of his things, he’s now doing the same to me. Before I can think of what I’m doing, I am jumping on his back. That doesn’t stop him, though. It’s as if I am a light weight and mean nothing as he reaches for another vintage skirt. I reach for his hair, pulling at it, making him stop. He drops the scissors and steps back until my back hits the wall. I drop my legs from around him, and he turns fast, so fast that his body is now pushed against mine. Every inch of him, every inch that I don’t want, is now on me.

“Get off,” I manage to speak.

“You don’t want that, now do you? For me to get off?” He pushes me, and my body rises to meet his. I hate myself for it, but my body wants what I don’t.

“Get. Off,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Harder did you say?” Whiskey pushes closer, and I have to stop myself from grinding on him. It’s very fucking hard, considering I know what he can give me. To know what he is packing and how he can make me feel.

I don’t have to start grinding, because he does. All the while, his eyes never leave mine.

“You’re pushing your limits,” I say, becoming breathless. My eyes close and I push back into him. It’s been too long.

“Tell me you want it,” he whispers near my ear. “I can smell you. I know you do.”

“I want it.” Dammit! The words betray me. My body betrays me.

“Beg for it.”

My eyes fly open at his words. “Beg?” I manage to speak.

“Yes, rich girl, beg.”

My hands push on his chest. “Get off of me, you scum. There’s no damn way I am begging.”

“We’ll get you there. You will beg.” He places a chaste kiss on my forehead and pushes back, getting off me. “Clean up your mess and stay out of my room.”

The asshole walks out, leaving me in my room all hot and bothered.

I don’t come out of my—and I use that term loosely—room. Not until the next day, and I only come out when I know he’s left. I watch as his car drives away, and when I walk into the kitchen, my breakfast is made and sitting on the counter with a note.

You can’t avoid me forever.

Are you kidding! I sure as shit can try.

It only lasts one day, until he comes into my room uninvited. I’m getting ready for work, and he stands there like he always does. Half in and half out, eyeing me with those whiskey-colored eyes. Pulling my skirt up, I slide the zipper up and turn to face him. I only have a bra on, a red lacy one that his eyes don’t fall to. I’m a little disappointed.

“What do you need, Whiskey?”

“You.”

My face whitens at his words, and I have to turn around, so he can’t see the reaction he makes me have. “And pray tell… why do you need me, Whiskey?”