Twelve of Roses

I waited for him to bring up what happened, but he never did. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding the topic. He was more interested in my life.

“So, where’s your sister?”

“She had something to take care of; she’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

A humming sound in his throat was his only response for that.

“Does she look like you?” he asked after another stretch of silence. I could tell he was just trying to make conversation. I was being a shitty dinner companion, but I had justifiable reasons.

It may have seemed more logical to shove him away, to turn into a raving bitch and make him hate me, but it was already too late. He’d had his cock inside me and his name on my lips. I wasn’t sure what Con’s end game was yet, though, so I kept my mouth shut. We could cross that flaming bridge when we got to it.

“She has pale skin and carrot-top red hair. Why? You interested in her, too?” I teased him.

Her red hair was the only thing that had kept her alive. Con had a thing for redheads. Had she been a blonde, all the begging in the world couldn’t have saved her.

“Nah, I’ve got my eye on this beautiful woman who lives across the street from me,” he drawled.

I swallowed so hard it hurt, forcing my lips to tilt upward. If only his eyes saw my soul instead of my face. Then, he’d see all my dirty secrets. He’d see everything I was hiding from him.

It was on the tip of my tongue to spill my guts and tell him I had killed before. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Eventually, I started looking forward to it. I started getting off on it, and I could be fucked right beside a corpse and still cum.

I was not the sweet girl next door everyone always saw me as.

“You should probably set your sights on someone a little more worth it.” I kept my tone light, while at the same time telling him the truth. It wasn’t something I did often.

“Why aren’t you worth it, Rose? What did you do that makes you so unworthy of love?” He leaned forward, staring at me like the answer would magically show itself on my forehead.

This man was stubbornly determined to have some kind of relationship with me beyond the realm of friendship. Why couldn’t he see that there would be no big church and wedding bells in my future?

I wasn’t going to get the farm I always wanted, with children playing at my feet and dogs barking in the fields. Once upon a time, I thought my life would be filled with such things. I knew better now. My story wasn’t written to have a happy ending.

I didn’t deserve to be greeted at the big white gates when all was said and done.

“You’re a good man, Max,” I resigned, dropping my gaze to the table to avoid his.

I wasn’t the best judge of character, but something in my gut told me Max had the potential to be pure gold, and that meant I would tarnish him. It’s what I did. I ruined everything that was good. Just like I was doing this town.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” He sighed and looked across the room, gnawing on his bottom lip. It was the first time I’d seen him look frustrated. I didn’t like seeing him unsmiling. I never wanted that.

I took a sip of my drink and then stood up, circling around to stand in front of him. Without saying a word, I reached down and cupped his face in my hands, lowering my mouth to his. He sat stiff for a minute, before finally melting into my touch.

His lips parted, and I eagerly slipped my tongue between them, skimming it over the roof of his mouth.

He tasted sweet, like the sour apple cooler I’d just been drinking. He felt safe and normal. I wanted to make him feel better; giving him my body was the least I could do. I knew I was broadcasting some very mixed signals, but it was too late now.

His hands moved to my ass as I forced myself between him and the table. I sank my teeth into his lower lip and roughly threaded my fingers in his hair, giving it a sharp tug.

Slow down, a quiet warning whispered in my head. I didn’t want to slow down, though. I wanted him to let go. I wasn’t a feathery touch and tender kisses woman—I was dirty, and that’s what I wanted.

With a quiet grunt, he abruptly stood up, almost knocking me backward, separating our mouths.

“I get it, Rose,” he practically growled, grabbing me by the shoulders and forcing me to turn around.

“You want rough, right?” he asked, yanking my shorts down to my ankles and shoving a knee between my legs.