Chapter 157

I sit for what feels like an eternity, waiting with bated breath and extreme anxiety coursing through me. Finally, the door opens, and voices come into the apartment. There seems to be more than one and I can’t tell if any are Jake. I wait and listen. A male laugh that sounds like Daniel, possibly Arrick too and then I hear Jake, 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 headmaster. 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, emotion rising in my throat, relief and upset. I want to cry suddenly now that he’s finally here and safe.

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

“You still mad at me, bambino?” he asks, he has my coat and bag in hand and throws them to the chair in the corner, sliding across the bed and gently pulling 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, miele.” He slides my hand out of my hair, it’s followed by a tug on my chin to make me stop chewing my lip. He’s being gentle and cautious, wariness in his voice. He pulls me so I’m flat out on the bed then 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 that body. I want to search his face and body for signs of injury, but the overwhelming emotion has me stone cold still, like old Emma would be. Emotions bubbling inside in chaos 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 traces gently across my skin igniting that familiar fluttering and crazy tingles. I close my eyes, so he doesn’t see any hint of response. “The silent treatment, huh?” He kisses my neck gently, trailing down to the line of my shirt, one of his hands sliding under it, 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 into him and let him think his behavior is acceptable.

“I can make you respond, Emma … I know you better than you think.” He whispers, 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 up 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 inner anger and hold onto it, angry at myself for being so weak when it comes to him and angry 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 own weakness to his advances but he stops, so suddenly, jumps up from the bed and walks off, turning at the door.

“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 and walks off to the low hum of male voices in the sitting area. It’s like a slap in the face and my rage ignites fully, grabbing the nearest thing to me I throw it hard at the door with vengeance. The hard-back book Jake’s been reading hits it with a loud thump before sliding to the floor amid a flutter of pages in a dramatic fashion.

I jump out of bed and 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 really have locked it before it stills, his footsteps moving away. I wait and watch, unsure if I want to even see him, but then that rage erupts again because he didn’t even try and coax me out to talk to him.

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

I get up wiping my face dry with rage and unlatch the door, storming into the bedroom; surprised to see him standing, 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 hell cat.” 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 go to march to the bed to make a show of how pissed I am. He catches my arm, tugging me to him abruptly. Catching me with both hands around my upper arms he leans down to kiss me, his mouth finding me weak, betraying myself. My senses snap back into focus and I bite him on the lower lip viciously. He moves back in surprise, his hand coming to his mouth for second, a frown enveloping his face and then he tightens his hold on my arms tugging me toward him and kisses me again. This time it’s harder, I respond greedily and then bite him again as fury surges in front of lust. This time it’s done with more intent, feeling a rush of something inside of me when 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 very calculated way. I struggle and start fighting him off, unable to tear away from his gaze, his pupils widening with lust and something terrifying. A look he’s never given me and 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 looks red where I bit him and the urge to soothe it comes from nowhere. I reach up mid-fight and suck it, that gains a groan from him which only pushes me further. Confusion ripping through my mind at my inability to pick a mood and stick with it. Angry at myself for being weak I bite him again; he pulls back harshly, forcing my arms higher above my head, aggressively, so that 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 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 is threatening 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 no control anymore, even if I’m fighting him. To heal the wounds his fighting over Marissa has left me with.