We spend the next two hours in the car. I don’t remember deciding to talk. The words just spill out of me like they’ve been waiting for permission. I tell him about the jealousy, the control and the gambling. They way Liam used to twist arguments until I found myself apologizing for things that he did. I tell him everything. About the night by the wall, the pillow, and how scared I was on both occasions. How death felt so close and yet, I stayed. On a few occasions, I cry and on others, I just feel mad. Not only at Liam but at myself for allowing a man do all those things to me.
When I finally fall silent, exhausted at my own voice, his rough hands cup my face. The warmth of his palm grounds me instantly.
“I will never hurt you, little trouble” He whispers and I nod. I feel my throat tighten and I try not to cry again.
“I want to believe you” I whisper back
“Then believe me.” He leans his forehead against mine and something shifts between us. I feel his breath on my face and oh boy, he smells heavenly. A mixture of mint and cedar wood, a scent that makes my stomach flip in slow, wicked spirals. The sound of thunder makes me jump from my seat and he smiles
“We should probably be heading home” leave it empty
I nod in agreement though I’m not sure I want this moment to end.
When we get home, I notice his knuckles are split.
“You’re bleeding” I say frowning
“It’s nothing. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last” He shrugs
‘’If you go round punching people like that, you might end up losing your fingers” I sigh
I pull him toward the kitchen without thinking, sit him down and grab the first-aid kit. The same one he always attributes to his diagnosis of my so called ‘OCD tendencies’, which I always disagree with. I just like to be prepared. You never know what life will throw at you.
He watches as I clean the cuts, my fingers brushing over his skin carefully. He doesn’t even wince when I apply the antiseptic
“You don’t have to do this” He murmurs
“I want to”
I feel his gaze on me even as I focus on dressing his wound. His gaze is always so noticeable. I can feel it without having to look up.
“Diane” He breathes my name, a dark ramble that vibrates in his chest. He says it like a prayer, like a curse. It does things to me.
I look up, meeting his eyes. That’s probably the biggest mistake I’ve made since Liam. His pupils are blown wide, dark with desire. I feel my stomach tense, a wet heat pooling between my thighs. My breath gets heavier and his hands grab my face. His face draws closer to mine as my breathing intensifies.
“Fuck. You’re biting your lip” He growls. I hadn’t noticed. He draws a sharp breath as his lips collide with mine. His lips are so soft, tasting like mint and sin, in contrast with his rough hands. I gasp against his mouth as he deepens the kiss. He pulls my lower lip between his teeth and I groan in pleasure. I feel him hard, pressing against my stomach, hot and heavy.
“I knew you were trouble when you walked in” He breathes, taking me by the hips as he stands up. My hips wrap around his waist as we kiss and he walks me over to the wall. He backs me against the wall slowly. I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him closer to me, closer than we could ever be.
The storm outside grows louder, but it feels distant. His lips move away from mine and to my neck. His cold tongue draws delicious patterns over my skin and then his teeth tags slightly at it. I moan loudly but the sound of the rain drowns my moans. He walks over to the counter and sets me on it.
The memory of him fucking another woman on the same counter comes to mind and I shake my head
‘’Don’t think about that, please” He peels his lips from mine as his eyes meet mine. I hate how intensely he looks into my eyes. I hate how he sees through me. I hate that he can read my mind.
He doesn't give me time to dwell on that memory. He crashes his lips against mine again, harder this time, claiming my mouth like he's starving for air. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me flush against his body. I gasp against his lips when I feel the unmistakable ridge of his hardness pressing against my stomach.
"I want you wet for me," he growls against my jaw, his hand sliding up under my shirt to cup my breast. His thumb circles my nipple, sending a shockwave straight to my core. My legs tremble as I arch into his touch.
He lifts me, placing me back on the counter and my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He grinds his hips forward, the friction driving me wild. I'm soaking wet, my panties already ruined by the tension of the last hour. I can feel his dick, huge and aching, straining against the denim of his jeans. It feels massive, a promise of what he's going to do to me.
He reaches down, fumbling with the button of his jeans. My hands shake as I help him pull the zipper down. He kicks them aside, and then he's there—hard, thick, and ready. He positions himself at my entrance and slams into me in one rough thrust.
I cry out, the sound swallowed by the storm raging outside. Jason holds nothing back. His dick pistons in and out of me, hitting that spot deep inside that makes my vision blur. The cold counter digs into my back, adding to the intense sensation. He bites down on my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, and I moan louder than I ever have before.
We move together, fast and desperate, the only sounds in the kitchen our ragged breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin. He grabs my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat, and I arch my back, meeting every single one of his hard thrusts. I can't think about Liam anymore. I can't think about anything except this dick filling me up and the way he makes me feel alive.
….
The smell of coffee fills my nostrils and my eyes flutter open. My eyes scan the room and I quickly recognise it as mine. How did I end up here? Last I remember, Jason and I…
I feel my cheeks flush and my thighs burn in pleasure as memories from last night fill my head. But where is Jason? I pull myself out of bed to find a tray of food set on the table. Well that’s where the aroma was from. I search the house and find no trace of him. So he just fucked me and then left me here without a word like I’m one of his whores? Suddenly I feel used. “Well, at least he made breakfast” My subconscious creeps in. I decide to take a warm shower instead of allowing the thought of being used get to me.
I stand stark naked in front of the mirror. I feel lighter, happier and a little sore from last night. My eyes rest on my reflection and my lips part into a small smile. Especially when that purple bruise on my hip and chest come to sight. A hot flush spreads across my cheeks when I find a smaller bruise on my collarbone. Then I realize…my necklace is gone. I haven’t taken it off since mom clasped it around my neck a few days before she fell sick. It’s the last clear memory I have of her being herself. Of her looking at me and knowing exactly who I am. Since then, I wore it every single day in hopes that one day she’ll remember me again.
Panic rises in my chest as I tear the room down in search of the necklace. An hour later, exhausted and frustrated, it finally clicks. Jason.
This must be one of his silly games where he hides my things to see how long it takes for me to realize they’re gone. Only so he can smugly claim it proves his ridiculous theory that I have “obsessive tendencies”. I sigh as I grab my phone to send him a text
“Where is my necklace?”
I see the three dots and then suddenly nothing else for the next 10 minutes.
I decide to take matters into my hands and search for my necklace in his room. It’s annoying how he barges into mine as and when he wants to but somehow his room is some forbidden place in this house for me.
I draw a sharp breath as my eyes scan his room. It’s so…bare. Devoid of colour. Yet the familiar woody and minty smell makes me know it’s his room. My eyes land on the wall and I gasp. A massive bookshelf dominated the space. Jason? A reader?
I feel drawn to the shelf like a moth to a flame. My fingers trail over the spines — classic literature, philosophy, ancient history. Lost in the titles, my eyes land on a beautiful leather-bound edition of Wuthering Heights. I rise onto my toes, straining, my fingers just brushing its edge. It wobbles and then falls from the shelf with a heavy thud that sends a cloud of dust into the air making me sneeze twice.
But it isn’t just the book. Tucked inside is an old, creased photograph that flutters to the floor. My curiosity piques and I bend to pick it up. It’s a picture of younger Jason, his arm around a girl who was laughing at him. My best friend, Carla. But the man in the photo... his hair is longer, wears a pair of ugly glasses and he definitely is thinner. He isn’t Jason. He is Ian.
My blood runs cold. My eyes scan the photo in desperate search for confirmation. Then I see it. Peeking out from the collar of his t-shirt is a small distinct tattoo. The same crescent-shaped mark I had kissed last night, right above Jason’s collarbone.
“Oh fuck” my mind runs at a million thoughts per second and I finally comes to terms with it.
He’s not just Jason. He’s Ian
I just slept my best friend’s ex, whom she never got over.
Rule no. 8 is broken.
“I told you not to enter my room” His voice makes me jump in fright.