Taunt Me (Rough Love Book 2) Read online

  Oh God. W was back, and he was beside me.

  No, not W.

  Price.

  I could feel his weight and sense his heat behind me. The fingertip crept up to my waist and then he pulled me back against him with a quiet groan. His stiff erection poked my ass.

  “No,” I protested weakly. “I can’t.”

  “You can.” His voice rumbled beside my ear, gravelly with morning roughness. “But we can’t. I don’t have any more condoms.” He chuckled and tugged at a lock of my hair. “Unless you’re hiding some of those in your nightstand too.”

  I put a hand over my face. I felt the strangest impulse to cry, to weep until my pillows were soaked. In the two months I’d worked as his escort, I’d never woken up with him, not once. This was new and unfamiliar ground. I’d never spent more than a couple of hours in his presence. We’d shared finite scenes, sessions with clear beginnings and endings. It befuddled me to find him beside me, even though I’d cuddled up next to him just a few hours earlier, when we finally ran out of energy for fucking and decided to sleep.

  Price. As in a sum or value, something to be paid.

  “You won’t look at me,” he said in the quiet. “You don’t want to look at me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  I didn’t know why. I just knew that I didn’t have the courage to turn to him, not now, not in the morning’s bright light. My scrapbook of his poetry was hidden under my bed, the poetry I’d obsessed over and cried over and seethed over when I came to understand he was never coming back.

  But he was back. He was beside me, but he wasn’t W, he was Price, and he’d let himself into my apartment and fucked me all freaking night. He’d simply waltzed back into my life and taken me, no apologies, no explanation.

  I let out a breath. I wasn’t ready for this. Now that the sex was over and my body wasn’t full of his dick, I didn’t know how to feel. I was afraid to turn and see him there, right there, blond and strong and domineering and larger than life.

  I pulled away from his embrace and sat on the edge of the bed, then catapulted up to run to the bathroom. I didn’t have to pee. I just had to get away from him. As I scurried past his side of the bed, I could see him in my peripheral vision. A ghost, a blur. A specter. No, a real man. I still couldn’t believe he was here, even after all the ways he’d defiled me the night before.

  “I’ll be right out,” I muttered, shutting the door. My finger hovered over the lock. It was only a courtesy lock, so people didn’t barge in while you were pissing, or undressing for the shower. It wasn’t a lock for keeping out someone like W, not if he wanted to come in.

  No, damn it. Not W. Price.

  I left the door unlocked.

  I went in the little partition that Andrew called the “shitter,” closed that door too, and sat on the toilet with my head in my hands. I wanted to rage at him, to kick him out, but I’d already let him fuck me. I’d fallen to his daunting ability to control me. I’d forgotten how easily he could short circuit my brain. But before, when I was his escort and he was my client, I knew he would eventually leave.

  Now, I wasn’t sure he would leave. I was kind of terrified that he might stay and fuck me until I died.

  Shut up, Chere. You’re being ridiculous. He’s just a man, like any other man.

  When I opened the door, he was there in the bathroom, as I knew he would be. He leaned against the marble countertop, his arms crossed over his chest. His cock, even soft, looked too large and threatening. Too masculine. Too male. Too big. Price. Price who? I still didn’t know anything about him. He studied me with a guarded expression, his lips turned slightly down, his ice blue eyes both alert and assessing.

  “I feel better now,” I lied. At least I’d finally managed to look at him, even if I was cowed by what I saw.

  He brushed past me and pissed in my toilet with the door open. I suppose it was really his toilet since he’d bought this place for me. He had a key. All this time he’d had a key. He’d pretty much admitted that he’d been watching me, monitoring my activities. Perhaps he’d even snuck into my apartment while I was in class, or while I was sleeping.

  I shivered and hurried into my fleece bathrobe and started brushing my teeth. I stared down at the counter, at the toothbrush I’d given him last night. He picked it up and brushed too, like a man, noisy and fast, spitting just after me.

  “I want the key,” I said. “The key you used last night. I want you to leave it with me.”

  He didn’t answer, just grabbed me and drew me into a kiss.

  It wasn’t a tortured kiss like the one he’d given me while we were shouting at each other in my living room. It wasn’t a rough kiss like he gave me after he fucked me. No. It was a soft, warm, gentle kiss that felt way too perfect and cozy there in my bathroom, with our toothbrushes lying next to each other.

  I can’t. I hate you.

  I don’t know you.

  I’m not sure.

  Maybe he wasn’t sure either. Maybe he had no intention of spending time with me ever again once he walked out my door. He’d left me before, and he didn’t impress me as someone eager to form enduring relationships. But this time now, and this kiss, felt different from our previous carnal sessions.

  “I want the key,” I whispered when he finished.

  He pressed his cheek to mine, ran a hand up and down my back, and then yanked a handful of my hair. “Don’t fucking boss me around.”

  *** *** ***

  He made toast and eggs for breakfast, while I washed fruit and piled it on a plate. I didn’t have a coffee maker. He promised to punish me for it later, and I didn’t think he was kidding. He stood at my stove cooking breakfast with no shirt, and his tailored pants riding just below the dimples of his ass. The eggs were scrambled, like my thoughts, but they were cooked just right, sprinkled lightly with cheese. He was so fucking competent at sex, and now this.

  I wanted to be strong and independent. I wanted to be pissed that he’d come here and taken over me so easily, but when he put a plate down in front of me, I said thank you and started to eat. The eggs tasted wonderful. I hated that they tasted so wonderful.

  “So, who’s going to talk first?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “What do you want to say to me? You seem...” He waved a hand. “Angsty.”

  He’d disappeared for two and a half years, materialized out of nowhere, and now accused me of being “angsty”? I frowned and squished a piece of egg into a puddle.

  “Am I supposed to be glad you’re back?” I said. “Am I supposed to be happy?”

  “You seemed happy last night when my cock was in your ass.”

  I couldn’t deal with this. I wasn’t prepared. “Do you know what this is like? Seeing you again? Having you come at me and…and…”

  “And what?” He grabbed a handful of grapes and popped one in his mouth. “You’re lucky I came back in time to warn you about Cantor after you were stupid enough to get drawn in.”

  “I wasn’t drawn in by Cantor,” I lied. “We just talked about some stuff.”

  “That’s how he works. He talks. He flirts. He tells you you’re interesting, at least until someone else interests him more. He uses women. I didn’t want that for you.”

  “You want to fuck me instead.”

  “Chere.”

  “Why did you leave?” I asked, ripping the crusts off my toast. “You haven’t answered me.”

  “I left because you decided to stop escorting. I wanted to support your decision.”

  “You disappeared because I decided to go to school? I told you I would have kept seeing you!”

  “I know you would have kept seeing me.”

  He took a drink of water. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Then why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why to everything. Why wouldn’t you tell me your name? Why did you give me this apartment, then take off? We could have had a relationship, even while I was
in school.”

  “Not the kind of relationship I wanted.”

  “And what kind of relationship did you want?” I scoffed. “Considering how easily you left me?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  His low, taut words were accompanied by a jeopardous stare. I’d forgotten what it was like to be at the mercy of his pale blue gaze.

  “Stop,” I said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop being that way. Stop trying to fuck with me and scare me. I’m never letting that happen again. I don’t want this weirdo shit between us. I’m different now.”

  He laughed, and it wasn’t a nice laugh. “You weren’t different last night.”

  I stood, snatching up my plate and silverware with a clatter. “Last night is over. I regret it now. It was a mistake.”

  “Last night was fucking magical, and you know it.” His sharp retort jolted me, made me pause on the way to the kitchen, then flee like a coward. He followed me, grabbed the plate out of my hand and tossed it on the counter with a bang. He stood against me. Too close. You’re too close. He stood so I couldn’t move, pinning me against the cabinets.

  “Admit it,” he said. “It was magical.”

  “It wasn’t magical. It was the opposite of magical. It was desperate and impulsive and I regret it today.”

  His lips curled. His nostrils flared. “Get off me,” I said through my teeth.

  “You’re not the one in charge here.”

  “This is my apartment!”

  “This is my apartment.” He pointed to the table. “Mine.” He slapped a palm against the counter, rattling the dishes. “Mine.” He swung an arm toward the living area. “This is my apartment, you ungrateful little bitch.”

  “You gave it to me. It’s my apartment now. I signed the papers your lawyers sent.”

  “Did you read them first? Did you hire someone to look over them?” He smiled, a slow sadistic smile. “Do you really think I would have signed it over to you completely without some means of getting it back?”

  I didn’t know if he was fucking with me again. My body hurt and my brain hurt. I turned away and he put his hands on either side of me, daring me to move. I didn’t.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  After a moment of mulish resistance, I lifted my chin to meet his gaze. I heard his fingers tap on the counter beside me. Tap, tap, tap. “What do you think it would be like, Chere, to be in a relationship with me?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want to think about it.

  “Consuming?” he suggested. “Difficult? Hurtful? Ultimately heart-breaking?”

  “Yes,” I said in a rasp. “All those things.”

  “And you wanted that? You wanted me to stay and give you that, when you were taking all those steps to make your life better?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I looked away from his intense line of questioning, only to have my chin dragged back.

  “I left you as a kindness,” he said, holding my face between his fingers. “I know you’re ungrateful for everything I’ve ever done for you, but you should at least be grateful for that. I left you so you could go to school and get your degree and start your new life where you would be happy.”

  I wet my lips, which had gone as dry as my throat. “But now you’re back.”

  “I came back to stop you from making a mistake,” he said quietly. “But a relationship with me would also be a mistake.”

  “So go,” I said, losing patience with his obscure threats. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to make any more mistakes.”

  “I won’t let you make mistakes. But I still think I’ll need to fuck you every once in a while. I wish it wasn’t that way. Jesus, I’ve tried to convince myself—” His features twisted and rearranged themselves, a fleeting show of emotion. “I’ve tried to stay away, but now that I’ve had you, I’m going to need more. I’m going to need to fuck you a few times a week at least.”

  His calm, entitled proclamation momentarily befuddled me. He’d just finished telling me that he wouldn’t have a relationship with me, that I shouldn’t want a relationship with him, but he’d help himself to my body whenever he pleased? It was fucking insulting. Fucking ridiculous.

  “Fuck you,” I said, pushing him away.

  “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

  I stalked into the living room, trying to put distance between us. “I think it’s a horrible idea. If we’re not going to have a relationship, what’s the fucking point?”

  “The fucking point is the fucking,” he said. “I like fucking you, and you like being fucked by me, as evidenced by your participation last night.”

  “The only reason I let you fuck me last night was because it’d been too long for me. I’ve been too busy at school to get laid. Too busy to hook up with anyone.”

  “Aside from your professor,” he said in a snide tone.

  “I want you to leave.” I was tired of his mockery, his condescension. Yes, I’d fucked Price last night. Yes, I’d enjoyed myself, but it didn’t mean anything, and it certainly wasn’t a mistake I’d repeat again. “I want you to give me the key you used to get in here, and then I want you to leave.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll leave when I fucking want to leave.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you again, ever, so you might as well fuck off.”

  “You’re wrong about that, Chere.” He started toward me, force and masculine beauty. “You’re going to sleep with me whenever I fucking want you to.”

  I spit out more words, attempting to shield myself from his will. “You can’t make me. You can’t have me if I don’t want to give myself to you. I won’t let you back into my life after the way you left.”

  He took my arm and dragged me over to the living room window. He jabbed a finger, pointing across the street. “You see that building? Count up to the sixth floor, the corner window. That’s where I live. That’s where I watch you sometimes with a pair of hunting binoculars because you never shut your drapes. If I want to be in your life, I’ll be in your life.”

  The word “hunting binoculars” chilled me. Not just binoculars. Not the ubiquitous telescopes that nosy New Yorkers used to “look at the stars.” He’d used hunting binoculars.

  “Are you serious?” I said, pulling my elbow from his grasp. “You’ve been watching me?”

  “You didn’t believe me when I told you last night?”

  “You said you knew what I’d been doing. You didn’t say you were staring at me through binoculars.”

  I took another step back from him, and looked out at his apartment. Sixth floor, corner. Holy shit, all that time I cried for him and missed him, and searched the Internet for blond, sadistic designers to try to find him, he was across the fucking street with his fucking hunting binoculars.

  “This is fucked up,” I said. “You can’t—You shouldn’t— People aren’t supposed to act this way! I can’t believe you spied on me.”

  “I was trying to protect you,” he snapped. “I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

  “How does perving on me from across the street protect me? I think it invades my privacy. I think you’re a psycho creeper.”

  He didn’t like that I called him that. His eyes narrowed and his chin tipped up.

  “You might show a little more respect,” he said. “I was very generous with you over the course of our association. I gave you some of the best fucking sex of your life.”

  “Well, that’s over. We’re over.”

  “We’re not over. I still want to see you sometimes. I won’t make a lot of demands on your time.”

  He reached to touch my cheek. I pushed his hand away but he only grasped my wrists and overpowered me, trapping me against the couch. As he held me with his body, he ran his fingers down the line of my jaw.

  “I’ll make you feel good, Chere. I know how to make you crazy. I know what you need. What you want.”

  I shook my he
ad. He was too close. He was too strong and hot and tempting. His eyes met mine as his hand moved down my neck, his thumb resting on my pulse. “I’ll make you hurt and fight and come,” he said in a soft, lurid tone. “I’ll make you tremble and cry, and then I’ll hold you afterward until you feel better.” His other arm slipped around me, a firm band. A prison. “Then, when you’re all better, all exhausted and fucked out, I’ll leave. I won’t interfere with your school, or your work once you graduate.”

  Once I graduate? That was months from now. Did he imagine I’d be his eternal fuck buddy, waiting at his beck and call? I started to twist in his embrace.

  “Don’t fight me, starshine,” he said. “You know it’ll be good.”

  Good luck, starshine…

  “No. No, not again. I want you to go,” I said, pushing at his chest.

  “I will. Just tell me when I can see you again.”

  “Never! You can never see me again.”

  I struggled in earnest now, but his arms were longer and stronger. His body was a rock against mine.

  “Let go,” I snapped, pushing against him. “I’m not fucking you again.”

  His features twisted in irritation. “I thought you weren’t in the escort business anymore, but if you need me to pay you, I’ll pay you. Either way. Whatever will make it happen.”

  I lost what remained of my patience and slapped his face twice, way harder and more forcefully than he’d ever slapped mine. I raked his ear with my nails before he caught my hands and held them. I kicked him instead and he tackled me, upended me and covered me on the living room floor.

  “I’m not your whore! I don’t want your fucking money.” I writhed under him, trying to free my arms from his grip. The bottom of my robe parted and I could feel his erect cock through the fabric of his pants.

  “I can’t fuck you right now,” he said, and I could have sworn he was laughing. “Stop flirting.”

  “Get off me,” I shrieked.

  Within a second, he was gone. He stood and jumped back, out of kicking distance. I lurched to my feet and fixed my robe, and glared at him as I retreated behind the couch. I started to yell at him again, for him to leave, to get the fuck out, but he held up a hand.