They don't belong to me, I make no profit, etc. Warning for language.
...
She sat on the couch and stared at the TV. But no matter how many channels she flipped through, all she could see was his hands on her. Dark skin against pale. Her shimmering blond curls cascading over his arm. His mouth pressed against his, his hand closing over her breast. The way her long, pale leg slid up his calf, like she wanted nothing more than to wrap those legs around his waist.
Steph squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward, but that only intensified the image in her head.
The smile gracing his lips when he lifted his head to look at the woman.
The smile Steph had thought he only gave her.
Her stomach heaved, but it was already empty. She focused back on the TV and changed the channel – a comedian whining about lost love. She flung the remote across the room, the TV falling silent when the remote struck the wall. It fell to the floor, shattered into three pieces.
Ironic.
With lethargic movements, she rose. She picked it up and stared at the pieces in her hand. Unfixable.
The locks tumbled, an ominous noise in the silence. She let the plastic pieces slip through her fingers, back to the floor. She watched them bounce against the carpet before she looked up to see Ranger standing in front of her, his face blank, eyes dark. He was angry. His face didn't give it away, but over the years, she'd finally caught on the more emotion he felt, the less he revealed.
She sighed, unable to do anything but shake her head. "Go away."
He remained still, arms crossed. The lines around his mouth tightened, the only outward reaction. He expelled a breath, almost a sigh. His voice, when he spoke, was low and gruff. Menacing, even. "What do you want me to say?"
That it was a mistake. She bit down on her cheek, in part to stop herself from begging. That you love me more.
Her heartbeat sped up as the silence between them grew. Thick and heavy, it pressed down on her, made her want to sink down to the floor. The longer it lasted, the more she realized that he would never give her what she wanted.
He closed the distance between them and stood close. Too close. He ducked his head to meet her eyes. "I will not apologize to you, Stephanie."
She expelled a shallow breath through her nose and forced herself to stand her ground. He had no right to be angry with her. She lifted her chin. "Then get out."
His eyes narrowed, an almost imperceptible change, but enough to alert her she was treading on dangerous ground. "No."
Her heart tripped over the next beat. She pressed her back against the wall. "Yes."
"Not until I know what this is about."
"This is about me having to watch you all but fuck that woman!"
He leaned closer, until she could feel his breath on her face. His arms, braced on the wall next to her head, held her trapped. "And exactly how many times, Stephanie, do you think I've been forced to watch you with your cop?"
Embarrassed heat surged through her body. She opened her mouth, but no defense came out.
"Exactly how many times do you think I've lain awake at night, knowing that you're fucking him?"
"That's not fair! You never—"
"You forget," he said, cutting her off with his harsh words, "that I know what every inch of your body feels like. I know every way you move, every noise you make when you come."
She fought for air. Fought to pull her eyes away from his angry stare. Failed on both fronts.
"And every night, I get to relieve every second, while you fuck your precious cop."
She pushed at his chest. Hard. Trying to break free – from the arms trapping her or the swamping guilt, she didn't know. Didn't care. "So, what? This is a demonstration? You teaching me a fucking lesson? You bastard!"
He grabbed her, his fingers closing around her upper arms, digging into her skin. "No. This was me trying to erase the taste of you."
She froze, stopped fighting to get out of his grasp. His words echoed in her mind, bounced around until she forgot to breathe. She stared unseeing at his chest. She didn't want to ask. But she had to know. "D-did it work?"
"Not even close."
Her eyes flew to his. But before she could register more than his dark look, his mouth crashed down on hers. Tongues and teeth clashed, rough and bruising. He used his body to push her into the wall. She couldn't breathe, couldn't escape, couldn't do anything but kiss him back. Her mind rebelled, but her arms went around his neck, her fingers dug into his hair.
He nipped at her bottom lip, plunged his tongue into her mouth. His hands gripped her hips, painfully tight. She could feel him, hard and pulsing, pressed against her belly. She wanted to stop him, wanted to encourage him, couldn't find the strength to do either.
He lifted her, and without thought, her legs wrapped around his waist. The little denim skirt she wore rode up – only the thin silk of her panties and his cargo pants separated them. Not enough to disguise how much he wanted her. He ground his cock into her and she wrenched her mouth from his to gasp for air. His hand found her breast and squeezed, his demanding fingers digging into her flesh.
His voice was a low growl into her ear. "What's it going to be, Stephanie. Me or the cop?"
She gasped, tried to control the fear and lust and tension ripping through her body. "I don't - - I can't - - "
He dropped her, took a step back. Her feet hit the floor with a thud, her knees barely holding her upright.
He stared at her, his eyes back to being cold and empty, looking through her as if she was nothing more than a girl he used to love. "Of course you can't." He turned and walked out the door without bothering to look back.