"Who the fuck is Jacob?"
Shit.
"Wha-what are you still doing here?" I stammer, trying to ignore the way my body is reacting to him just sharing the same space with me.
"I could ask you the same thing," he says tightly, stepping further into my office. "But I already asked you a question. Now, who the fuck is Jacob?"
I've never seen him quite like this. Well, that's not entirely true. I've seen him intense and serious. But only when we're fucking. And never in a room with light. His cheeks are pink…flushed. And I don't think I've ever noticed just how green his eyes are. They're almost electric. Fuck my life, he's so fucking hot when he's…angry? Is he angry? Why the fuck should he be angry?
"Didn't you ever learn that it's not nice to eavesdrop on conversations?" I ask, my body tensing, as he turns to shut the door. I can't be alone with him. Not right now. Not while I'm feeling the way he makes me feel. "Especially when the conversation has nothing to do with you."
I say it to piss him off. And when he looks back at me, I can see in his eyes that it worked. But there's something else there, too. Something…something I can't put my finger on. Why can't I ever just read him? Why does he always seem to know exactly what I'm thinking when I can't do the same thing?
"Oh, I think it has everything to do with me," he says, stalking toward me. "If you're…seeing someone else, I have a right to know. Especially since just six hours ago, I was fucking inside you." He's standing in front of me…close to me. So close. Too fucking close. "Especially when your panties are still inside my pocket. Now, who the fuck is Jacob?"
The last sentence is nothing more than a whisper, but it feels like a command.
"Nothing," I tell him, practically whimpering. "No one."
"It doesn't sound like no one," he says. "If he were no one, he wouldn't have a name. If he were no one, you wouldn't be having a conversation about him."
"Why do you care?" I ask.
He takes in a slow, deliberate breath. He doesn't move. His body is still a presence that I can feel on every inch of my own. His eyes sear into mine, demanding. And for just a second, I want to give him whatever it is he wants.
"Would you care?" he asks. "Would you care if you heard me making plans with another woman? Would it even bother you, Bella?"
And it would.
I know it fucking would.
It would kill me.
"It doesn't matter if I'd care," I tell him. "You don't belong to me."
My words affect him. I see it on his face. He tries to hide it, but for a moment, it's there. Only I don't know what that means. I don't understand a single thing about him. Why is he acting like this? For a second I think it could be…
But no.
It's not that.
It's never been that.
I've always known where we stand.
"Jacob is…" I start, but stop. I can't say this without dying of embarrassment. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Tell me," he says.
"No," I say, turning around. But he grabs me. It's soft and rough...and everything that he is. But the feeling of him touching me goes straight though every cell of my body. I react viscerally. Like I need him – his touch, his hands – everywhere. "Stop it."
"Tell me."
"Goddamn it," I finally snap. "He's nothing! He's not even a 'he'! He's my…he's a…rabbit."
He looks confused for a moment, but I see the moment it all snaps into place in his mind. And I want to fucking die.
"A vibrator?" he asks, a small laugh breaking through his lips. "Wait. No, seriously...wait. You're actually telling me that…my competition is a vibrator?"
He really laughs now, making me blush with embarrassment. Or full-on mortification. And that immediately pisses me off.
"Fuck you," I snap. "At least your competition pulses and spins…and stimulates my clit while it fucks me."
His eyes widen for a second, before softening and focusing in on mine. And I have to fight the urge to touch him. Which is really hard because all I want to do right now is touch him. All over.
"So," he breathes, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "What you're saying is, the only difference between me and…Jacob…is that it spins? Because I definitely stimulate your clit while I fuck you, Bella. And we both know how much you like it when I pulse."
His hands reach out for me, grabbing onto my hips and pulling me close. And I fucking let him because when it comes right down to it, I know I'm powerless to stop him. And even more than that – I don't care that I'm powerless. I don't care about anything except the way he makes me feel when he's this close.
I'm weak.
And I hate it.
But I hate the thought of him not touching me like this – not looking at me like this – even more.
"Fuck," I basically cry.
"What?" he asks, reaching up to take my face in his hands. His eyes are open, for a moment he looks as confused as I feel. And for that moment, I allow myself to feel like that's true. "What, Bella?"
"Fuck me."
.
.
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A/N
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